Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan

Here it is:  Okinaga Tarashi Hime (aka Jingu) is heading for Korea, launching an attack on the famed country of Silla.  But did it even happen?  We'll look at the story as well as the controversy and what the various sources have to say about it.  Plus, there are people with bird wings.  No, seriously.

Last episode, we followed Tarashi Hime's campaign on the peninsula.  This episode we'll see just what happens when she comes back--it seems not everyone was ready to welcome her back with open arms.  To make it back she would need to fight.

In a shrine in Nara prefecture there is an odd sword with seven "branches" whose existence would seem to confirm some of the stories out of the Nihon Shoki, and at the very least demonstrates a link between Yamato and one of the peninsular states.  

This episode we talk about how writing and horses first came to the archipelago, as well as touching on the theories of Professors Tsuda Sōkichi and Mizuno Yu, who greatly influenced our understanding of this area of history. For more, check out the podcast webpage at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-43

In this first of two episodes we take a look at the 5th century stele of Gwangaetto of Goguryeo and what it says about the actions of the Wa on the Korean Peninsula at that time. For more, check out the podcast webpage at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-44

This episode we finish up the story inscribed on the stele of Gwangaetto the Great, covering largely from 391-413.  We'll discuss the role the Wa played in two major conflicts on the peninsula, and about how Prince Misaheun came to be a hostage of the Wa. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-45

This episode continues our look at some of the figures surrounding Homuda Wake and the royal family.  In this case we look at one of the few people in the Chronicles from this period that we can see referenced by name in the excerpts from the Baekje Annals.  Was he just another court noble?  Or was he perhaps something more. For more information, check out the podcast blog at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-47

Come with us as we finish up with the life and times of Homuda Wake.  So much to cover in this episode--finish up relations with the continent, including the Wa helping Prince Jeonji of Baekje return to his country. Then there are the divisions of Kibi and choosing a Crown Prince and successor.  And then we talk about Homuda Wake after his death, and his connection to a famous Japanese God of War as well as his monumental kofun.  All of that in this episode. And for more information, check out http://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-48, which includes some of the information and details we just couldn't get into in the podcast without stretching it out even more.

CW: Suicide. Homuda Wake is dead.  As we transition to a new reign, we'll give an overview of what has happened and the changes in the archipelago, and try to add some perspective in regards to the story of the succession that followed Homuda Wake's death.  Finally, we'll end with a brief note about the shrine connected with this episode, an UNESCO World Heritage site. For more check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-49

This episode we look at the transmission of Buddhism through the 1st to 5th centuries from India, to the Kushan Empire, and across the Silk Road to the Han and succeeding dynasties, and even to Baekje, on the Korean peninsula. For more, especially photos, please check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-84   Rough Transcript:   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 84: The Middle Way through the Middle Kingdom. First things first, thank you to Bodil, Gabe, and Lauren for donating to support the show on Ko-Fi and Patreon.  If you'd like to join them, will have information at the end of the episode. Also an apology—if my voice isn't in tip-top shape, well, it seems that COVID finally found us after 3 years or so, and I'm on the tail end of it.  So thank you for your understanding. Last episode we talked about Siddhartha Gautama, aka Shakyamuni, the Historical Buddha, and his teachings, and how they spread, at least through the Indian subcontinent, with the patronage of rulers like Ashoka the Great.  The original teachings, initially taught as an oral tradition, was eventually turned into a series of writings, called the Tripitaka. As for how those writings came about, it's worth talking about the languages involved. The native language of Shakyamuni was probably a language known as Maghadi, or something similar.  But the Indian subcontinent, including the modern countries of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Nepal, and Afghanistan, is over three times the size of western Europe.  There are at eight south Asian language families, with hundreds of different languages, depending on how you count them.  The modern state of India counts 22 official languages, not including English.  I mention this to point out that as the Buddha's disciples spread his teachings, they were, by necessity, translating it into different languages. There is a story that a student suggested to the Buddha that they make Sanskrit the official language of Buddhism.  Even then, Sanskrit was considered a language of learning and education, much as Greek or Latin was in medieval Europe, but the Buddha rejected this and insisted that his teachings be taught in people's own tongue.  This proved great for reaching people, but over time there was a fear that the oral teachings might be lost, and so they were written down. The oldest written Buddhist canon is generally agreed to be texts in Pali, commissioned in Sri Lanka.  These are sometimes called the southern Tripitaka—or Tipitaka in Pali—and it is the primary canon for Theravada Buddhists.  In the north, however, Sanskrit remained the prominent language of learning, and texts written down and transmitted in the north—particularly those that made it to China and on to Japan—were typically Sanskrit or translations of Sanskrit texts.  This is what some refer to as the Northern Tripitaka.  Both of these were transcriptions of the oral teachings that Buddhist monks were otherwise memorizing and presenting to the Buddhist community.  That oral tradition, in fact, never really went away, and these early texts were more like a reference so that monks could check their memory.  Chanting the sutras—and especially chanting from memory—remained a highly prized skill of Buddhist orators. Now, the split between northern and southern texts is convenient, but it isn't necessarily as simple as all that.  We have plenty of examples of texts, particularly in the northern traditions, that don't necessarily have an extant Sanskrit counterpart.  In fact, the oldest extant sutras of any tradition that we have today are known as the Gandharan sutras, and written in the Ghandari language using a Karosthi script.  Gandhara refers to a region centered north and west of the Indus river, in modern Pakistan, stretching to the Kabul river valley in modern Afghanistan and north to the Karakoram mountains, which is one of the interlocking ranges that form the boundary between modern Pakistan and India and modern China and the Tibetan plateau.  It is believed to be the namesake of the city of Kandahar, in modern Afghanistan. This area was important, and not just to Buddhism.  For thousands of years it has been a crossroads between the Indian subcontinent, the area known as the Middle East, and the inner trade routes of central Eurasia.  It was part of the conquest by Alexander the Great in the 4th century BCE, becoming part of his kingdom, but then it was lost in battle to the Mauryan empire, which Ashoka the Great ruled in the 3rd century BCE.  The area later fell to Indo-Greek rule from members of the Greco-Bactrian kingdom to the north.  The most famous ruler during this period was probably Menander I, who is also remembered as a patron of Buddhism, building more stupas and monasteries in the region. The Hellenic Greco-Bactrians were eventually displaced by tribes of the Yuezhi, who themselves were being displaced by the Xiongnu, in central Eurasia.  In this epic game of musical chairs, a branch of the Yuezhi eventually settled in the area, ruling a large territory, including Gandhara, under what is known as the Kushan empire.  They had first moved into the area of Bactria and Sogdiana probably around the 1st or 2nd century BCE, and by the 1st century CE they were exerting authority over Gandhara.   Around the time the Gandharan sutras were written down, in the 1st or 2nd centuries, Buddhism—especially Mahayana Buddhism—was flourishing in the region, and Kanishka the Great—don't you love how all of these rulers are known as “the Great”, by the way?—ruled the Kushan empire, and hence Gandhara, in the early 2nd century.  He is said to have been a great patron of Buddhism, although it was one of several religions, including Zoroastrianism, that flourished in the region at this time. The Kushan empire is believed to be the same Yuezhi that we mentioned in episode 79, when we talked about the Han diplomat Zhang Qian, who had trekked through hostile Xiongnu, or Hunna, territory across much of what is now western China in the 2nd century BCE, seeking allies against the Hunna.  At that point, the Yuezhi had had enough of war, however, and they declined to fight, preferring to settle where they were and eventually growing into the Kushan empire.  That connection with the Han dynasty, however, likely was maintained through trade routes that continued to operate across the vast expanse of central Eurasia.  The Han dynasty itself continued to send out diplomatic missions to the various states of central Eurasia, and of course there were trade routes. As the Kushan empire expanded into the Tarim basin, it met once again with the Han, who had defeated the Hunna, and then claimed routes across the oasis towns of the desert regions.  While the routes would have high and low periods, often depending on the state of various conflicts, in general it seems that Buddhist missionaries probably made it to the Han dynasty and the Yellow River region, and founded monasteries, as early as the first century CE and certainly by the second century.  And, by our best understanding, the folks in these monasteries were already doing a lot of copying and translation of texts – both as a meritorious act, and to spread the word.  Since this is around the time the Gandharan texts were written, they were likely a part of this larger tradition of copying and translating that was going on, although many of those early documents did not survive intact to the modern day. One of the earliest records of Buddhism in the Han dynasty is a record dated to 65 CE.  Liu Ying, Prince of Chu and son of Emperor Guangwu of Han, sponsored Buddhism—as well as a school of Daoism—in attempts to better understand longevity and immortality.  While he was eventually accused of treason, putting something of a damper on his patronage of the religion, it is the first mention we have in the histories of Buddhism, and in some ways it speaks to something else about the initial acceptance of Buddhism. While there were likely those well-versed in Buddhism, particularly in the community of foreigners from the Western Regions, evidence suggests that for many lay people it was just as likely about what people thought that the religion could do for them in this life as anything else.  After all, there are many stories of miraculous events, and there was the concept of reincarnation and karma—the idea that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the next life.  There was even a belief that by building merit, one could improve their lot in the current life—and apparently extend their life or even, possibly, gain immortality. Sure, there were the more intellectual and philosophical endeavors, but for many people Buddhism was just as much about what it could do for them in the here and now.  Stories of monks and other holy men fit in right alongside stories of Daoist immortals.  In Han tombs, where Buddhist imagery is found, it is often found with or in place of the Queen Mother of the West—the same image that is found on many of the bronze mirrors that traveled across to the Japanese archipelago around this time.  It was likely that many of the early stories that the laypeople heard were probably fragments as much as anything.  Even with the Tripitaka written down, much of the transmission was still done orally.  Furthermore, it was in translation—and probably a translation of a translation. The earliest stories of Buddhism's transmission—particularly the translation of texts into Sinitic characters, the lingua franca of East Asia—claim that first the Theravada canon, and then later Mahayana texts, were translated in the second century, with foreigners from Parthia and Kushan credited with the early translations.  Others would continue the work, and at first it was mostly people from the Western Regions doing the translating. One of the earliest stories of sutras making their way to the Han dynasty comes from the time of Liu Ying, when his brother, Emperor Ming, sat on the throne.  The stories claim that the emperor saw an image of a golden Buddha, and that he requested either a statue or temple be erected.  So he sent people off to Kushan, where they found two monks who would come back with them in 68 CE, bringing portraits and scripture—specifically the “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters”, which the two monks helped translate into a Sinitic version at Baimasi, or White Horse Temple.  As such, this “Sutra of Forty-Two Chapters” has been accorded a status as the first such Buddhist work to be brought to the area that is, today, modern China, and the White Horse Temple, located in Luoyang, is counted as one of the earliest temples in the Yellow River region.  That said, there are a lot of questions as to the authenticity of this tale, though it does mirror others about the arrival of Buddhism in the East, even if we cannot verify the actual first temple or work. Although Buddhism arrived during the Han dynasty, it wouldn't really begin to fully develop until after the dynasty's fall in the 3rd century.  During the Southern and Northern Dynasties period, the metaphysical and doctrinal beliefs of Buddhism began to penetrate the elite circles in a more tangible way.  Much of the philosophical underpinnings blended well with the interest at the time in “Dark Studies” and the school of “Pure Conversation”, which we discussed back in episode 72.  While Buddhist temples, much like their Daoist brethren, found some sanctuary from the chaos that created this period in the mountains and hills—not to mention a bit of added spiritual cachet—it was really the opportunity to gain greater state patronage that also helped. Monks like Zhi Dun began to reconcile Buddhist thought and doctrine with local beliefs.  In some cases, local religious figures—including gods and other spirits—were incorporated into the Buddhist framework, often by their “conversion” to the Buddha's teachings.  This was one of the strengths of Buddhism—although it carried with it a framework of Indian religious teachings and thoughts, it was not exclusive in its cosmological outlook.  Buddhism was more focused on helping one escape the suffering of this world, which would take you beyond all such things.  As the doctrines were meant for all beings—not just humans, but for animals, spirits, gods, and even demons—there was nothing to necessarily exclude other beliefs.  This helped some of the ethnic Han dynasties to accept and even promote Buddhism.  Meanwhile, some of the non-ethnic Han dynasties patronized Buddhism for either its miraculous powers or just because it was a foreign religion, much like they were foreigners in the Yellow River Basin.  In many cases, state-sponsorship was a two way street.  Dynasts would set themselves up as holy men, claiming to be Boddhisatvas.  They would even appropriate the concept of the Cakravartin, a Buddhist “Golden-Wheel-Turning-King”, which had overtones of cosmic overlordship.  I can see how that would fit in quite well with local concepts that a sovereign might lay claim to ruling “all under heaven” and be carrying out a “Heavenly mandate”. Along the Yangzi River, Buddhist monks gained a certain amount of independence.  They were not expected to bow to the sovereign, for example; an acknowledgment of their holy nature.  In the northern Wei dynasty, however, it was a different story.  There, the ruler was said to be no less than an incarnation of the Buddha, and a Chief Monk was selected to oversee the Sangha and no doubt ensure that the various Buddhist communities were in line with official dogma. At the same time, the government provided captured men and women to work fields to help pay for Buddhist temples and their work.  Likewise, people would make merit by donating wealth and land to temples, in hopes of blessings either in this current life or in the next life.  For their part, the temples were expected to act as storehouses or granaries—the wealth that poured into them would be used to help alleviate suffering, especially in the case of droughts or floods.  It soon became clear, however, that more wealth was going into the temples than was necessarily coming out.  There were attempts to reign in this Buddhist establishment, often by limiting the number of temples or even the number of monks, as well as limiting what people could donate.  These same edicts were undercut by the elites of the country, however, and often proved less than effectual. Along with sutras and Buddhist teachings, Buddhist images and architecture spread widely.  In India and the Western Regions, a key aspect of many temples was the stupa.  This was a mound containing a relic of some sort.  Originally these relics were said to be remnants of the Buddha, after he had been cremated.  Later, it was said that the remnants of the Buddha turned hard, like crystal, and that the original remains were gathered up and distributed to even more stupas.  Later they may contain other relics, as well. The stupa was an important part of the Buddhist temple, but over time, its character changed.  Instead of a mound like we still see in Southeast Asia, we start to see a building—a tower—which became a ubiquitous symbol of Buddhist temples in East Asia.  This multi-level pagoda originally started off with simply three levels, often made of brick and stone, but over time it grew with five or seven levels.  These towers were inspired by a description in the Lotus Sutra, a Mahayana text, that described a bejeweled seven-storey tower. Speaking of the Lotus Sutra, this was one of the many teachings that made its way to East Asia, and a hugely influential one.  It purports to tell the story of a sermon by the Buddha outside of those mentioned in the Theravada texts.  The teachings expounded upon in the Lotus Sutra had a great impact on Mahayana Buddhism and how people viewed the teachings of the Buddha.  For one, it also proposed the idea that the Buddha did not actually cease to exist when he attained nirvana, but is simply no longer visible. He still remains in the world to help all life find salvation from suffering.  That goes along with the concept of the Bodhisattva, a being who attains a Buddha-like understanding but out of compassion remains in the world to assist others. The Lotus Sutra also made claims such as the idea that anyone could attain Buddhahood, if they followed the teachings—and not just one particular set of teachings.  It opened the idea that there were multiple vehicles—that is to say different practices—that would all get you to the truth, to Englightenment.  Even the term “Mahayana” means the “Great Vehicle”, while Mahayana sees Theravada as “Hinayana”, the “Lesser Vehicle”.  Both will get you where you need to be, but Mahayana offers an exapansion of teachings and texts that Theravada Buddhism does not necessarily accept as authentic.  Indeed in Mahayana belief we also see a focus on multiple Buddhas with different specialties – not only the historical Buddha, but Vairocana, aka Dainichi Nyorai, the Great Solar Buddha, Amitabha, aka Amida Nyorai or Amida Butsu, and so on. In comparison, the Theravada school tend to be more dogmatic on various points of practice and belief, claiming that they focus on the actual teachings of the Historical Buddha and not necessarily looking for extra texts and practices.  There may have been Buddhas in previous ages that attained nirvana and departed this existence, but the Buddha of the current age is the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni.  Another Buddha, Maitreya, is not expected for another five to ten thousand years—not until the teachings of the Buddha have been forgotten and are once again required.  Acquiring freedom from this existence through nirvana is not necessarily one and the same with obtaining Buddhahood—the enlightened understanding required to save all beings. There is another school, “Vajrayana”, the “Lightning” or “Diamond” vehicle.  It focuses on tantric, or esoteric teachings, which practitioners believe provide a more direct, and faster method to enlightenment.  Many secret teachings, or mikkyo in Japanese, can trace themselves in some way to these practices, though it likely didn't make it to East Asia until the Tang dynasty or so in the 8th century, so we'll come back to it when we get to things like Kuukai and Saichou, who brought Shingon and Tendai, respectively, to Japan in the early 9th century—about four centuries from our current chronological position.  Both the Mahayana and Vajrayana schools included the teachings from the Lotus Sutra, which would become one of the most important sutras, certainly by the Tang dynasty, as well as in the Korean Peninsula and the Japanese archipelago.  Its widespread dissemination is often attributed to the famous monk Kumarajiva.  Kumarajiva was a citizen of Kucha, one of the oasis towns along the northern edge of the Tarim Basin, and site of a bustling metropolis and capital of one of the largest oasis kingdoms in the Tarim basin.  Even today, you can see remnants of the ancient city in the desert, and the dry conditions have preserved a number of artifacts, including plenty of texts referencing Buddhist and other beliefs. Kumarajiva traveled from the peripheral city of Dunhuang, another site renowned for its Buddhist roots, especially the famous Mogao caves—a series of Buddhist grottoes built into a cliff face which, along with the dry conditions, have exquisitely preserved the early sculpture and painting, as well as, again, numerous documents.  He came to Chang'an around 401, and he helped translated numerous Buddhist scriptures into Sinitic characters, which could then be shared and read by people across East Asia—everywhere in the ancient Sinic sphere of influence. Besides the Lotus Sutra, another famous text told of the Buddha Amithabha, aka Amida Butsu in Japan.  Amithabha's teachings claimed that any who would call on the name of Amithabha, or just picture them in their mind with a sincere heart, would, on their death, find themselves reborn in a Western Paradise—a “Pure Land” where there were no distractions other than to meditate on the Buddha's teachings and eventually attain freedom from this existence.  Whereas many of the teachings and theological discussions of the various Buddhist schools could get quite complex—thus almost requiring any serious student to join a monastery if they wanted to truly study a particular flavor—the teachings of Amithabha were appealing to those without necessarily a lot of time or resources.  It boiled down to a few practices that just about anyone could do.  It didn't require that you donate huge sums of money or land, or that you spend all your day copying scriptures.  One could chant the name of Amithabha in the fields as you were working, or picture them in your mind as you prepared for bed. These kinds of practices—the chanting of particular mantras or other such things—became a kind of thing people could do to help protect themselves or ward off evil.  A particular example of this practice is preserved in a text from Dunhuang, which has a colophon explaining its purpose.  According to Patricia Ebrey's translation, the text, which was copied by someone named Sun Sizhong, was an incantation that, if said 7, 14, or 21 times a day, with various somatic and material components (willow twig to cleanse the mouth, scattering flowers and incense before the image of the Buddha, and kneeling and joining the palms of the hands) it would clear away the four grave sins, the five wicked acts, and other transgressions.  “The current body would not be afflicted by “untimely” calamities, and one will be reborn into the realm of immeasurably long life.  Plus, reincarnation in the female form would be escaped forever.” On that last piece—yeah, Buddhism came with a little bit of baggage.  In ordering all of life, men were seen as inherently higher on the ladder than women.  This discrimination has been walked back or even abolished in some modern interpretations, but it was definitely present in older beliefs. Besides the power of the incantation if said 7, 13, or 21 times a day, Sun Sizhong went on to explain that if someone recited it 100 times in the evening and then at noon and it will ensure rebirth in the “Western Regions”, while 200,000 recitations gets you perfect intelligence, and 300,000 recitations, one will see Amitabha Buddha face to face and be reborn in the Pure Land. As you can probably start to see, there were many different beliefs and teachings that fell under the Mahayana teachings, and many of the texts were translations.  Even those that had been translated into Sinitic, it was often done by foreigners for whom the local Sinic language was not their native tongue, so there was always a kind of awareness that important pieces might have been lost in translation along the way.  In the 5th century, this led some monks to make the particularly long and dangerous journey all the way to Kushan and on to India, to access the original primary sources for themselves.  One of these was a monk by the name of Faxian. At the age of 62, Faxian decided to go to India to try to get to the heart of what the Buddha really taught.  He set out in 399, traveled across the Tarim Basin and into the Kashmir region and the Indus Valley—Gandhara, in modern Pakistan.  From there he traveled to central India and arrived at Patna, where he stayed and studied for three years.  He traveled around, seeking out works in Sanskrit on Buddhsit ethics and teachings, studying the local languages as well.  In 410 he made his way to the mouth of the Ganges and down to Sri Lanka, where he stayed for almost two years before boarding a ship and traveling home—traveling through the straits of Malacca and around Southeast Asia to take the sea route back to his home. The journey was perilous, and at least twice the boat lost its way.  According to the stories, some of his fellow travelers, who followed more Brahmanic teachings rather than Buddhist, believed that Faxian and his quote-unquote “heretical” teachings were what were leading them astray.  Faxian was able to maintain order and he and his books eventually made it safely to the Shandong peninsula in or around 412. He made his way down to Jiankang, aka modern Nanjing on the Yangzi river.  There he spent the rest of his life translating the scriptures he had brought back.  Others would make similar journeys, all to try to find more authentic versions of the texts—which usually meant finding the Sanskrit version—and then creating translations from those. With the growth in popularity in Buddhism, it is probably little wonder that it eventually made its way over to the Korean peninsula.  It is hard to say exactly when Buddhism arrived, but the Baekje annals in the Samguk Sagi claim that it was brought there by a monk of Central Asia descent in about 384.  One year later, we are told the king of Baekje erected a temple and caused ten men to become monks. The timing of this generally accords with some of the information in the Nihon Shoki, which claims that Buddhism first came from the Western Regions to the Han dynasty, and then to Baekje 300 years later, and then to Yamato about 100 years after that.  While the dates aren't exact, this generally accords with what we know of the way that Buddhism traveled to East Asia and to Baekje, at least. Although we have textual evidence, there isn't much archaeological evidence for Buddhism on the Korean peninsula in this time outside of urban centers.   That is where we find temple rooftiles and other indications that Buddhism was practiced, but at the time it was probably something more common amongst elites than the common people, at least in the 4th and early 5th centuries.  With the invasions by Goguryeo  and the loss of northern territory in about 475, it did gain increased patronage.  Still, it wasn't until the 6th century that it really left the urban centers, which is roughly the time we are talking about with the Yamato sovereign Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou. Next episode we'll get into just how Buddhism came over to the islands—or at least what is recorded and what we have evidence for—in the sixth century.  We'll also talk about its reception and its patronage by the famous Soga clan.  Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

We are back looking at Buddhism in the archipelago, this time in the reign of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu. For references and more, check out our blog page at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-88   Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 88: Let's Give This Buddhism Thing Another Try. This episode we are going to return to the story of Buddhism in the archipelago—specifically what was going on into the next reign.  And what a fortuitous episode to do it on as well.  For those who aren't aware, “8” is an auspicious number in Buddhism, so I figure for episode 88, this makes for a decent topic. Now back in Episode 86, we saw the death of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, in 576 CE, just as a delegation of envoys arrived from Goguryeo.  As we noted at the time, Nunakura Futodamashiki no Mikoto, aka Bidatsu Tennou, succeeded him to the throne.  You may recall that Nunakura was the second son of Ame Kunioshi and his Queen, Ishihime.  His older brother, Yata no Tamakatsu no Ohoye appears to have been the Crown Prince, but then he passed away, and so Nunakura was raised up in his stead. In many ways, Nunakura represents the Old Guard at this time.  The Chronicles make it clear that he is a classical heir, descended through multiple royal lineages.  His father, Ame Kunioshi, was of course the latest in the lineage descending from Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, while his mother, Ishihime, was the daughter of Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, aka Senka Tennou, Ame Kunioshi's brother by another mother—quite literally.   In fact, one wonders if the reason for Magari no Ohine and Takewo, aka Ankan and Senka Tennou, even being mentioned as sovereigns in the Chronicles may have been because of the way that they therefore legitimized Nunakura's own reign, as some scholars have suggested that they really may not have ruled at all, and that really it was all Ame Kunioshi during that entire period that their reigns covered.  After all, most of the sovereigns up to this point have been descended through multiple royal lineages, and even Magari no Ohine and Takewo's reigns were depicted as though they were simply regents, holding the seat for their younger and more legitimate brother. Nunakura held fast to the old traditions in another way, too: We are pointedly told in the Nihon Shoki that, though he was of good character, he was not a Buddhist.  This is perhaps a curious statement to make—after all, none of the previous sovereigns have really been Buddhist, either—but then this is the first sovereign to take the throne since the archipelago had been exposed to Buddhist teachings, at least according to the narrative. From our perspective today, that doesn't seem all that strange.  Buddhism had just come to the archipelago and, honestly, it hadn't made that much of a splash from what we can tell.  Back in Episode 85, Soga no Iname had set up a temple and started worshipping an image that had come from the continent, but that initial attempt was sabotaged by others, including Mononobe no Okoshi.  The old families were, of course, rather invested in the system of rituals around their local kami and the socio-political power they derived from being in charge of those same rituals. Soga no Iname had passed away towards the end of the previous reign, and his son, Umako, took up the mantle as head of the Soga family, and his father's position as Oho-omi.  Meanwhile, Mononobe no Okoshi had also passed away, and it seems that at the head of the Mononobe family as a man by the name of Yuge no Moriya, who was confirmed in his position as Ohomuraji by the new sovereign—or at least that is what the Nihon Shoki tells us, and it may be because of his prominence in the story to come.  The Sendai Kuji Hongi claims that it was Moriya's brother, Ohoichi no  Mikari, who was made Ohomuraji, but there is little else.  Regardless of whether it was Moriya or Mikari, the power dynamics between the Soga and Mononobe families were still in a similar to the previous reign, just in new hands. Now, for all that the Chronicles stress how much Nunakura was not a Buddhist, neither was he particularly nativist.  He enjoyed the Classics that were being imported from the mainland, and presumably was able to read in the continental fashion.  He was also interested in ensuring good relations with the Korean peninsula—with both Yamato's traditional ally of Baekje, but also with the growing kingdom of Silla.  Still, Buddhism was off the table for him. For the most part his reign started similar to any other.  After coming to the throne, in 572, he confirmed his wife as Queen, with his mother being hailed as the Queen Mother.  He also set up his own palace site at Ohowi in Kudara, in the land of Kawachi.  Interestingly this appears to place him outside of the Nara basin—certainly outside of the lands of the Soga.  However, the area that he settled in, Kudara, is interesting because that is the same reading given to the characters for “Baekje”.  In fact the kanji, or Sinitic characters, that they use are the same as “Baekje”, and if you didn't know otherwise you would likely read them as something like “Byakuzai”.  However, just as many characters for the Han and Tang dynasties are read as “Kara”, likely referencing the fact that things came to the archipelago through the Kara states, the name for Baekje was rendered as “Kudara”. And to be honest, I've never seen a good reason why the characters came to be read this way, or even whether or not that was the reading when the Chronicles were compiled.  Certainly it was the authoritative reading later on, and there are plenty of placenames that use that reading as “Kudara”.  Still, I'm not absolutely certain when that reading became common, but that is how these kanji are often pronounced, today, for whatever reason. Now just because Nunakura wasn't a Buddhist didn't mean that Buddhism wasn't still making inroads into the islands.  And while the Soga family would stand at the forefront of Buddhist proselytization, our first actor is actually a little different, and largely forgotten, from what I can tell.  His name was Ohowake no Miko, or the royal prince Ohowake. This name doesn't do a lot to help us identify him.  He's a royal prince, meaning he had a direct claim to the royal lineage, born to one of the sovereigns or their progeny.  “Oho” means “Big”, or “Elder”, and “Wake”, well, that's a bit more complicated.  Based on the way it is used in older names it would appear to be a title or honorific of some kind.  Traditional Japanese etymology claims that it comes from the fact that “Wake” comes from “Wakeru”, to break, cut off, or separate.  So basically they come from a line that has been “cut off” from the royal lineage, but they still have royal blood.  This seems a little suspect to me, personally.  I do wonder if it could be related to the term “Waka”, which also shows up a lot in names, but that is a stretch.  Instead, I think it may be an old title, or kabane, for a person of not insignificant rank.  Still, it isn't clear what is meant, and even then, this is a pretty generic name that doesn't tell us much about who this guy actually was.  One theory is that this is another name for someone mentioned elsewhere in the Chronicles, perhaps even one on the later sovereigns.  People at the time that the Chronicles were written knew who it referred to, but it is much harder to piece together, today.  Another suggestion is that this “Ohowake” was someone who was otherwise written out of the history for some reason—all except for here.  Of course, why they were written out one could only fathom a guess.  Finally, there is the thought that the name could be misspelled.  Back in the time of hand copying, over thousands of copies it would be easy to slip up once or twice in the thousands of characters they had written, already.  Later scribes then faithfully copied the mistake, and suddenly a new name is born.  Even then, though, I'm not sure we could make a good guess as to who this really was. What we do know is that in 577, this royal prince known only as “Ohowake” in the Chronicles went to Baekje, presumably as an ambassador for Yamato, and returned with religious books and six individuals, including monks, a nun, an architect, and a Buddhist image maker.   It is significant, that what this royal prince brought back was more than just books this time.  Now, there were artisans being imported who could actually make Buddhist statues and temples here in the islands.  They would have known how those temples were built, the significance of the layout, how the wooden beams were carved, and even how the distinctive rooftiles were made.  And this wasn't just different craft techniques - there were rules for how a temple was supposed to be constructed, the different buildings, even the relics to be buried underneath a building to help make it sacred.  Likewise the images also followed particular rules.  Whether it was the image of the Buddha, or of one of the many accompanying deities, it wasn't enough to be a stone carver or a woodworker—Buddhist imagery was its own thing.  All of this was very different from other artforms and architecture in the archipelago at the time.  It is also telling that Ohowake brought back monks and a nun.  Specifically they had brought monks who specialized in various practices, including meditation and mantra recitation.  You may recall that earlier the people of the archipelago had received images and texts, and it seems that Soga no Iname was trying to piece together what to do based on the texts—likely interpreting all of it through the eyes of the local religious practices of the time.  An ordained monk and an ordained nun, however, would have known the proper rituals and how they were to be conducted.  But almost more importantly, you needed Buddhist monks and nuns to make other Buddhist monks and nuns —although technically you typically need more than that, you should have a Sangha, a Buddhist community.  While traditions vary, it would seem that you need at least four monks to make a Sangha, and some traditions require at least ten —and I presume the same or more for women.   Whether or not they could authoritatively conduct all of the rites, the monk and the nun could, one assumes, teach how they were supposed to be done.   These newcomers appear to have been ensconced at a place called Ohowake-ji, or Ohowake temple, in Naniwa.  Some suggest that this may be in error and that “Ohowake” was a typo for “Ohogori”, an official residence for envoys traveling to and from Japan.  If this latter is true, then much like Soga no Iname had turned his house into a temple, these Buddhist teachers may have been staying at the Ohogoori-ji, and there was a scribal error of “Wake” for “Goori”.  This theory also notes that the word “Ji”, or “Tera” in the kun'yomi reading, originally meant an official government building, but gradually shifted to referring to Buddhist temples as Buddhism made its way across the desert, through Yellow River and Yangzi river valleys. By the time it made it to the Korean peninsula and across the strait to the Japanese archipelago, Buddhist temples were all using the suffix “-Ji”.  The problem with this theory is that we don't really see the character “ji” or “tera” used in the government building sense in other instances from this time, and so it seems a bit of a stretch to suggest that is what is going on here.  Personally, I envision that they did stand up a temple, though the actual location and design—let alone the artifacts within—have been lost to time.  Ohowake's import of Buddhist expertise wasn't it for Buddhism during Nunakura's reign, however, as things continued to trickle in.  In 579, for example, Silla envoys brought a Buddhist image, indicating that they, too, had taken an interest in this foreign religion, and they were using it as part of their diplomacy.  This may have been a further reason to pressure Yamato to at least look into the religion and join the larger world of Buddhist countries, but it doesn't seem to have swayed the sovereign—at least not in any obvious way. Five years after the gift from Silla, in 584, Soga no Iname's son and heir, Soga no Umako, decided to give this interesting new religion another go.  The atmosphere by this point was a little different: still not entirely hospitable, but there had clearly been more and more interest in Buddhism since its first arrival fifty years before.  In addition to the growing acceptance of this foreign religion, however, there were some key political aspects as well that may point to why Soga no Umako decided to act. You see, Nunakura, at the start of his reign, had been married to a woman named Hirohime, who was the daughter of Okinaga no Mate no Miko.  The Okinaga family doesn't get quite as much press as others, but seems to have been relatively powerful; and let's not forget that there was a sovereign, Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jinguu Tennou.  They had not only supplied Hirohime as a daughter to the current sovereign, but their name is found in the lists of people who had produced wives of the sovereign going back for several generations.  Hirohime was the queen, and no doubt one of her progeny was expected to eventually come to the throne and rule as sovereign.  However, in 576, just five years into Nunakura's reign, Hirohime passed away.  This tragic event nonetheless left a bit of a political void in the form of the Queen, whose offspring would no doubt possess some serious political chops, whether or not they actually ruled.  Fortunately for the Soga, they had an answer: Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, the daughter of Amekunioshi and Kitashi Hime, which made her half-sister to Nunakura, but more than that, it made her the niece of none other than Soga no Umako, since her mother was also a child of Soga no Iname.  And without spoiling too much, put a pin in her name—we will definitely be coming back to her in later episodes.   It is unclear whether Kashikiya Hime was already one of Nunakura's  consorts or if she was instead promoted directly to queen, based on the way the Chronicle talks about it, but Queen she did become.  We are told that she was taken up at the “urging of the court”, and probably by certain prominent figures therein, and so the Soga's plan to marry their daughters into the royal lineage and thus use blood ties to more closely bind themselves to the central authority appears to have been working. This also meant that as Umako tried once again to get Buddhism off the ground, he now had a supposedly friendly figure in the royal bedchamber, who could help whisper in the sovereign's ear.  So he had, presumably, a little more clout than his father had when he had tried to set up a temple. To start things off, Soga no Umako had heard about two Buddha images in the archipelago, and he went about acquiring them.  The first was a stone image of Miroku, aka Maitreya, the future Buddha who was said to come in another four to nine thousand years to remind people of the Dharma once again.  This had been brought from Baekje by an immigrant known to us as Kafuka no Omi.  The other was an image of the Buddha, presumably Gautama, the historical Buddha, in the possession of one Saheki no Muraji. With these images in his possession, Soga no Umako went looking for someone with previous knowledge of Buddhist practices to assist.  To do this he enlisted the help of Kurabe no Sukuri no Shiba Tattou, along with others.  Tattou is traditionally thought to have come from the continent, possibly as early as 522 CE, about 63 years earlier.  The Fuso Ryakki, compiled in the eleventh century, claims he came from the “Great Tang”, even though that dynasty had yet to have been established, and that he had immigrated to the country of Yamato, where he built a grass hut and installed an image of the Buddha.  While this is likely a bit of exaggeration on the part of the ancient chroniclers, to make Tattou seem like the perfect Buddhist resource, it is likely that Tattou did come from the continent or was a descendant in the first or second generation, and that he had some knowledge about the religion.  This made him perfect for Soga no Umako, who needed someone who knew what to look for in others who might be able to assist him in once again setting up a temple of his own. Sure enough, Tattou found someone: a former monk from Goguryeo, named Ebin in Japan, now living in Harima, who had gone back to being a layperson.  This is not as unusual as it may seem, as there are many reasons that someone might leave the monkhood, and even later return back to it.  Whether or not he was currently an ordained and practicing monk, Ebin would have known the rites and how to proceed. Here I would note that it seems a bit odd that Umako would have searched high and low throughout the immigrant community if the temple of Ohowake was still there in Naniwa.  Why didn't they just ask someone from that temple to come and get things kickstarted for them?  Unfortunately, we don't know, though it is possible that the temple of Ohowake had already failed for some reason. And so the former monk, Ebin, was brought on board Umako's little project, and there are some sources that suggest there was a nun as well, known as Houmei, but I didn't notice her name in the Nihon Shoki.  Ebin—and possibly Houmei—were first told to instruct none other than Tattou's own daughter, Shima, or possibly Shimane, to become a Buddhist nun.  This may have been at least in part because Tattou's family clearly already had some familiarity with Buddhism, and there may have also been some linguistic advantages depending on the languages they knew and spoke—especially as much of what had come over was probably written in Sinic characters. Shima was given the Buddhist name of Zenshin, or more appropriately Zenshin-ni.  This was another common practice, at least in East Asia, where new initiates would take a Buddhist—or more appropriately a Dharma—name when they were ordained.  We'll see this a lot, and you have no doubt encountered such names elsewhere.  They are typically made up of two kanji, or Sinitic characters, and pronounced with the On'yomi reading.  The name is often given by a teacher and emphasizes some Buddhist virtue or teaching that is considered particularly apt.  In this case “Zenshin” would appear to mean something like “Auspicious Belief”. Two other women were taken on as students—or possibly as servants, or just junior nuns—along with Zenshin.  They were Toyome, daughter of Ayabito no Hoshi, who became Zenzou, which would seem to indicate “Meditative Storehouse”; and Ishime, daughter of Nishigori no Tsubo, who became Ezen, or something like “Blessed Fortune”. With three nuns, Soga no Umako built a Buddhist Temple onto the east side of his home where he enshrined the stone image of Miroku, or Maitreya, the future Buddha, and he had the three newly minted nuns worship there while Shiba Tattou and Hida no Atahe provided them support and sustenance. Although they were ordained and worshipping a Buddhist image, it is interesting that Umako chose women to become nuns, rather than monks.  There is some thought that, for all of the Buddhist instruction, Umako was still following a popular indigenous model of worship, where the three women were essentially acting in place of female shamans, a tradition that would appear to have been common on the archipelago all the way back to Queen Himiko, and hinted at in various places within the Chronicles, including the very stories of the kami themselves.  One also questions just how much the women knew regarding Buddhist practice, despite having a teacher who was formerly a monk.  There are some suggestions that the women themselves were rather young, with one note claiming that Zenshin was only twelve years old when she was ordained—hardly an age where one expects her to be leading, let alone teaching, about a foreign religion from another country. Furthermore, the terms used surrounding the nuns' “worship” also leads one to wonder.  The word used is “sai” or “matsuri”, which is sometimes translated as “maigre faire”, or abstinence, but here likely refers to some kind of meal or feast.  This was possibly a Buddhist vegetarian feast, though the idea of a feast as worship seems to dovetail nicely once again into the local practices surrounding kami worship as well. From this first meal, Tattou supposedly found a “relic”, by which would seem to be meant a relic of the Buddha.  Now what a relic of the Buddha was doing in the Japanese islands, so far away from the Indian subcontinent, might seem to be a pertinent question, but that is where you would be wrong.  You see, according to some traditions, the body of the Buddha had transformed through miraculous processes into hard crystal or glass stones, which themselves had made their way across the world.  This was fortunate for Buddhists, who therefore didn't need to send away for fresh relics from India every time they needed to found a new temple, they just had to find appropriate relics where they were. To test the relics—we aren't given much more of a description of what they were—Soga no Umako took a giant iron maul and brought that hammer down on the relic Tattou had found.  However, rather than the relic shattering, the iron maul broke, instead, along with the block of iron they had put underneath of it.  After testing its strength, the relic was placed in water, where it would float or sink depending on what was desired.  These supposedly proved that the relic was holy, and so it was used to inaugurate a new pagoda.  The pagoda was built on top of the Hill of Ohono, or large field, and we are told that they had the nuns conduct another ritual feast prior to placing the relic in the top of the pagoda, recalling the purpose of the pagoda as the replacement for the stupa, the repository for relics of the Buddha at a temple complex. In the background of all of this, Yamato was apparently experiencing their own epidemic.  We are told that pestilence was in the land, and Soga no Umako himself became ill.  Trying to ascertain the cause of his own illness, Umako enlisted a diviner, who told him that the pestilence was a curse sent by the Buddha worshipped by Soga no Umako's father, Soga no Iname.  Once again we see the Buddha being treated more like a kami.  After all, why would the one who came to save all sentient beings curse someone?  And yet they did seem to believe that this curse was due to the way that the previous temple that Iname had set up had been torn down and the image tossed, unceremoniously, into the Yodo river. And since the cause of the pestilence had been determined by a diviner, apparently that was enough to get Nunakura on board.  Whether or not he personally worshipped the Buddha, he allowed Umako to worship the image so that he could appease his father's gods and hopefully recover. Shortly thereafter—less than a week later, if the dates are to be believed—we start to really get a sense of déjà vu, as Mononobe no Yugehi no Moriya, son of Mononobe no Okoshi and the current Ohomuraji of the Mononobe family, remonstrated Nunakura over this whole Buddhism thing.  Just as Okoshi had done decades previously, Moriya claimed that the whole reason that there was an epidemic in the first place was because they had once again welcomed Buddhism into the land, and that they needed to put a stop to it.  Nunakura was swayed by his arguments, and he took back what he had said and issued an edict that demanded that the worship of Buddhism cease. Here we see, once again, the destruction of the Buddhist temple, but this time around we are given much greater detail.  For one thing, Moirya seems to have taken rather a lot of pride in this.  He went to the temple with his men, sat down in a chair, and from there he oversaw the destruction of the pagoda, the temple, and even the stone image.  Whatever couldn't be destroyed was taken to the Naniwa canal and thrown into the waters. As he did all of this, the Chroniclers record that there was wind and rain, but no clouds, not quite unlike the idea of a fox's wedding—an interesting phenomenon where you can have the sun, usually in the morning or late afternoon, shining at the same time that rainclouds overhead are opening up the heavens are pouring down. Moriya simply donned a raincoat, and then he upbraided Soga no Umako and all of his followers, trying to shame them.  He then had Sukune call forward the various nuns, who were stripped of their “three garments”, a term for the traditional Buddhist robes, although in East Asia this was eventually replaced with the single kesa over several lower garments, to help fend off the cold.  Here it is unclear if just a kesa is meant, or if they were dressed in an attempt at clothing from the Indian continent.  The nuns were then imprisoned and flogged at the roadside station of Tsubaki no Ichi, otherwise known as the Tsubaki Market. Despite thus cleansing the land of Buddhist influence for the second time, the pestilence didn't stop, and people continued to grow ill and die.  In fact, there was an embassy planned to talk about the Nimna situation once again, but both the sovereign, Nunakura, as well as Mononobe no Moriya himself, became ill and were afflicted with sores.  Once again, the land was plagued and people were dying.  According to the Chroniclers, who were, of course, writing after the fact in a well-established Buddhist state, the people started to privately complain that clearly Buddhism hadn't been the problem.  In fact, perhaps Soga no Umako's diviner had been correct all along and the plague was actually because they *hadn't* accepted Buddhism, rather than a punishment for neglecting the local kami. A few months later, Soga no Umako sent another message to the sovereign.  He was still ill, and hadn't recovered, even with Moriya “purging” the influences of Buddhism.  Umako claimed that the only things that would cure him were the Three Precious Things, which is to say the Sanzou, or the Three Treasures of Buddhism:  The Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha.  Based on the severity of the disease, Nunakura authorized him to worship privately, and the nuns were allowed to assist him.  He rebuilt the temple and he provided for the nuns, himself.  Eventually, Umako recovered, but unfortunately, the sovereign did not.  Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, died in 585, laid low by the plague that had swept through the land. At the funeral, the politics were on full display.  Soga no Umako had no love lost for Mononobe no Moriya, nor vice versa.  As Umako was delivering a speech, Moriya made a comment that with his extremely long sword at his side, Umako looked like a fat little sparrow that had been pierced through by a hunting shaft.  Meanwhile, Umako noted that Moriya was shaking as he gave his speech—whether from emotion, nerves, or something else we don't know—and so Umako suggested hanging bells on him, so that they would jingle as he shook.  From this rap battle on out, the feud between the Mononobe and the Soga would only grow. There is another account of all of this, buried amongst everything else, that claims that Mononobe no Moriya, Ohomiwa no Sakahe no Kimi, and Nakatomi no Iware no Muraji all conspired together to destroy the Buddhist religion.  They wanted to burn the temple and pagoda that Soga no Umako had built, but Umako opposed the project and would not allow it, or so we are told.  Here it is unclear if we are talking about the previous temple or the rebuilt one, but the names here are interesting.  Of course we know that the Soga and the Mononobe were going at it, and the inclusion of Nakatomi no Iware simply picks up the previous alliance between the Mononobe and Nakatomi, both of whom had been active during the assault on Soga Iname's temple.  Lastly, though, there is Ohomiwa no Sakahe no Kimi, which is interesting.  This figure would appear to be from the Ohomiwa family and region, likely drawing some amount of respect from their connection with Mt. Miwa itself, and the ancient worship that went on there.  So, in this version there really is a triple threat of “the old guard” banding together to resist this newfangled foreign faith. Incidentally, this same figure, Ohomiwa no Sakahe no Kimi, also appears just after the death of Nunakura, when Prince Anahobe figured he could just waltz in and take the throne on the assumption that he was owed it by birth.  He was a half-brother to Nunakura, son of Ame Kunioshi and his mother, Wonanegimi, who was another daughter of Soga no Iname.  Anahobe was therefore nephew to Umako, and perhaps that is one of the reasons he thought he could just waltz in and take his seat at the head of government.  But Prince Anahobe was foiled by none other than Ohomiwa no Sakahe, who posted a guard around the palace and made sure that nobody defiled it until a new sovereign had been identified by the court.  Anahobe voiced his complaint that Ohomiwa was protecting the court of a “dead king”, and that they should instead come to the court of a “living king”—presumably he meant his own. But that will take us past this point, and there are still some other details of Nunakura or Bidatsu's reign I want to touch on, such as his dealings on the continent, but here we can see how Buddhism and the feud between the Soga and the Mononobe was in full swing, and that will definitely play a large part in future episodes.  In addition, we'll see how this time, Umako wouldn't take things lying down.  He was going to get this Buddhism thing to stick one way or the other, and we'll see what happens when he finally founds the first permanent temple in Japan; a temple that, while perhaps not as grand as it once was, continues to operate into the modern day. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we examine some of the other things during the reign of Nunakura, including the relationship with Baekje--which, despite all of the Buddhist materials they had received, seems to be a bit more fragile than one might have guessed. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-89 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 89:  Baekje and Yamato on the Rocks Last episode we covered the continued rise of Buddhism.  From the enigmatic Prince Ohowake, and his importation of experts and texts to found a temple in the Naniwa region, to the more well-documented case of Soga no Umako, who continued his father's efforts to establish a temple at their home in the Asuka area, going so far as to have three women inducted as nuns—the first clergy we know of to have been ordained in the archipelago, even though it may have been less than perfectly orthodox in the manner of ceremony.  We also talked about how a coalition of other court nobles, led by the Mononobe family, were undermining the Soga and accused their new-fangled religious ideas of bringing plague to the people—plague that, even though the Soga's temple was destroyed to prevent it, nonetheless took the life of the sovereign, Nunakura Fotadamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou. And for many, that's probably the highlight of this reign, which was deeply involved in the spread of Buddhism, as well as providing the roots of the conflict between the old guard of the Mononobe and the newly risen Soga family.  However, it isn't as if that is all that was happening.  There were continued international developments, among other things, and these were intertwined with everything else—nothing was happening in a vacuum.  For example, the country of Baekje was the source of many of the early Buddhist texts and professionals, with Buddhist gifts becoming a part of the “tributary diplomacy” that is depicted in the Chronicles at this time.  Whereas earlier diplomatic gifts may have included bronze mirrors, many embossed with figures such as the Queen Mother of the West, in the 6th century Buddhist icons and imagery seem to hold a similar currency. I'd also note that giving Buddhist images and texts as gifts or tribute held an added layer of meaning, at least from a Buddhist interpretation.  After all, not only were you providing prestige goods, which then helped boost the status of one's diplomatic partners, but it also earned merit for the person gifting such things, as they were then able to make the claim that they were helping to spread the teachings of the Buddha.  This provided an appeal to such gifts on multiple levels, both within and without the growing Buddhist world. At the same time that Baekje and Yamato continued to advance their ties, Silla continued to grow.  Since absorbing the states of Kara, or Gaya, including the Yamato-allied state of Nimna, Silla had grown and was consolidating its power.  Silla itself had started out as a coalition of six city-state-like polities that came together in a union.  They were one of the main targets of early Yamato aggressions on the Korean peninsula, with numerous discussions of raids by “Wa” sailors, though little is typically seen of the reverse.  The Chronicles make the claim that early Silla was a subordinate tributary state of Yamato, which modern historians regard as little more than fiction—likely part of the propaganda campaign of the Yamato court attempting to place themselves in the superior position.  Still, it does seem reasonable that prior to the 6th century Silla had remained a relatively minor state, occasionally allying with—or against—the states of Baekje and Goguryeo, as well as the other independent polities that were once present but have largely been obscured by the uncertain mists of the past.  The fact that they survived as long as they did, and thus had so much written material, speaks to why they loom so much larger in the early histories, but such things are always hard to judge when all of your material basically comes from the quote-unquote “winners”, historically speaking.  Just think how, if Kibi or Tsukushi, or even Izumo had become the dominant polity in Japan, our Chronicles would focus much more on what happened there rather than just covering what was happening in the Nara basin and adjacent Kawachi plain all the time. And then there is the state of Goryeo, known to us today as Goguryeo, or Old Goreyo—in many ways the granddame of the Three Kingdoms of ancient Korea, with the greatest claim to the territory of ancient Gojoseon and Buyeo culture.  Back in Episode 86 we saw a few of their attempts at diplomatic relations with Yamato landing along the Japan Sea side of Honshu—possibly a side effect of the path they were taking, sailing down along the eastern coast of the Korean peninsula, rather than via the Bohai Sea in the west.  This may also have been indicative of the relatively friendly relations between Goguryeo and the expanding state of Silla. Silla also offered up a normalization of relations, though it was met with mixed results—and even those mixed results are, well, mixed in terms of just what was really happening versus what was being projected back by Chroniclers writing a century or two later.  Back in the previous reign, that of Ame Kunioshi, aka Kimmei Tennou, Silla envoys had also been received some time after their conquest of Nimna, and the Chronicles, at least, indicate that Yamato was less than enthusiastic to receive them, indicating that tensions remained high, and Ame Kunioshi took every opportunity to admonish Silla and to request that Nimna be reestablished as an independent entity, or so we are told. Similarly, in the 11th month of 574, Silla sent another embassy, but we have very little information on it—given the timing it may have been intended to express their condolences on the death of Ame Kunioshi and their congratulations to Nunakura for ascending to the throne.  About four months later, in 575, Baekje also sent an embassy, and we are told that this one sent more “tribute” than normal, possibly as a congratulations to Nunakura and an attempt to strengthen the Baekje-Yamato alliance.  There may have also been a request for more specific assistance, since Nunakura apparently took the time to remind the Imperial Princes, as well as the new Oho-omi, Soga no Umako, to remain diligent regarding the matter of Nimna. As Aston translates it, he specifically said “Be not remiss in the matter of Imna”.  Yamato was still apparently displeased with the fact that Nimna, which was once an ally, was now under Silla control. Following that, the Yamato court sent their own envoys to Baekje and then Silla—though specifically they sent the embassy to Silla controlled Nimna, according to the Chronicles.  A couple of months later, Silla sent an embassy back, including more tribute than normal, though the only hint of why, beyond the previous mention of Nimna, is that Silla was including tribute for four more townships, which seems kind of a weird flex, but may have been an indication of their growth, as well as a diplomatic notification that these four areas were part of what Silla now considered their territory. The full reasons Baekje and Silla sent more tribute than normal are unclear; it could have been part of a recognition of Nunakura's coronation and an attempt to butter up the new administration.  It is possible that both Baekje and Silla were vying for Yamato favoritism, as well.  Silla may also have been trying to basically pay off Yamato and get them to forget the whole thing with Nimna—something that, as we shall see, was not going to happen quickly. Yamato sent another mission to Baekje in 577, two years later.  This was the mission of Ohowake no Miko and Woguro no Kishi to Baekje, from which Ohowake brought back various accoutrements and set up a temple in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  We discussed this, as well as our ignorance over the actual person of Ohowake no Miko, in our last episode, episode 88.  It is interesting, however, if Ohowake no Miko was the actual individual who went to Baekje—mostly we see lower ranking men; those from Kishi level families, or similar.  Occasionally a “muraji” or “omi” level family sends someone, particularly at the head of a military force, but not so often do we see a prince of the blood making the dangerous journey across the seas.  I have to assume that this was an important mission, and that seems to have been borne out when you consider just what was brought back.  Despite all of that, the details are frustratingly vague—worse than trying to find and put together the oldest episodes of Dr. Who and the First Doctor. We do know that the whole trip took about six months, which gives a sense of what it meant to undertake one of these journeys.  Most of that would have been living at the distant court.  They didn't have phones, let alone email, so they couldn't really send word ahead with exact details—although there may have been informal communication networks via the many fishermen who regularly worked the straits.  More likely, an embassy would simply show up in a boat one day and start asking the locals to “take me to your leader”. Once you got there, they hopefully had room for you—they might even have a special location for you and your entourage to stay while they went through the formalities.  After all, someone had to get you on the schedule, and any diplomatic gifts… ahem, “tribute”… should be catalogued and written down before the meeting.  That way the host country could figure out just what they were going to reciprocate with.  There is also possible training in any local ceremony and customs as you couldn't assume that foreign dignitaries necessarily know what is expected.  And then there would be the translating, likely through a shared language, possibly Sinic characters if everyone is literate. Also, during that time, the mission would probably have been hosting guests or being invited out by some of the local elites.  They were both guests and curiosities.  And there might have been some personal trading and bartering going on off to the side—after all, you have to pay the bills somehow, and as long as nothing eclipsed the diplomatic mission, then I suspect there were some other “trade goods” that these ambassadors brought to help barter with locals and ensure they could bring back various goods and souvenirs. In some cases, and it is unclear if it was by choice or not, ambassadors might be invited to stay longer, even settle down with a local wife and family.  There are several examples of this that we see in the Chronicles, so it wasn't all that rare. So that was the mission from Yamato to Baekje.  The next mission from Silla came in 579, some four years later, and we are told they brought “tribute” that included a Buddhist image.  And then, only a year after that we have another mission, but it was dismissed before it could ever be received. And that is a bit odd.  Why would Yamato not receive the embassy?  We aren't given a reason, and it is pretty short, all things considered.  We do know the names of the envoys.  Indeed, the same two envoys:  Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama tried again two years later, but they were again dismissed, without accepting the tribute.  This is all quite odd, but it does go to show the fickle nature of foreign relations. One possibility may have to do with the way that “tribute diplomacy” appears to have worked.  We know that in the case of the Han, Wei, and even the Tang and later dynasties, states were encouraged to come as tributaries, bringing goods as part of their diplomatic embassy, and then the receiving state was expected to provide items of even greater value in return.  In the 16th century, various daimyo, or Japanese warlords, would use this to their advantage, representing themselves as legitimate emissaries in order to get the Ming dynasty court to give them even greater gifts in return.  As multiple embassies showed up, all claiming to be the Japanese representatives, the Ming court started a policy of only accepting the first one that came, as they had no way to tell who was the legitimate ruler during the chaos of the Warring States period. I bring that up because I notice that the first mission by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama took place only 8 months or so after the one in 579, which brought the Buddhist image.  Given the typical time between embassies, that seems very short, and it seems quite possible that the Yamato court didn't believe that the embassy was real, and that it was too soon after the previous one.  Or it could even have been even more mundane—it is possible the court didn't have the stores to pay out against the tribute, though that isn't the reason that they would have given for turning them away.  After all, it was not exactly a safe journey to cross the ocean and make your way to Japan.  Whether you hopped down the island chain or took a more direct route, using the island of Okinoshima as a guide post in the middle of the strait, it was not particularly easy and many embassies never made it across or back. I suspect, however, that there was something else going on, and that is in part because it seems to be the same two individuals coming back two years later, and they were once again turned away.  It is possible that Nunakura and the Yamato court had a specific beef with these two individuals, but in that case they probably would have sent word to Silla to tell them to send someone else.  This probably is indicative of the growing tensions between Yamato and Silla.  From a narrative sense, it would make sense for Yamato to accept envoys just after a new sovereign came to power.  It would help legitimize the sovereign, and it also offers a chance to reset and reestablish the relationship.  The second envoy, bringing a Buddhist image, would certainly be something that the Chroniclers would find historically interesting and would bolster their own thoughts about the rising importance of Buddhism in the period.  However, as we see in an episode from 583, Nunakura was still concerned about trying to re-establish Nimna.  I suspect that this may have been a condition the Yamato court placed on Silla and the envoys, and it is possible that they weren't willing to discuss anything without at least discussing that. Or perhaps that is at least the impression the Chroniclers wish to give.  They are still referring to it as “Mimana” or “Mimana no Nihonfu”, making claims that it was the Yamato government's outpost on the peninsula, and therefore something of a personal blow to the Yamato court for it to have been overrun.  Trying to re-establish Nimna would become something of a rallying cry; think of it like “Remember the Alamo” or “Remember the Maine”; regardless of the truth behind either incident, they were both used as justifications for war at the time.  The case of Mimana was used to justify Yamato actions on the peninsula, and it would continue to be brought back up until modern times, including helping to justify Japan's invasion of Korea in the early 20th century. Here I'll interject with the possibility that there could also have been some internal issues that the court was dealing with.  Specifically, in between these two missions by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama, there was a bit of a disruption on the northeastern frontier, as the people known to the court as the Emishi rose up in rebellion. We aren't given the details, but we are told that several thousand Emishi “showed hostility”.  The Chronicle then claims that the sovereign simply summoned the leaders, including a chief named Ayakasu, who may have been a chief of chiefs, and then reamed them out, suggesting that he would put the leaders—i.e. Ayakasu and the other chieftains—to death.  Of course, the rebellious chieftains immediately had a change of heart and pledged an oath to support Yamato. Much more likely, I suspect, there was rising tension and hostility in the frontier regions, and Yamato likely had to raise a force to go face them.  Assuming that was the case, it would have taken time to travel out there, subdue any uprising, and then drag the leaders back to the court to make of them an example to others.  If that was the case, then it may have been that Yamato simply did not feel they had the time to deal with Ato Nama and his crew. For a bit clearer reference, from the 8th through 11th years of the reign, there are simply relatively short entries.  So in 579 there is the mission of ChilCheulchong Nama, who brought the Buddhist image.  Then, in 580, we have Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama attempt to offer tribute.  Then, in 581, there is a rebellion of the Emishi, followed, in 582, by another attempt by Ato Nama and Chilsyo Nama to offer tribute.  That's about all that we have to go on. In any case, though, we have a very clear indication in 583, only 9 months after again refusing the tribute from Ato Nama and crew, that Nimna was once again on the Court's mind.  Nunakura apparently went on a rant about how Silla had destroyed Nimna back in the days of his father, Ame Kunioshi.  Nunakura claimed he wanted to continue his father's work, but it was unclear just where to get started.  And so they decided to consult an expert. His name appears to have been something like Nichira—possibly something like Nila, depending on the pronunciation of the Sinic characters, or Illa in modern Korean, which is Aston's preferred reading.  It is said that he is the son of “Arishito” or “Arisateung”, the “Kuni no Miyatsuko”, or local ruler, of Ashikita, in the land of Hi, in Kyushu, and that he lived in Baekje, holding the rank of “Talsol”, the second official rank in the Baekje court.  Ashikita was mentioned as far back as Episode 33, during the reign of Oho Tarashi Hiko, aka Keikou Tennou, as he was trying to subdue the Kumaso, and was likely a later addition to Yamato's sphere of influence. Nichira only makes a brief appearance here in the Nihon Shoki, but he is something of an enigma.  He is presented as a citizen of Yamato, but his name appears to be from the Korean peninsula and even his father's name hearkens back to another Arishito, who may have been the king of Kara or one of the associated polities.  And yet here, this Arishito is the local ruler in Ashikita, in the land of Hi—later divided into Hizen and Higo.  Given that he is referenced as “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko” this has been suggested as indicating that he was a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, the family that descended from the Lords of Hi.  And this may connect to something later in the story. There do appear to be some later documents that reference Nichira.  Some claim that he was a Buddhist priest, and he's even connected with the famous Shotoku Taishi in some stories, where he is depicted as a wise priest who recognizes Shotoku Taishi's own Buddha nature.  Of course, at this point, the prince would only have been about 10 years old, assuming the dates around his birth are at all accurate—a subject we'll save for a later podcast, as there is just so much around Shotoku Taishi to cover. As for the current story, however:  Nichira was over in Baekje, at the court of the Baekje king, and so it wasn't just a small matter of asking him to come to court.  Ki no Kuni no Miyatsuko no Oshikatsu and Kibi no Amabe no Atahe no Hashima were sent on the dangerous mission of crossing the straits and bringing him back from Baekje.  Their mission was for naught, however.  Three months later they returned, empty-handed, with the unfortunate news that the king of Baekje had refused to let Nichira leave.  Apparently his presence in Baekje was highly prized, and the Baekje king wasn't willing to part with him so easily. Yamato wasn't deterred, however, and Nunakura sent Hashima back to Baekje.  This time, Hashima went straight to Nichira's house before any audiences at court.  When he arrived, he heard a woman calling out in the local language a phrase which Aston found salty enough to throw into Latin:  “Let your root enter my root!”  Despite the implied sexual innuendo of such a statement, Hashima quickly understood what she meant and he followed her inside.  She led him to Nichira, and there Hashima was asked to take a seat. Nichira acknowledged that the Baekje king was not likely to let him go if he had a choice.  The King was likely afraid that if Nichira went to Yamato then he'd never be allowed to return back to Baekje.  Therefore, Hashima had to summon all of the authority vested in him by the sovereign of Yamato to demand Nichira's release in no uncertain terms. Sure enough, Hashima took the bold approach and demanded Nichira's release, and the King of Baekje finally relented and allowed him to return.  He wouldn't go alone, however.  Nichira was accompanied by other high officials from Baekje, including several men of the 3rd and 4th ranks, and a number of sailors to transport them. They first arrived in the land of Kibi, Hashima's own home base, and then headed on to Naniwa, where Nichira was greated by Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji, likely a descendent of Ohotomo no Kanamura, the former top dog in the Yamato court.  He offered Nichira condolences for the long trip he'd had to endure, and set him up in an official residence there in the port city. Later there were daibu—high officials—who were sent to the residence to attend on Nichira. After he'd had time to freshen up, Nichira headed off to the court.  When he drew near, he donned a suit of armor and mounted a horse, and in such a fashion he rode right up to the Audience Hall of the sovereign.  There he bowed before kneeling down.  He then recounted how his forefathers had been sent to the Korean Peninsula up in the first place back in the reign of Senka Tennou, aka Takewo Hiro Kunioshi Tate, in the early part of the 6th century.  After explaining who he was and where he came from, he took off the armor and offered it as a gift to the sovereign himself. Off to such a great start, the sovereign had a residence constructed for Nichira in the area of Kuwanoichi, in Ato—likely meaning an area of modern Ohosaka, near Naniwa.  Later, with all of the ritual pleasantries out of the way, a war council was sent to ask Nichira just how they could move forward on the question of Nimna.  This war council included Abe no Me no Omi, Mononobe no Niheko no Muraji, and Ohotomo no Nukadeko no Muraji. Nichira provided them a plan to go to war, but it wasn't simple nor was it quick.  First he suggested that they spend the first three years building up the prosperity of Yamato, and getting all of the people behind the government.  Next, he suggested building up a massive number of ships, such at that any visitors would be impressed to see them all in the harbor, and thus word would get out and it would project Yamato's military power. Finally, once that was done, Nichira suggested inviting the King of Baekje—or at least a royal representative in the form of a high prince or similar—be invited to Yamato, where they would see all of the power and good governance.  They could then be taken to task for why Nimna had not yet been reestablished. After the war council, Nichira sent a letter to the sovereign, Nunakura.  In it he let Nunakura know that Baekje was going to send a request to relocate 300 ships worth of people to Tsukushi to settle there.  Here things turned rather dark as Nichira suggested that they would see the ships filled with men, women, and children hoping to establish a Baekje colony in the archipelago.  Nichira suggested setting up an ambush around Iki and Tsushima and that they should slaughter everyone.  Then Yamato should build up fortifications of their own—probably as coastal defenses in case Baekje decided to retaliate. And here I'm going to interject that this seems just really odd and strange.  First, Nichira and Nunakura were talking about trying to reestablish Nimna with their ally, Baekje, and suddenly Nichira is suggesting that Baekje might try to establish a colony in their territory, and therefore it should be wiped out.  That all feels very extreme, and this whole passage has puzzled commenters, especially when you consider the reputation Nichira later has as some kind of holy priest or monk. Apparently this was the kind of advice, though, that may have been why Baekje did not want Nichira to come back in the first place.  In fact, as the Baekje envoys themselves began to head out to return to Baekje, they left a couple of people in Yamato with a sinister plot of their own: as soon as the ships had sailed off and made considerable distance on the way back home, those left behind were to assassinate Nichira.  In return, they were told that they would be given a higher rank and that their families would be looked after, in the very real possibility that they found out and killed themselves.  A not insubstantial promise at the time. With the official residence in Naniwa vacated after the departure of the rest of the Baekje delegation, Nichira decided to move back in, rather than staying in the home made for him in Kuwanoichi.  The would-be assassins tried to approach him, and hatched plot after plot.  However, they were stopped because apparently Nichira had some ancient superpowers.  Indeed, his body apparently glowed brightly, like a flame of fire, and so the assassins could not get anywhere near him.  They had to wait until the end of the 12th month, when Nichira's own radiance faded, and they were then able to slay him. This whole thing about radiance is intriguing, and may have several origins such that even if it isn't factually accurate, it may have something more to say about just who Nichira was or might have been. First off, there is the obvious.  “Nichi”, in “Nichira”, means the “sun”, and so it could have been a direct allusion to Nichira's name.  This strikes me as also intriguing because the 12th month indicates the end of the year, usually  meaning that it is darker.  While the Winter Solstice would not have necessarily been in the old twelfth lunar month, those would have been the days when the suns light was least seen.  Add to this that it was at the end of the month, and based on a lunar calendar, the end and beginning of the month would have been the times of the new moon, when it was not visible in the sky.  And so we come to what most likely was the darkest night of the entire year. There is also the fact that he is from Hi no Kuni—he is even considered a member of the ruling family of the land of Hi.  The character of “Hi” in this instance is fire.  Michaeol Como notes that the Hi no Kimi appear to have been associated with fire cults, as well as with rites of resurrection.  “Hi no Kimi” could also be translated as “fire lord”.  There may be some connection there with the story. Finally, we can't ignore the Buddhist context.  Holy individuals are often said to radiate light from their bodies.  For example, we have the story about Nichira meeting the young child that would be known as Shotoku Taishi, found in the Konjaku Monogatari, or “Tales of Now and Then”, a 12th century collection of various stories, many focused on Buddhist stories.  In that story, Nichira radiates a light and the Shotoku radiates a light of his own in response.  In fact, Buddhist images often depict holy figures with halos, or even wreathes of flames around them, likely a depiction or literal interpretation of what we find in the Buddhist texts, which may have originally been meant more metaphorically. Oh, and notice how I talked about resurrection?  Maybe you thought we'd just let that one slide.  Well, apparently there was a brief zombie moment, as Nichira suddenly came back to life after he had been killed just to implicate the men from Baekje who had stayed back, and then he died again.  Supposedly this is because there was a Silla envoy in port, and he didn't want them to take the blame. That resurrection piece, well, it isn't the first time we've seen that, and it isn't entirely uncommon to hear about something along those lines.  In the Harima Fudoki there is another story of resurrection, and it involves a member of the “Hi no Kimi”, or lords of Hi.  In that story, a member of the Hi no Kimi came to a center of Silla immigrants and married a young woman whom he had brought back from the dead.  Another connection between the country of Hi and some of what we see attributed to Nichira. At the same time, Saints in ancient England would occasionally rise from their deathbeds for one last piece of wisdom or to admonish someone before laying back down into that sleep of death.  At the same time, it is possible that diagnosing death, versus, say, a coma or other unconscious state with very shallow breathing, wasn't always a clear thing. In the west, as recently as at least Victorian times people were so afraid of being buried alive that there were tombstones created with bells that went to a pull down in the coffin, just in case.  There have also been practices of pricking a corpse with a needle or similar to try to get a response.  So I could believe that every once in a while a person who was declared deceased wasn't quite ready to start pushing up daisies, and it is possible that this is more of a deathbed accusation than any kind of resurrection. Still, the story clearly depicts it as a brief, but true resurrection.  From his words, the court arrested the envoys who had remained behind and threw them into some kind of confinement while they figured out what to do with them.  Nichira's wife and children were moved to Kudaramura, or “Baekje Village”, in the area of Ishikawa, while the sailors who had been part of Nichira's household were settled in nearby Ohotomo no mura.  It is unclear if they were given leave to return to Baekje if they wanted, or if that was even on the table. As for the murderers themselves, they weren't punished by the Court.  Rather the court handed them over to Nichira's family, the Ashikita, for them to deliver justice.  I believe this is the first time we've really seen this kind of justice in the Chronicles, with the familial groups taking such a direct role. Now why is this story important, and what does it tell us? Well, nominally, this says something about the continuing struggle by Yamato to reestablish Nimna, but I'm not sure how much of that is accurate.  Though the story starts out about consulting Nichira about Nimna, there is nothing more to say on that topic, and it quickly becomes something that is almost more about the seemingly fragile Baekje-Yamato alliance. There is also an interesting side note that through all of this there were apparently Silla emissaries there in Yamato, even though the Chronicle claims that the last two were sent away, so what's up with that?  It could be that the story is anachronistic—that is, it isn't recorded in the right year.  Or there was a mission that just didn't rise to the level of being noticed by the Chroniclers.  One other thought is that the formal diplomatic ties were only some of the traffic flowing back and forth.  This seems the most likely, to me.  By this point there was no doubt a desire for trade goods on both sides of the strait, and no matter where people came from, the merchant ships were likely plying the waters back and forth.  So it is quite possible that the men of Silla who were in port were part of a trade mission, not necessarily diplomats. Michael Como suggests some other reasons why this whole thing was considered important.  He notes that there are several things here that connect this to the Abe family.  It is unclear where this family comes from, but they have been mentioned here or there throughout the Chronicles, and by this point are at least are fairly high up in the court.  Their name is a bit of an enigma for me, and I'll have to do more research.  I just want to note that they use a different “Be” than the Mononobe or similarly created corporate families.  It is unclear to me why this would be the case, unless this is just where the two seem similar. It should be noted that we should be careful not to assume too much about this early Abe family from one of its most famous Heian era descendants, Abe no Seimei, known as a famous Onmyoji, or master of Yin-Yang divination.  I'm not entirely sure that the Abe were any more or less court ritualists than any other family, especially this early.  Rather, it is their influence over certain geographic regions that is more immediately of interest. We noted that as the son of a “Hi no Ashikita no Kuni no Miyatsuko”, Nichira was likely a member of the Hi no Kimi clan.  They were originally based in southern Kyushu, and Como notes that they may have been under the sway of the Abe clan, at least by the 7th century, along with other notable families of Tsukushi, which is to say, modern Kyushu.  There are a lot of connections between Ashikita, Hi, and Silla that are telling.  In the Harima story, it is a Silla wife that the Hi no Kimi marries.  When Nichira resurrects, it is specifically to ensure that the Silla envoys who were present would not take the blame.  Then there is his father's name—or more likely title—of Arishito.  A term seen used for the King of Nimna at one point, but also for the ancient Tsunoga, who is said to have been an ancient prince from the continent.  Como suggests that Hi no Kuni—and thus their lords, the Hi no Kimi, may have played a part in the rebellion of Iwai, when Iwai attempted to ally Kyushu with Silla to break off contact between Yamato and Baekje.  It is even possible that this was one of the reasons that Nichira was basically being held hostage in Baekje—perhaps he and his family had been exiled after the rebellion, or else left before any harm could come to them. It would make some sense as to why the court sought him out in the first place.  If he and his family were familiar with Silla, perhaps the court thought he would have particular insights.  It might also suggest some of his motives regarding Baekje as well.  Still, the picture is far from clear. Although the Chronicle says that Nichira was taken back to Ashikita and buried, other sources suggest that he was entombed  in Naniwa at Himejima, near Himegoso shrine.  This, in turn, was the home of a sub-lineage of the Abe family, known as the Himegoso Abe.  Como suggests that by the 7th century, the Abe were appropriating various Hi no Kimi cultic centers, to the point that by the time the Chronicles were written, the Abe no Omi and the Hi no Kimi were claiming common ancestry and jointly participating in various rites. Como then links the timing of the death of Nichira to certain court rituals of fire pacification and purification.  And so there may have been much more at play here than simply the story of Nimna and the attempts to reestablish that country. As for the envoys who sailed off and left their lackeys to do their bidding?  Apparently they were struck with a bout of karma on the way back, and their boat foundered and sank.  This was likely seen as proof that their deeds had been committed with evil intent, at least by later readers, interpreting everything through a Buddhist lens that likely saw Nichira as more saintly than it seems he truly was. After all of that, though, there is no evidence that the court really pulled it off.  Instead, in 584, the year after everything had gone down with Nichira, the court sent Naniwa no Kishi no Kitahiko off to Nimna, now controlled by Silla, presumably to negotiate for some kind of reinstatement. That doesn't appear to have happened, however, and the year after that, in 585, there was one more attempt, this time by Sakata no Mimiko no Miko.  Sakata had previously been sent on a mission to request Silla reestablish Nimna in 571, only months before the sovereign, Ame Kunioshi, died.  Now, as he was about to set out, the sovereign and the powerful Mononobe no Moriya came down with a pestilence, and were ridden with sores, such that they called off preparations for the mission.  And sure enough, later that year, Ame Kunioshi's successor, Nunakura Futadamashiki, likewise passed away. I guess the rule here is don't send Sakada no Mimiko to try to demand anything about Silla. Of course, I have to also wonder if there wasn't something else going on.  It's suspicious that the Chroniclers recorded two missions to Silla, both led by the same guy, both about reestablishing Nimna, and both happening just before the Sovereign passed away.  Maybe history really repeated itself like this, or maybe the Chroniclers just knew that such a mission was sent in the last year of one of these reigns, and then put it in bothAnd we don't hear anything more about Mimiko after that, either. We also don't hear anything else about the unfortunate envoy, Sakada no Mimiko, either.  The other interesting thing to note is that, like Ohowake no Miko, Mimiko is a certified royal prince, though I don't see any immediate name to connect him with, at least in the immediate lineage.  It has been suggested that this is one of the sons of Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, though even that feels tenuous to me. Either way, both he and Nunakura, as we noted last episode, passed away from the disease sweeping the land. And that concludes the reign of Nunakura.  Next, we'll get into what happened after his death as we start to see the Soga influence become pre-eminent.  There is more to say about the growth of Buddhism and about the clash between the Soga and the Mononobe, one of the formative conflicts from this early period.  And of course, we've already caught glimpses of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who had quite the impact on the court—assuming he even existed.  But that's a discussion for another episode. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we set the stage for one of the most momentous conflicts of the 6th century.  A lot of change is coming to the islands, and the outcome of the power struggles would determine just what shape that change would take. For more see our podcast webpage:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-90   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 90: Setting the Stage So when last we left off, the sovereign Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, had passed away, and there had been some early flirting with Buddhism, which largely ended up pitting members of the relatively new Soga family against the powerful forces of the ancient Mononobe, as well as their allies, the Nakatomi.  It even got so bad that the heads of the two houses, Soga no Umako and Mononobe no Moriya, were openly mocking each other at the sovereign's funeral.  And unfortunately, things weren't getting better any time soon. In fact, I should probably warn you that around this point in the narrative we are really going to get all Game of Thrones on the archipelago.  Family against family, sibling against sibling, with deadly political intrigue.  And as we get into it, we should talk about a few things up front to help put everything in context. So let's come back up to speed on the situation, shall we?  In the late 6th century, the royal court was in its third dynasty.  The sovereign, Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou,  died from a plague that settled on the land.  Across the straits, the once small kingdom of Silla was on the rise, having gobbled up the small polities around it, including Yamato's apparent ally, Nimna.  Now the southern peninsula was largely divided between two kingdoms, Silla and Baekje.  Both were in contact with the Yamato court.  And then there is the far distant northern power of Goguryeo, pressing southward themselves. Yamato's involvement on the peninsula meant there was quite a bit of cross-strait intercourse—in more ways than one.  There were Wa on the peninsula, but there were also groups of Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo men and women who settled in the archipelago.  They brought with them various innovations and ways of thinking.  One of these things was the concept of corporate “Be” families.  Now, don't get me wrong, there clearly were families in the archipelago and had been for some time, but at some point we see the literal creation of the official families, the Uji: Groups of people who shared a similar job, gathered together under a family head, who in turn was given a place in the Yamato court.  The family then regulated the business of its members to the benefit of the court.  These created families, usually marked with the suffix of “Be”, became an outgrowth of the court's power, and they were in turn ranked with a collectivist title, or “kabane”.  The highest ranking uji were given the titles of “Muraji” and “Omi”, and the heads of those households were known as the “Ohomuraji” and the “Ohoomi”. One of the oldest of these families, on one side of this growing interal conflict, was known as the Mononobe.  They claimed a likely fictional descent from Nigi Hayahi, a “Heavenly grandchild”, similar to the ancestor of the royal family, Ninigi no Mikoto - an illustrious backstory that no doubt helped justify their position.  As for the rest, well, “Mononobe” literally translates to “the be of things” … and in this case, those things were weapons, reflecting a historical role of this important family as the enforcers and the heavyweights of the Yamato court.   Of course, they weren't the only ones with access to troops and weapons, as we've seen various families raising troops to go fight on the continent, and one can only assume that most powerful individuals at least had those they could call upon in case things got physical.  For all that administrative power was rooted in spiritual authority, physical power was also important, and we see this in the way that armor and swords were important elite grave goods, and not just for a single family. But few groups were so clearly tied to the exercise of martial power as were the Mononobe.  And they wielded that power on the behalf of the sovereign and the State.  Whether it was punishing rebels, or just executing the cruel whims of a violent and entitled ruler, the Mononobe were the ones, more often than not, knocking down your door in the middle of the night and dragging off those deemed enemies of the state. This position was such that you can see evidence of it in the earliest parts of the Chronicles.  For example, the Mononobe are connected to their ancestral shrine of Isonokami, one of the oldest shrines mentioned.  It was said to be the home of the sword that Susanoo no Mikoto, the wild brother of Amaterasu, used to slay the giant, 8-headed serpent, Yamata no Orochi, generally seen as a metaphor for Yamato conquering parts of Izumo.  Then there were the piles of swords made and stored at the shrine, which make it sound less like a place of spiritual worship and more like an armory—though let's face it, for some people those are basically one and the same. Add to that all of the times that the Mononobe were called upon to unalive some opponent to the throne, and we get a pretty clear picture of how they had for so long held a place at the very top of the court structure. On the other side is the Soga family, currently personified with Soga no Umako at their head.  While the Soga certainly traced their lineage back a respectable distance, including to Takechi no Sukune and others, at this point they are clearly relatively new, with their earliest mention coming in the reign of Wakatakiru, aka Yuryaku Tenno, in the late 5th century, about 100 years before,  and they had no clear spiritual center of note, at least in the Chronicles.  One source of their power and authority came through their connections with the continent, primarily with Baekje, and related families.  The other part was through their marriages, especially the daughters of Soga no Iname.  Up to this point, the descendants of Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennō, had been ensuring that their queens were members of the previous dynasty.  This gave them and their offspring connections back to those other lineages helping bolster their claims to an unbroken lineage and their right to rule over Yamato.  While the sovereigns might marry daughters of other houses, those wouldn't typically be named as queens, although they might be expected to raise royal princes and maybe future queens.  Often these were political marriages that enhanced the court's connections to various regions.  A few particularly influential family names also appear, such as Katsuraki, Okinaga, and the Wani no Omi.  Still, the success of those families pales next to what Soga no Iname enjoyed in a single reign.  Soga no Iname had achieved what few others had.  He was the head of his family, one of the few of the Omi, or ministerial, kabane; and he had the personal title of Sukune, one of the highest honorifics attainable by an individual.  Both of those spoke to his power at court.  And when he passed away, he was succeeded in his post by his son, Soga no Umako, who was also made Ohoomi and who also held the honorific of Sukune.  Moreover, and perhaps more importantly, Soga no Iname married two of his daughters (Umako's sisters), Kitashi Hime and Wonane Gimi, to Ame Kunioshi, that is, Kimmei Tennou.  Both of them had a number of sons who were also royal princes.  And one of Kitashi Hime's daughters, Kashikiya Hime, then went on to marry Ame Kunioshi's son and successor (and her own half-brother), Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou – and when Nunakura's own wife passed on, he elevated Kashikiya Hime to the rank of queen. Long story short, the immediate children and grandchildren of Soga no Iname were in a great position.  Soga no Umako was a powerful person at court, and brother and uncle not just to a number of the royal princes of Ame Kuniyoshi's line, but to Nunakura's queen as well, which gave him some powerful sway.  We are also told that he had taken as his wife the younger sister of Mononobe no Moriya, likely as an attempt to bring the two families closer together.  Spoiler alert:  it didn't. All of those royal princes of Soga descent would not have been eligible for the throne under normal circumstances.  But here's where things get a little dicey.  Nunakura had been the son of Ame Kunioshi and Ishi Hime, who was, herself, the daugther of former sovereign Takewo Hiro Kunioshi.  Of course Takewo's mother had come from the Owari no Muraji, a sister clan to the Mononobe, but the Nihon Shoki glosses over that by claiming Takewo was just holding the throne until his more legitimate brother was ready.  Still, long story short, Nunakura was the direct descendant of at least two previous sovereigns, so one would imagine that he would be succeeded by his son, Hikobito no Ohine, son of Nunakura and his previous Queen, Hiro Hime.  And yet, Hikobito was probably relatively young, and besides Nunakura there were numerous other sons of Ame Kunioshi – conveniently, for the Soga, through his Soga descended wives.  One was Kashikiya Hime's brother, Tachibana no Toyohi, and there were also her half-brothers from her aunt, Wonane Gimi, including Princes Hasetsukabe Anahobe no Miko and Hatsusebe—or just Hasebe—no Miko.  Remember that there is no such thing at this point as primogeniture—it doesn't matter if you are the oldest son of the previous sovereign, and the throne commonly passed to brothers before it went to sons and nephews. Finally, there is Kashikiya Hime herself, niece of Soga no Umako and newly elevated queen of Nunakura.  While some women may have been content to simply raise the future generation of sovereigns, there is plenty to indicate that Kashikiya Hime was a highly political animal in her own right.  On top of that, although her grandfather had passed away, her uncle, Soga no Umako, had taken his place at one of the top spots in court.  She was around 34 years old when she became queen, and 42 when Nunakura passed away.  She knew the ins and outs of the court, and she seems to have favored her uncle and her Soga family. And so, when Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, died of plague, the stage was set for a political challenge – to determine just who will be the next sovereign, and more than that, which family – and even which branch of which family – will take the reins in directing matters on the archipelago going forward. Now, before we get much further, I have to warn you, the sources we have are clearly biased when it comes to the events they were recording.  I mention this because many of the stories in this highly dynamic period and I don't want to keep caveating everything all the time. So let me get a lot of it out of the way now, before we get into the really juicy bits.  This also goes for some of the stuff in the last few episodes as well.  While the Chronicles were built from records that survived into the 8th century it is clear that not every family is equally represented, and it is also clear that the Chroniclers, who knew the outcome, were massaging the narrative in certain ways.  And so we get a narrative of how the Mononobe were enemies of Buddhism, attempting to stop it from spreading and trying to protect the indigenous worship of the kami.  They were assisted in this by the Nakatomi, a family of court ritualists, who no doubt were also out to stop Buddhism's progress.  As for the sovereigns, Ame Kunioshi, and Nunakura, while they weren't necessarily Buddhist, they are portrayed as essentially neutral, going back and forth between the advice of their ministers as they fought, internally. Most of this comes from the Nihon Shoki.  The Sendai Kuji Hongi gives a much more abbreviated version of the actual history, and the Kojiki is pretty much focused just on the lineages at this point.  By that point, a lot had happened, and neither the Soga nor the Mononobe were necessarily running things anymore. Michael Como, in his book, “Shotoku”, suggests that, in all probability, Ame Kunioshi and Nunakura were likewise hostile to this new religion, and I think I can see that.  After all, they had to realize it was a threat to their own authority as the dedicated interpreters of the will of their ancestral kami.  It may be that the positions put forth by the Mononobe and the Nakatomi were, indeed, their actual thoughts on the matter, but it isn't as if the Mononobe just went ahead and destroyed the Soga temples—twice!—on their own.  They first made sure to get an order from the sovereign, an order that may not have taken much arm twisting to issue. Como and others also point out that there is a problem with another often overlooked aspect of the struggles as they are portrayed.  The typical narrative pits the “foreign” religion of Buddhism against the “indigenous” religion of the way of the kami—what would eventually be known as Shinto, but at this point really didn't have any particular name.  The usual way of telling this story is that native religionists were simply pushing back against a foreign incursion, and even though Buddhism would thrive in the Japanese archipelago, and even come to be another tool of the state, there was a certain conflict that always remained, due in large part to the ceremonial role that the sovereign was supposed to inhabit. The problem is that there is nothing that clearly indicates that the so-called indigenous religions were appreciably less foreign to the islands.  Even the earliest stories that were recorded in the Nihon Shoki, which depicts Japan as a special place, formed by the kami themselves, there are clear connections to the continent.  In some cases, like with Ame no Hiboko and Himegoso, we have deities coming over directly from the continent as princes and princesses of foreign lands.  In others, like with some of the stories of Susano'o, we see the kami coming down from Heaven and first setting foot in the world on the Korean peninsula.  Combined with a plethora of other clues, at the very least we can assume that the ways of the kami, including stories and rituals, were heavily influenced by continental thoughts and ideas, some of which may have arrived more than a century earlier.  On the other hand, the use of horizontal tomb chambers is a pretty clear archaeological change that we can see happening.  We first saw this tomb design back in the 5th century in Kyūshū, and in the 6th century it had spread across the archipelago, becoming the dominant form.  But how does that connect to continental influence on indigenous spiritual and religious practice? I think we can generally agree that tombs, beyond the practical idea of not allowing corpses to just sit around above ground, rotting and breeding disease, were largely concerned with what we consider religious concepts about the afterlife.  Sure, there is the political capital achieved by reminding everyone just who's in charge, but it is designed around the needs of the rituals surrounding the treatment of the deceased.  Hence the grave goods, as well as the clay, stone, or even wood pillars and statues erected around them.  So when the burials go from relatively simple pits, dug in the top of these massive burial mounds to more complex chambers of giant stone blocks, which show evidence of people using multiple times, then we can gather that something changed in the rituals surrounding death and the afterlife.  Those changes are reflected in the stories about the kami, including stories about Izanagi and Izanami, about Susano'o, and even about Amaterasu in the Heavenly Rock Cave, which all have imagery associated with this new kind of burial practice.  That suggests that these stories either originated in a time when the horizontal burial chambers were prevalent, or at least they were changed and updated as ritual life also changed. And most of these changes can be traced back to the continent.  We can see evidence, there, of horizontal stone chambers, and then trace that influence as it makes its way to Kyūshū and then the rest of the archipelago. This isn't to say that there weren't elements that were conceived of on the archipelago itself.  Certainly local traditions evolved to meet the needs of the people, but not without outside influence.  Even today, modern Shintō includes concepts from Daoism, geomancy, and general Yin-Yang theory, among other things, while retaining its own character. The point is that the argument that the resistance to Buddhism was purely because of is foreign nature seems laughably false, and yet that has been the view reinforced within the cultural imaginary of the Japanese for centuries, and it would go on to define the separate roles of Shintō and Buddhism in relation to the State for most of that time. As we look at what takes place, however, just keep in mind that this was much more about sheer, naked, political power, regardless of how later generations tried to make it look.  Also, it is unlikely that were any clear villains or heroes, either.  Real people are complex, and motivations are rarely straight forward. And with that, let's get back to the funeral of Nunakura.  The throne was empty, except for the presence of the Queen, Kashikiya Hime, who continued to reside in the palace presumably receiving guests and whatever the Yamato version of funeral potatoes was—probably some kind of dried fish. The succession at this point wasn't exactly clear.  Nunakura had a son, Hikobito, who was no doubt the heir presumptive, but there is nothing explicitly stating as much.  Ame Kunioshi had been quite prolific, and many of Nunakura's brothers or half brothers were still running around.  In addition, though unstated in the Chronicles, Hikobito was not the son of Kashikiya Hime, and so it remains unclear just how motivated she was to help him ascend the throne. The first to act to resolve this uncertainty was a Prince that was neither a direct sibling of Nunakura nor of Kashikiya Hime.  It was Hatsusekabe Anahobe no Miko.  Like Kashikiya Hime, he was a grandchild of the illustrious Soga no Iname, except that he descended through Iname's younger daughter, Wonane Gimi. Anahobe seemed to have clear designs on the throne.  He marched straight up to the Palace of interment, and demanded entry to see his half sister.  This was the location, it would seem, where Nunakura's body was lying in state, prior to burial.  However, given some of the accompanying statements, I suspect they may have been using Nunakura's own Palace for this purpose, and his queen, Kashikiya Hime, was likewise residing there, possibly out of loyalty and expectations, but also because where else was she to go on short notice? The steward in charge of the Palace at that time was a man by the name of Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe, also just known as Sakahe no Kimi.  He was suspicious of Anahobe, and his intentions.  After all, it wouldn't take much for Anahobe to force his way in, force himself on Nunakura's queen, claim they were married and therefore he deserved to rule.  It wouldn't be the first time that a sovereign had married the queen, out at least a consort or daughter, of the former ruler to strengthen their own claim.  Kashikiya was double prized as she was born the daughter of Ame Kunioshi and the Queen of Nunakura. Sakahe no Kimi want about to let that happen, however.  We are told that he had faithfully served the royal family up to that point, and it didn't look like he was about to just lay down now, not even for a prince of the blood. This pissed off Anahobe to no end.  He left, incensed, and started talking smack about Sakahe no Kimi to anyone who would listen.  In particular, he complained to the two Great Ministers, which I can only assume to mean Soga no Umako and Mononobe no Moriya, the Ohomi and Ohomuraji of the court.  He mentioned how, at the eulogy, Sakahe had said that the court of Nunakura would not be left desolate, and that he, Sakahe, would keep it pure as the surface of a mirror.  Who was he to make such a bold claim to be the defender of Nunakura's virtue, especially when there were so many total princes and the court Ministers themselves?  And on top of that, he had the temerity to deny Anahobe access to the Palace of interment seven times.  For such insolence, he demanded the authority to put Sakahe no Kimi to death.  They both agreed, and next thing you know, prince Anahobe grabbed a bunch of troops, along with Mononobe no Moriya, the King's Hand of the ancient Yamato Court, and put together a posse to go bring justice, in the form of a quick sword to the back of the neck, to Sakahe no Kimi. This was not exactly a quiet affair, however, and when the assembled forces of the aggrieved princes rolled up on the home of Sakahe no Kimi, in Ikenobe, in Iware, he had already split, hightailing it up Mt. Miwa.  He then climbed down in the night and made straightaway for Kashikiya Hime's country house in Tsubaki-ichi.  There he went to hide out and lay low, as Kashikiya Hime still had his back. However, it wasn't only the royal family that had some people with divided loyalties, and two of Sakahe's own relatives, Shiratsutsumi and Yokoyama, decided to turn him in, apparently trying to cozy up with Anahobe, whose star appeared to be on the rise. Knowing where Sakahe was hiding out, Anahobe and his brother, Hasebe, ordered Mononobe no Moriya to head out and treat Sakahe as though he were being played by none other than Sean Bean himself.  Not only that, they were to kill his sons as well, ending his direct line.  Moriya accepted this duty without hesitation, once again gathering a large force and setting out. I would point out at this point that Sakahe was clearly a close confidant of the previous sovereign, Nunakura, and he was seeking refuge at Queen Kashikiya Hime's summer cottage—we aren't told if she was there, or still at the palace of interment, but either way, Moriya's forces were moving against her property. As Soga no Umako heard about this, he quickly came to the conclusion that going after Sakahe, and invading the Queen's residence to do so, was one of those Really Bad Ideas.  Sure, he may have initially agreed to Sakahe being punished, because there was an order to things, and no doubt Sakahe's actions threatened that order—though it is also possible that the two “Chief Ministers” mentioned in the text were others, as nobody is specifically named, so it is possible he was just learning about this for the first time, but doubtful.  Still, he was now against it.  Perhaps it was the clear involvement of Kashikiya Hime, or maybe it was the thought of killing the innocent kids.  Or possibly Umako had come to realize the truth—that this was simply an excuse for Anahobe to take the throne for himself. Whatever the reason, Umako went to his nephew Anahobe and pleaded with him not to go out with Moriya.  He suggested that, at the very least, it would be unseemly for him to go himself.  Anahobe was determined, however, and so he headed out to meet Mononobe no Moriya and to see to Sakahe's end, personally. Here the Chronicles diverge, giving us two slightly different accounts.  In one story, Umako tagged along, and eventually he was able to persuade Anahobe not to go himself, and Anahobe finally relented.  However, shortly thereafter, Moriya returned with news that he had executed Sakahe no Kimi and the others. In the other account, it is Anahobe himself who ended Sakahe no Kimi and his line, demonstrating that he was not afraid to get his hands dirty. Either way, Soga no Umako realized that this was not the end of it, and that there would likely be more violence.  He was clearly upset that Anahobe hadn't listened to him to call the whole thing off, and Kashikiya Hime, well, I think we can see why she may not have been happy.  The Chronicles say they both conceived enmity against Prince Anahobe, even though he was their nephew and cousin, respectively. Now this was all happening shortly after Nunakura's death—Nunakura died in 585, and this is all taking place between then and late 586 – and clearly it's related to a question of succession.  However, the Chronicles try to claim that there was, in fact, a sitting sovereign at that time.  That honor went to none other than Kashikiya Hime's own full brother, Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou.  So given what we've discussed about Anahobe's antics in trying to marry Kashikiya, what's up with that, and where did Toyohi come from? Why Toyohi was selected, or even how he was selected, is a bit strange.  We are told that he was the fourth child of Ame Kunioshi, and as I mentioned, he was the full brother of Kashikiya Hime, making him a son of Kitashi Hime and a grandson of Soga no Iname.  We are also told that he believed in the Law of the Buddha and also Revered the Way of the Kami.  Finally, we are told that his capital was set in Iware—specifically at the Ikenobe no Namitsuki no Miya.  If that sounds familiar, it is because Ikenobe, in Iware, was also the location of our Sean Bean stand-in, Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe's, house as well—a strange coincidence in a tumultuous time. Toyohi wasn't long on the throne.  During the feast of first fruits, the Niinamesai, which was performed on a riverbank in Iware, Toyohi took ill.  The Niinamesai is typically observed on or about the 23rd day of the 11th month of the old lunisolar calendar, which could have been as late as December or even early January, meaning that it was likely cold, and possibly even cold and wet, especially along a riverbank.  It brings to mind the story of US President William Henry Harrison, who gave his inaugural address on a cold and wet day, and ended up catching pneumonia weeks later, passing away shortly thereafter.  In a similar vein, Toyohi's illness grew worse and worse, and so he requested that he be able to give worship to the Three Precious Things, which is to say Buddhism, likely hoping that worshipping the Buddha would cure him.  Obviously, Soga no Umako was in favor of this, having tried to get his own temple started in the previous reign, but both Mononobe no Moriya and Nakatomi no Katsumi both opposed it, claiming he would be turning his back on the kami of the Japanese archipelago.  It was déjà vu all over again. The tie breaker in this case came from what might seem an unusual source.  It was Prince Anahobe himself who found a priest and brought him to his elder half-brother's side.  The records simply state that it was Toyohi's “younger brother”, but a note in the Nihon Shoki explains that Prince Anahobe is assumed to be the one they mean.  This is bolstered, somewhat, by the fact that Toyohi is said to have been married to *Princess* Hasetsukabe Anahobe no Himemiko.  That's right, Toyohi had married Anahobe's sister, which may have also made them closer than even normal bonds of kinship would account for.  Thus, whatever designs Anahobe had on the throne seem to have been overcome by his desire to help his half-brother, an apparently touching moment. Unfortunately, it didn't help.  Toyohi grew worse and worse and eventually it was clear that he wasn't going to make it.  Kuratsukuri Be no Tasuna, a son of Shiba Tattou, offered to become a monk on Toyohi's behalf and help make merit for him.  Shiba Tattou had been the one to help Soga no Umako with his first attempt at setting up a temple, including having his daughter ordained as a nun, so this seems rather on brand for him.  It is interesting that Tasuna is mentioned as a member of the Kuratsukuri Be, however—the guild of saddle makers.  Once again, related to horses and thus back to Baekje and the continent. Tasuna offered to make a Buddha image that was about 16 feet high, and to build a temple.  The Chronicles say that this temple, along with its attendant Boddhisatvas, was still around several centuries later at the temple of Sakata in Minabuchi, which would appear to place it in the region of Asuka, the Soga family stronghold. Toyohi's reign was extremely short—assuming, of course, that he reigned at all.  As we've already discussed with Anahobe's Game of Thrones antics, it seems like things were generally still up in the air, though it is quite possible that since Toyohi was Kashikiya Hime's full brother, she deferred to him and helped him take the throne as everything else was going on.  It is just as likely, though, that the Chroniclers needed someone to fill the space, and he fit the bill.  There are a couple of things that suggest this interpretation.  First off are his offspring, specifically two.  One was Nukade Hime, who he made the Ise Princess, which is to say the Royal Princess, or Himemiko, who was assigned to the shrine of Amaterasu in Ise.  There is some question about the actual importance of Ise at this point, but there wouldn't be by the 8th century, and so to the Chroniclers this would have been an important point to make, even though there is some scholarly thought that Ise really wasn't that big of a deal until around the time of the Temmu dynasty. The other child of Tachibana no Toyohi is very important – someone we've touched on briefly, and I'll probably go into a whole episode on in not too much longer:  Prince Umayado.  Aka the Prince of the Kamitsu Palace, or Kamitsumiya.  He's better known as Shotoku Taishi, and he holds a special place in Japan's cultural identity about itself and Buddhism. For anyone who hasn't heard of Shotoku Taishi, I'll try to break it down quickly.  As I said, we need to do at least one episode on him at some point.  “Shotoku Taishi” is the single individual most credited with spreading Buddhism in Japan – the most mentioned, though he wasn't the first.  The problem is that this means there are a lot of stories around him and his accomplishments, such that it is hard to pull out fact from fiction.  Much like Yamato Takeru, Shotoku Taishi's legend had already grown by the time the Nihon Shoki was being written, to the point that different temples were almost fighting over who got to write the narratives about him and whose stories were taken as factual.  Think about George Washington chopping down the cherry tree and you get the picture of the kinds of cultural imaginaries that get attached to Prince Shotoku. And so it is little wonder that this very important figure's father, Tachibana no Toyohi, gets credited with at least a few years on the throne, whether or not he ever actually sat as the ruler.  It provides even that much more legitimacy to Prince Umayado's later accomplishments—or at least the accomplishments that were attributed to him.  It also might explain why Toyohi's own story centers so much on his belief in Buddhism as well.  There is a point made of talking about the fact that Toyohi believed in Buddhism, and he is the first sovereign we have to actively seek out the worship of Buddhism.  Once again, it is hard to know if he was truly sovereign—I tend to feel like this whole period was one of the periods where the court couldn't initially get united behind a single person, and what we are seeing is more after-the-fact ascensions to boost the lineage.  But the dispute over Buddhism is clearly the centerpiece here for something much greater. But we haven't gone full family-on-family war yet, which brings us back to Mononobe no Moriya.  He was clearly not happy about the whole situation with the sovereign ignoring his advice and performing more Buddhist worship, and it didn't help that the powerful prince Anahobe had stepped in on the side of the pro-Buddhist faction.  They had just been out murdering people together, and now Anahobe turned his back on him.  Moriya likely felt tossed aside. I've seen some suggestion that the Mononobe house and the Soga house at this time were equals.  Sure, the Nihon Shoki uses the “Omi” and “Muraji” kabane, with “Omi” having a distinctly more prominent feel, but it is possible that the two families were actually of equal rank. There's the fact that the text at one time references “The Two Oho-omi”, which is generally taken to just mean the two “Chief Ministers”, Umako and Moriya, but which could also be seen as acknowledging that Moriya stood on equal footing with Umako.  There is also a note in the Sendai Kuji Hongi that suggests that Moriya was made both Ohomuraji—that is, head of the house—and also a high Minister, or Omi.  It is unclear what this means, but probably similarly placed him on equal footing with Umako. Certainly in the discussions up to this point, the Mononobe often had the favor of the court over the wishes of the Soga, especially when it came to burning down their Buddhist establishments. Now, however, the Soga were clearly ascendant.  The grandsons of Soga no Iname were Royal Princes, and that shifted the power dynamics.  Even Anahobe was a Soga descendant.  It is easy to see how Moriya was likely feeling isolated and even belittled by the court.  Enter Iago… I mean Oshisakabe no Kekuso, who bent Moriya's ear and convinced him that all of the other ministers were now plotting against him.  More than that, they were about to ambush him and take him out of the picture altogether. And was that so strange?  Hadn't something similar just happened with Sakahe no Kimi when the powerful people of the court found him too troublesome?  Moriya himself had helped carry that out and bring it about.  This was not exactly a time where one was innocent until proven guilty, and if you wanted someone out of the picture, well, it was hard for them to tell their story from inside a massive burial mound.  This was a dangerous time to be on the political outs. And so we are told that Mononobe no Moriya retired.  He left the court and went to Ato, where he had his own country-house.  This would have been in a Mononobe stronghold.  It is often thought to have meant somewhere on the Kawachi plain, around Yao, on southeastern edge of the modern metropolis of Ohosaka, and outside of the Nara Basin.  There he gathered a force of troops around him, presumably for his own protection.  Allies, such as Nakatomi no Katsumi, came to his aid. As Umako had predicted, this whole thing was not going to end well.  The two most powerful ministers at court had been feuding since the death of the previous sovereign.  They had broken on policy, on religion, and even on threats to the throne. And now one of them had holed up in their own stronghold and was building an army.  Meanwhile you still had a bunch of princes running around, all of them possibly eligible to ascend and take the throne of Yamato for themselves.   The storm clouds of war had gathered, and people were taking sides.  Whatever happened, its clear that it would have momentous consequences for everyone involved—at least, if they lived to see it through. Until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Fresh off the killing of Anahobe and the destruction of the Mononobe, Soga no Umako is riding high as a new sovereign, Prince Hasebe, takes the throne.  Surely things will have finally settled down, won't they have done? For more, check out our podcast page at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-92 Rough Transcription: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 92: Death or Taxes, aka Don't Piss Off Umako. Before we get going, a quick recap: we are still in the late 6th century, and since the death of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou, things have been a bit crazy.  The number of apparently legitimate heirs was rather impressive.  There were the various siblings of Nunakura, both full and half-siblings, and there were his children and his siblings' children.  On top of that, there were some truly tense politics amongst some of the most powerful families in the realm, particularly the ancient Mononobe and the more recent Soga family, who had tied themselves so closely with the royal family through marriage that at this point just about every possible heir to the throne was in some way a Soga descendant.  The stories of this era have been filled with stories of death, war, and struggles for the throne.  Finally, there is the tension between Buddhism, which was first introduced in the early 6th century, and the established worship of the various kami, which also speaks to the tensions between various sources of spiritual political authority. As we discussed int the last two episodes, when Nunakura passed away, Prince Anahobe tried to take the throne, and he was initially thwarted by Miwa no Kimi no Sakahe, aka Sakahe no Kimi.  Anahobe, possibly with the assistance of his brother, Prince Hasebe, as well as Mononobe no Ohomuraji no Moriya, killed Sakahe no Kimi, pissing off Nunakura's former Queen, Kashikiya Hime.  Next, Nakatomi no Muraji no Katsumi, in support of Mononobe no Moriya, attempted to curse several of the candidates with stronger claims on the throne, and when that didn't work, he just out and out killed Crown Prince Hikobito, getting offed himself in the process.  Throughout all of this, another prince, Tachibana no Toyohi, apparently ascended, briefly, but seems to have died of natural causes.  In the process, however, he provided legitimacy for his own children as Royal Princes and Princesses to also contest for the throne. Moriya's support of Anahobe led to the death of Prince Anahobe, Prince Yakabe, and Moriya and his family—and many of his supporters, as well.  And yet, despite the loss of the Mononobe and Prince Anahobe, the next heir to the throne, with the approval of Queen Kashikiya Hime, was none other than Prince Hatsusebe, aka Hasebe, a full brother to the rebel Prince Anahobe and the focus of this episode.  If this all seems a bit confusing regarding the individuals and different factions, then congratulations, you've been paying attention.  The narrative certainly seems to be missing some key information, likely lost in the attempt to either whitewash some of the more contentious historical records, or simply due to the Chroniclers' attempts to create a more straightforward narrative out of a complex era which probably saw various courts competing to be recognized as the court that was actually making the decisions—something that doesn't exactly fit in with the attempt to tell the story of a relatively unbroken royal line. And yet, despite the chaos, we do see a solidification of power and control in general, as evidenced by the shift in late 6th century tomb structures.  As I may have mentioned in previous episodes, the Yamato area continued to build monumental round keyhole shaped tombs, but that shape of tomb simultaneously declined in nearby regions, which saw more round or square shaped—or even square keyhole shaped—tombs instead.  On the other hand, at the periphery, at the farthest reaches of the archipelago, we continue to see round keyhole shaped tombs in the Yamato style. This is all likely due to a consolidation of Yamato's power and authority.  Previously we had seen that start with the proliferation of the Yamato style tomb, but even from early times those round keyhole tombs were interspersed with other, typically smaller tombs.  The general assumption, based on the size, grave goods, and other archaeological features, is that the round keyhole tomb, at least in a Yamato context, was reserved for the Yamato royal family and only those of the most elite status.  In the Yamato and Kawachi regions, this seems to have held true, but further afield, local magnates adopted the round keyhole tombs for themselves, perhaps even appropriating some of the prestige of that tomb shape for themselves.  Similarly, it is very likely that Yamato did not have the power to stop local rulers from building whatever the heck they wanted, despite the impression given by the Chroniclers that all was hunky-dory as soon as Mimaki Iribiko and Ikume Iribiko sent out people to subdue the four corners of the archipelago. Whether because of an increased military might, or because of a cultural change in accepting Yamato's leadership, more and more lands seem to have been more directly under Yamato's sway, following their customs and accepting their position in the Yamato hierarchy.  To put it another way: in many parts of the archipelago, particularly those closer to Yamato, we do not see continued claims of “kingship” by the local elite.  They have accepted a lower status in the evolving hierarchy, presumably gaining some security and access to resources of the entire Yamato polity in the process, though that isn't entirely clear to me based purely on the archaeological evidence.  But according to our tomb theory, those on the periphery, where Yamato's control remained the weakest, continued to build their own round keyhole tombs, indicating they still considered themselves somewhat independent, even as they remained influenced by Yamato's overall cultural affectations. Into this world, Prince Hasebe ascended the throne.  Prince Hasebe was another half-brother to Nunakura Futodamashiki.  Like his full brother, Prince Anahobe Hasetsukabe, he was a Soga descendant through the maternal line.  We are told that his ascension was endorsed by Kashikiya Hime, his half-sister, and another Soga-descended royal.  He assumed the throne almost immediately following the turmoil that resulted in Anahobe's death and the destruction of Mononobe no Moriya.  This was in 587, and for the next five years, the reign appeared to be similar to any other, but I suspect that things hadn't quite settled, yet.  How could they?  It seems clear that it was way too easy for political violence to break out, and despite the Chronicles' insistence that everything was fine, many of the systemic issues that led to the violence in the first place were still there. To start with, you still had all of those potential heirs to the throne, and no clear succession tradition or precedence.  On top of that, each household, while created to serve the Court, had grown into its own political entity, vying for their own level of power and control.  No doubt some of this was exacerbated as Yamato's influence grew, bringing more people directly under Yamato's authority. I also can't help but notice that there appears to be a lack of any kind of clear justice system.  In fact, laws in general at this time appear to be based on precedent and tradition, likely oral tradition: although we have writing, we don't have a written system of laws just yet.  We have artifacts with writing on them.  We also have records of books coming over from the continent, which presumably people were able to read.  However, what was writing being used for?  It appears to have been used for communication—for example, diplomatic missions, or to send instructions and receive information back from the various lands under Yamato's rule.  David Lurie notes that this was a kind of practical writing, and it wasn't the same as the kind of extensive journaling that we would see later. It makes sense that much of the laws and traditions at this time were probably based on memorized precedent.  Groups like the Kataribe were organized around an oral tradition, and even the Kojiki was based on a tradition of oral recitation that was still in place by the late 7th century.  I suspect that different families maintained their own memories of precedence and tradition, collectively advising on what should be done in any given situation. This isn't exactly the kind of legal system with firm and fast rules, with everyone equal under the law, and some sort of immutable code.  That wasn't solely because it wasn't written down, mind you—there are plenty of cultures with oral traditions that maintain very clear sets of laws.  However, in this case it was not written down and given what we see and what we know about later court, legal precedent was kept in the memories of various individuals in different families, all of whom were competing for their place in the hierarchical structure that had been created.  Therefore, as long as you could get enough people on your side, then you determined what was just and what was not.  And of course it was the winners who wrote—or at least remembered—the history.   Strong leadership may have been able to keep things stable, but during any change things could get messy, as we've seen time and again.  And had Anahobe and the Mononobe been triumphant we'd likely be reading a very different telling of events. Hasebe's ascension didn't really change any of that, other than the person at the head of the system.  Still, things seemed to hold together alright, and with the recent purges, hopefully things would settle out after a while. The reign started with the standard ceremonies.  Soga no Umako was confirmed as Oho-omi, and though other “Ministers and Daibu”, or high officials, were confirmed, nobody else is named.  Hasebe's palace was set up at Kurahashi, presumably in the hills south of modern Sakurai.  His wife was Koteko, daughter of Ohotomo no Nukade. In his first year, Baekje sent envoys that included Buddhist priests and relics, along with various Buddhist artisans.  We'll probably touch on them more at a later date, but for now I'll note that with their coming, Soga no Umako consulted with them on several matters regarding Buddhism, and then he went ahead and pulled down the house of a man named Konoha and started work on another temple.  This one was known as Hokoji, though it is more popularly known to us by its common name:  Asukadera. Asukadera is perhaps the oldest purpose-built Buddhist temple commissioned by the state, and I think we can do an entire episode just on that temple alone.  The Chronicles make out that it was built to commemorate the supernatural support granted to Umako in his battle against Mononobe no Moriya, though it is impossible to know for certain how much of that is true.  What we can say is that this time there were no dissenting voices from the Mononobe nor the Nakatomi, and Asukadera would become one of the major temples of the Asuka period.  Later, when the capital was built up at Heijo-kyo, in modern Nara, the temple was moved to the new capital, and the complex in Asuka dwindled in importance.  Today you can still visit a temple at the site of Asukadera, but it is a shell of its former self, having been rebuilt on a much smaller footprint than before.   You can, however, go and see the original Buddha statue—or at least the reconstructed form of it, as the original icon was severely damaged in a fire at one point. But building up a proper temple and pagoda in the continental fashion would all take time—for now it appears that they were just breaking ground on a new construction, rather than just repurposing a part of an existing house into the temple, as they had seemingly done in the past.  This was going to take some time.  At the same time, it wasn't just buildings that were needed, and we are told that several Buddhists returned to Baekje along with the envoys.  We are told that they were going to Baekje to gain further instruction in Buddhist teachings. This was the nun Zenshin, daughter of Shiba Tattou, and her companions, who had been ordained at the order of Soga no Umako to help staff his first attempt at building a worship site at his house. The following year, in 589, we are told that there were three “inspections” that were sent out along the various circuits, or roadways, of eastern Honshu.  These circuits were regions of Japan, and come from a continental tradition that would be formalized in the law codes of the early 7th century.  Generally speaking there are usually 7 circuits—8 once Hokkaidou comes into the picture—and then the capital region, often known as the home territories around Yamato and the Nara basin.  Kyushu and Shikoku were each covered by their own circuits:  The Saikaidou, or Western Sea Circuit, covered all of Kyushu, and eventually the Ryukyu islands as well, while the Nankaidou, or Southern Sea circuit covered from the south of the Kii peninsula and the island of Shikoku.  Western Honshu was covered by another two circuits—there was the San'indou, the Mountain Yin Circuit, and the San'yodou, the Mountain Yang Circuit.  Yin being related to the dark and the north, the San'indou covered the areas to the north of the Western mountain range along the Japan Sea coast, from the land of Tanba west to Iwami, including the lands of Inaba and Izumo.  In contrast, Yang was related to the south, and so the San'yodou covered the regions from Harima, next to the land of Settsu, part of modern Ohosaka, and stretched along the southern side of the mountains to the Seto Inland sea to the western land of Nagato, part of modern Yamaguchi Prefecture, and included the ancient land of Kibi. Finally, there were the three circuits of Eastern Honshu, which were the subject of the Chronicles entry in 589.  First off was the Tousando, or the Eastern Mountain Circuit.  Whereas western Honshu can be largely divided by the mountains into a northern and southern region, eastern Honshu was a little different, as the Japanese alps created difficulties that meant that the Tousandou covered the inland regions, starting at Afumi, around lake Biwa, out to Kenu—modern Gunma and Tochigi prefectures, north of Tokyo.  It would eventually include the distant regions of Dewa and Mutsu, which covered much of the Tohoku region up to Hokkaido, although those were still largely outside of the area of Yamato influence, and home to those that the Yamato court called Emishi.  The man sent to inspect this region was named Afumi no Omi no Kamafu—fitting given that Afumi was at the western end of the circuit. Next they sent Shishibito no Omi no Kari to inspect the Toukaidou, or Eastern Sea circuit.  This circuit proceeded from Iga, Ise, and Owari, eastward along the Pacific coast to Hitachi, in modern Ibaraki prefecture.  It includes much of modern Tokyo, and is likely one of the more well known, if only for things like the JR Tokaido line.  This route became well traveled in the Edo period both for the daimyo processions of the sankin-kotai as well as the pilgrimages from Edo to Ise, and onward to points even further west. Finally, we have a member of the Abe no Omi heading out to inspect the Hokurikudou, the Northern Land Circuit.  This was largely the area known in the Chronicles as Koshi, along the Japan Sea Coast.  The Abe family may have had some influence in that region, though it is said that they originally came from the land of Iga, just east of Yamato.  However, we aren't given a specific individual's name—Abe no Omi is just the family name and their kabane rank, and could indicate any member of the Abe family.  This may have to do with the actions of Abe no Hirafu in the late 7th century, but at this point in the story it is unclear.  We are provided the given names of the other inspectors, however—Kamafu and Kari—so it stands out that we have nothing for the inspector of the Hokurikudou other than their family name. Other than the mention of the circuits, and the inspections that the court was conducting, this seems to be a fairly mundane entry—though it does link to some later events.  Still, it provides a little more evidence for the expansion of Yamato's direct control.  The idea that there were court inspectors checking up on these territorial circuits suggests that they were a somewhat active part of the bureaucracy of the court.  Previously the court had set up the Miyake, or royal granaries, which were extensions of royal authority in various areas.  Now we see an additional layer of government that would have been going through the areas and making sure that things were being administered as Yamato believed.  It also suggests that there were those in these circuits who were beholden to Yamato in that they were required to produce some kind of evidence for what they were up to. The year after, in 590, the big news was apparently the return to Japan of Zenshin and others, and we are told that they took up residence at a temple in Sakurai – very possibly a reference to Hokoji or Asukadera, the newly-founded temple we just discussed.  Asuka is outside of the modern bounds of Sakurai city, but at this time the name Sakurai may have referred to a slightly larger and more nebulous area.  On the other hand, they could have settled at another temple in the area that just wasn't part of the state funded program.  In that same vein, later in 590 we are told that people went up into the hills to get timber for building Buddhist temples, and many more people, most of them with connections to the mainland, and especially the Korean peninsula, were ordained.  Buddhism was starting to grow more popular and it was being better patronized by the elites, and soon we will start to see more and more temples popping up. In 591, we see the final burial of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou.  This was now many years since his death, but that isn't entirely surprising given the fighting and general turmoil that followed his death.  Building a tomb mound was not exactly a simple feat, and if one wasn't already prepared by the time he passed away, then it would have taken a while to prepare it—and even more time if much of your labor force was being split and repurposed in the fights for the throne.  As you may recall, Nunakura died of a disease, so it is unlikely that there had been a lot of preparation for his death, so we can assume that his body, after resting in the palace of temporary interment for a while, was eventually given a temporary burial and then they likely were reburying the bones several years later.  This isn't exactly unheard of, but it does seem that this was an exceptionally long period between death and final burial. The location of his tomb is said to be on the western side of the mountains, outside of the Nara Basin, in the area  of modern Taishi, in the south of Ohosaka.  This seems to have been a new region for royal burials, from what I can tell, but there would be several important Asuka era burials located in this region. Later in that same year, Hasebe and the court indulged themselves in something that was becoming almost a tradition:  Wondering aloud if they should go marching over to the peninsula and re-establish Nimna.  There's apparently no thought the fact that Nimna had not been a going concern for quite some time now, and this may have just been the popular casus belli of the Yamato court.  Of course, all of the ministers were for it, agreeing that it would be just the best if they could go over there and get Nimna started again. And so they set in motion the necessary work of gathering an army.  This wasn't a simple task and would take quite some time to get the word out, gather men together, and then have them all meet down in Tsukushi at the court's outpost down there.  Not only that, but there would need to be boats made, and armor and weapons would have to be ready.  This was quite the undertaking.  We are told that they eventually gathered over 20,000 men, though that could easily be an exaggeration.  They named five generals, or Taishogun.  This is different from the “Shogun” of later years—the Sei-I Taishogun, or General for Subduing Barbarians.  This is just the title of general, Taishogun, and there were apparently five people who were running things—possibly referring to five different forces that were going to go over, or it may have been a political thing to ensure that people of rank were given opportunities.  It is interesting to see the names, as we have heard some of the family names, at least, before. The five generals were:  Ki no Womaro no Sukune, Kose no Omi no Hirafu, Kashiwade no Omi no Katafu, Ohotomo no Kuhi no Muraji, and Katsuraki no Wonara no Omi.  Then various other Omi and Muraji level individuals were placed in charge below them.  They were all stationed in Tsukushi and two men, Kishi no Kana and Kishi no Itahiko were sent to Silla and Nimna respectively, presumably to try to work something out before things got ugly. That was all listed in the 11th month of 591, and preparations were still ongoing by the time of the next entry, in the 10th month of 592. So remember how I mentioned at the top of the episode about how many of the systemic issues that had led to so much war and bloodshed were still a thing?  Yeah—despite the seemingly rosy and downright mundane picture of the last five years, things were apparently not quite as stable as they may have appeared.  And I say that because of what happened in the 10th month of 592. We are told that this was the winter, possibly around late November or December according to our modern calendar—trying to map ancient lunar calendar dates to modern solar dates are a whole thing, trust me.  Anyway, it was during this season that someone brought in a wild boar and presented it to the sovereign.  And there was nothing too sus going on there—it wasn't a white boar or some kind of unusually large animal.  No, what was remarkable wasn't the presentation at all, but what it kicked off, because apparently Hasebe looked at the boar and made an off-hand comment, which Aston translates as: “When shall those to whom We have an aversion be cut off as this wild boar's throat has been cut.” Just in case you didn't get the allusion, he was basically wondering when those people whom he didn't like would be killed—though possibly he meant cut off in another sense, I think it is pretty clear that he wanted some people taken care of, if you know what I mean.  I would liken it to a phrase attributed to King Henry II of England, who is said to have wondered aloud, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest”, which led to several men heading out and eventually killing Thomas Becket, the then Archbishop of Canterbury.  While Henry may not have actually ordered the killing of Thomas Becket, with whom he'd been in something of a power struggle, his words certainly ended up being the catalyst that led to the archbishop's eventual demise. Similarly here, that certainly seems to have been the intent, or at least that is how it was taken.  Word of the sovereign's outburst made it back to none other than Soga no Umako, the Oho-omi himself, who grew more than a little bit worried.  It didn't help that word was also coming that the royal household was apparently stockpiling weapons—more than usual. Soga no Umako came to believe that Hasebe was talking about him, and though there wasn't a particular reason given, it suggests that there were some things going on below the surface detailed by the Chronicles, and we can speculate on a few of them. First off, Hasebe had not been the first choice for sovereign, and he didn't really enter the picture until after the death of his brother, Prince Anahobe. Anahobe had, of course, believed that he should take the throne himself, but then he was killed.  It is possible that Hasebe was appointed sovereign to appease some of Anahobe's supporters against the wishes of those such as Soga no Umako. Second, it is clear that Umako was immensely influential and powerful, and he probably had more influence than the sovereign himself.  Always remember that if someone raises an army and helps put you on the throne, rather than themselves, they usually have the ability to do the same thing in reverse.  Or, as so many parents are fond of saying: I brought you into this world, I can take you out!  So it may be that Hasebe felt threatened by Umako's own power and felt he needed to be dealt with before Soga no Umako decided that he'd rather have someone more pliable on the throne.  Of course, in another time it might have been enough to just demote him, but it is unclear if Hasebe actually had the power to do that—and if he did, would it stick. There is also another option as well—Hasebe may not have said anything at all, and it is possible that this was a story concocted to explain Umako's own reaction.  This is hinted at, somewhat, in another account that basically comes in once again with the tired “blame the woman” trope.  It suggests that Ohotomo no Koteko, Hasebe's consort and the mother to his two children, started the whole thing as a rumor.  According to this account, she was “declining in favor”—although it is unclear just whom else she was competing against.  If that record is correct, she was the one who told Umako about what Hasebe was purportedly saying, knowing that it would cause problems for her husband because she was unhappy with him.  Even if that were true, we don't know whether or not Hasebe actually said what is attributed to him. Again, regardless of what Hasebe actually said, all of this suggests that things were not as solid and stable as they might otherwise appear to be, and suggests just how literally cut-throat the politics of the Yamato court could get. And so, Soga no Umako took this threat quite seriously, and he engaged the services of one Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Koma. We don't know much about Koma.  The Yamato no Aya were one of several Aya families, and their name suggests that they were descended, at least in part, from ethnic Han Chinese weavers—or at least traced their lineage back to the continent with claims to the Han dynasty, just as the Hata family claimed ties back to the Qin dynasty.  They had been in Japan for generations, but are still often associated with various technologies that came over from the continent. There is also a record, we are told, that says Koma's father was Yamato no Aya no Iwai—whose name is suspiciously similar to that of the Iwai in Tsukushi, or Kyushu, who had allied with Silla and tried to block trade and military support between Yamato and Baekje.  It is possible, and even probable, that this was just a coincidence—after all, why would the son of a rebel who had so aggravated Yamato be in the court at all?  But it was considered significant enough for the Chroniclers to mention it at the same time, and that may be because of the relationship back to that other rebel. Now, for Koma to take action, he and Umako would need to act quickly.  Soga no Umako sent a message to the court ministers and claimed that he was sending someone to present the taxes of the Eastern provinces.  As you may recall from earlier in this episode, a few years earlier inspectors had been sent out along the three eastern circuits.  It would have taken them time to survey, compile their information, and collect any taxes owed, and bring that back to the court.  Umako lied to the other ministers and said that the taxes were ready, and he was sending someone to the sovereign to present the taxes. Of course, he was really sending Yamato no Aya no Koma, and in lieu of taxes he brought death—somewhat fitting if you think about it.  Koma killed the sovereign and then, somehow, made his escape.  Unlike some of the other killings we aren't given too many details of the deed itself. What we are given is the aftermath.  For later in that same month, Soga no Umako had Koma himself killed.  And this is where I find it really weird, or perhaps the Chroniclers were just in denial.  They claimed that Soga no Umako had learned that Koma had been having a clandestine relationship with Kawakami no Iratsume, herself a consort of the sovereign and Soga no Umako's own daughter.  Koma had apparently taken her back to his place to live and made her his wife in secret—basically saying that they had carnal relations together as man and wife, though it is not clear whether or not they were consensual.  Umako thought that his daughter was dead, but when he learned that Yamato no Aya no Koma had taken her, he had Koma killed. And that just all seems so very convenient.  So Soga no Umako has enough influence over Koma to get him to assassinate the sovereign, but somehow misses that his co-conspirator in this has eloped with his daughter, and then kills him out of apparently justified rage?  Uh-huh.  Nothing fishy about that at all. I suspect that what happened at the time versus what was later recorded differed slightly.  Assuming that most of it was accurate, I wouldn't be surprised if Umako got Koma to do the dirty deed, and then offed him, possibly so that he would not be immediately implicated.  Even so, what were the laws around such events?  With Hasebe gone, and nobody else in power to challenge him, Soga no Umako was one of the most powerful people around.  He just didn't have the parental qualifications to take the throne himself. And that is probably what saved him from being labeled a rebel, himself.  After all, you don't get much more rebellious than killing the king.  But is it rebellion when it is self-defense?  Here is where the lack of a strict law code likely came down on the side of Soga no Umako, because despite his involvement, nobody seems to have gone after him or taken him to task.  In fact, he would remain a powerful figure in the Yamato court for years to come. There are also several figures who seem to have remained absent from all of this, but it would be interesting to know where they came down.  The first was Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Did he sanction or even take part in this plot?  Umayado was still somewhat young, so he may not have had much to say at this point.  Then there was Kashikiya Hime, Nunakura's queen.  Presumably, she had been the one to recommend Hasebe to the throne, but we also see her hand in the decision to punish Anahobe and the Mononobe, which we discussed over the last couple of episodes.  She is often kept at arms length in the narrative, however, which may be because of what the Chroniclers already knew.  With the court once more in need of an heir they searched high and low, and the assembled ministers finally settled on the candidate they thought would be the best of all of them:  Kashikiya Hime herself.  It makes sense: Kashikiya Hime, who is known today as Suiko Tennou, clearly knew how the court operated.  She had sanctioned, if not outright directed, the deaths of Anahobe and Mononobe no Moriya. On the other hand, the patriarchal society of the day—and even that of modern day scholars—questioned her fitness for the job.  Many have pointed to the strongman tactics of Soga no Umako, as well as the focus on Prince Umayado, whom she made her Crown Prince and whom, we are told, assisted in all areas of government.  In fact, it often seems as though Umayado and Umako are the ones actually running things, with Kashikiya Hime as a puppet.  On the other hand, perhaps there was something even more complex—a conspiracy between Umako, Umayado, and Kashikiya Hime.  She may have also been something of a compromise candidate, someone that all of the different factions could get behind. We'll explore all of that and more as we get into her reign in the coming episodes, along with the role played by Prince Umayado.  We'll also look more in depth at the spread of Buddhism, and the temple building that would pick up shortly after Kashikiya Hime came to power.  Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. 

This episode we start our dive into the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  This is going to be a brief overview of her reign so that we can dive more deeply into the individual subjects that come up. For more, check out our podcast blogpost at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-93 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 93: Time to Shake Things Up. Before we get started, a couple of shout-outs.  First to Anticia, for donating on Ko-Fi.com.  Thanks for your kind words and supporting our operations, including our website and this podcast.  And then to Lowbrow78 and to Parp for supporting us on Patreon.  If you want to join them, we have information on our website as well as at the end of every episode. Here we are, at the cusp of the 7th century.  With the death of Hasebe no Ohokimi, aka Sushun Tennou, we are about to jump into one of the most significant reigns to date: that of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou.  I put this right up there with the reign of Waketakiru, aka Yuryaku Tennou, and like that period, we'll need several episodes to get through everything going on here.  In fact, I've been thinking about just how to do this, and I think before we get into it we need to cover the broad strokes and talk about a few things, and then I want to delve into some specifics over the coming episodes. This means we'll cover a lot this episode at a high level.  To start with, we'll talk about the power players of this period, and just who was really running the show—we have three people to pick from based on various interpretations of this era.  And that will have us talking about Shotoku Taishi, and of course Shotoku Taishi's impact vis-à-vis Buddhism, as well as the growth of Buddhism in general.  There is also the general Sinification of the court, which means that we also get to talk about clothing styles and the appearance of a new “17 Article Constitution” as well as the new 12 rank system for court officers.  And then there is everything happening on the mainland.  In 589 the Sui dynasty came to power, followed in 618 by the Tang.  And of course we still have Baekje and Silla going at it, and Yamato just cannot leave well enough alone when it comes to Nimna.  All of that will get covered in even more detail, later.  But don't worry, it isn't all going to be generalities and vague preparations.  We also have a little tidbit for you at the end about earthquakes and the deities that cause them, because *that* is something we can easily cover here. And one more thing:  This is the last reign that we have any documentation for in the Kojiki and the Sendai Kuji Hongi, even though the Kojiki is largely just genealogical information.  That means we are getting close to the end of the “Chronicles”.  We still have a lot of material to get through, though, including assassinations, coups, military expeditions, and even a full blown civil war.  All that to come later, after we get through this period. So let's set the stage, shall we?  This reign is coming at a very tumultuous time.  We've been through several sovereigns or would-be sovereigns in a very short span, starting with Tachibana no Toyohi and then Hasebe, aka Yomei Tennou and Sushun Tennou, not to mention the failed attempt to take the throne early by Hasetsukabe Anahobe and Mononobe no Moriya.  Even Hasebe was killed by his own Oho-omi, Soga no Umako—or at least at Umako's order, if not directly by his own hand.  It's become clear you didn't want to be crossing Umako, and he was the most powerful minister at court at this point.  There wasn't a cabal of Oho-omi and Oho-muraji, there was simply Umako at the top.  However, his rule was not absolute.  He still needed the buy-in of the other ministers, the heads of their own families, as well as the nominal approval of the sovereign and the royal family.  I'm honestly surprised nobody tried to put a dagger in his back, but then again anyone who might try had so far ended up with their successors caught up in probate, and it didn't matter how powerful a position they supposedly occupied. Still, Umako couldn't take the throne himself.  Not even he could get away with that looking like anything more than a power grab.  He had already positioned Soga-descended members of the royal family so that they were in the line of succession, something that really looks like it went against tradition—though how old that tradition was is more than a little sus, as we've mentioned before.  And so, with the death of Hasebe, someone was needed on the throne, but who was available?  The political violence had even extended to some of the heirs, like Prince Hikobito, and it is unclear how many princes were even left at this point. The Chronicles tell us that the ministers therefore turned to Kashikiya Hime, and begged her to take the throne. As a reminder, Kashikiya Hime was the form queen—wife to Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennou.  Beyond that, she was a granddaughter of Soga no Iname, making Soga no Umako her maternal uncle.  Her father was Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Hiro Niha, aka Kimmei Tennou.  During the period following Ame Kunioshi's death, she had attempted to put her finger on the scales of the power struggles that occurred, and she seemed to be a person that people listened to and took seriously in her role, though male heirs were at least initially considered before her. And so, when she was first asked to take the throne after Hasebe, she refused, but eventually the court ministers able to convince her.  Upon coming to power she  almost immediately made Prince Umayado the Heir Apparent, or Taishi—the Crown Prince.  Then we are told that, along with Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, she and Soga no Umako, the Oho-omi, ruled the government.  And I hope I don't need to point out how exceedingly strange this wording is.  Technically it isn't unprecedented—in previous reigns we've certainly seen the Crown Prince taking an active role in the government, and the Oho-omi and the Oho-muraji, together, were frequently in positions to advise, counsel, and downright run the government, often skipping over the sovereign altogether.  So nothing here is so far outside the scope, but it is still odd that it was so blatantly stated, and there is good reason to believe that we don't have the whole story. Theories on Kashikiya Hime and her reign vary widely.  Michael Como claims that she was likely a consensus candidate—she was put forward because she was not overly objectionable to any of the other parties involved.  I suspect she had links to both sides of the dispute, so this make some sense, but I also wonder if it doesn't remove her own agency. Speaking of which, there is the possibility that she had very little agency in any of this.  There is the possibility that she was no more than a puppet—a relatively docile sovereign that Soga no Umako, or even Prince Umayado, could control, allowing them to work in the background.  Indeed, one of the things we'll see during this period is the increasing ritualization of the role of the sovereign, to the point that the Oho-omi was a powerful intermediary, receiving missives to the throne and relaying them onward, with ample opportunity to affect just how they were heard.  Often the Chroniclers found ways to deny the true agency of women on the throne, noting them less as sovereigns, and more as regents—often merely keeping the seat warm until an appropriate male heir presented himself and came of age.  That may have been the case at times, but I have a hard time seeing that in Kashikiya Hime.  Maybe when she first married Nunakura that may have been her outlook, but since then she'd seen some things.  She knew how the game worked, and we've seen her actively mentioned supporting one candidate or another, and not always agreeing with Soga no Umako's decisions.  It is possible that this was added later to support her independence in the Chronicles, but I think that the easier answer is that Kashikiya Hime was her own person, and as ruler she was the authority that held sway. Still, there are so many questions, and a lot of those revolve around her choice of successor, Prince Umayado, the Prince of the Horse Stable Door, aka Shotoku Taishi. Shotoku Taishi is one of those legendary figures, somewhere between Yamato Takeru and Abe no Seimei.  So many stories have grown up around this sage prince that it is truly hard to pry fact from fiction, and many wonder if he ever existed at all.  Others suggest that he's an amalgamation of several different historical and legendary figures.  Even by the time the Chronicles were being written his legends had reached cult like status, with numerous Buddhist temples claiming some connection to this founding sage of Japanese Buddhism, however tenuous.  It doesn't stop there, however.   Shotoku Taishi is said to have written one of the earliest national histories, and there are claims that this early history is none other than the Kūjiki, the text that we have in the Sendai Kūji Hongi. Some have speculated that this why that work and the Kojiki both stop here, with the reign of Kashikiya Hime. Of course, in the case of the Kojiki, the real narrative stopped some time ago, with the later reigns containing little more than genealogical lists.  The Sendai Kūji Hongi is a little more interesting. It Is clear that the authors of the Nihon Shoki and the Sendai Kūji Hongi were working from some of the same texts, with possibly one referencing the other, but at the same time there are small differences that suggest different authors with different purposes.  The Nihon Shoki certainly has more details on the official histories, while the Sendai Kūji Hongi contains sections on the genealogical information of the Mononobe and Owari families as well as information on various provincial governors. Personally, I find it highly questionable that the Sendai Kūji Hongi might be written by Shotoku Taishi, but I concede that it, along with the Nihon Shoki, might have both borrowed from an earlier work. Nonetheless, it does stop, and only the Nihon Shoki covers the next couple centuries, though in even greater detail.  We start to see more granular details about many items, though there are still questions. Given all of the swirl around Shotoku Taishi, however, I've had to think about just what tack to take with him, and for now we'll take a look at what the official narrative has to say, and then perhaps add a bit more context.  I'll frequently be referring to him here as Prince Umayado, and we'll focus on him primarily as a prince and a political figure. Given that, there is the question of whether or not Prince Umayado was actually running things. I'm not aware of any tradition that claims he was more than the Crown Prince, and as such a powerful advisor to the throne.  Umako seems more likely as a power behind the throne, but there are certainly clues that Umayado was up there—and of course, in later years, Shotoku Taishi's own shine meant that people were more likely than not to attribute just about anything good from this period to him and his auspices, even if it was just because he suggested it. But that brings us to the question:  Just what happened during this reign that was worth anyone taking credit for?  What happened that we are spending our time talking about it? To start with, the reign was just long.  Kashikiya Hime was taking the throne around 593 and she would reign up until her death in 628.  That was over thirty years, which is a good run for any sovereign, for reasons we've covered before, such as the fact that they are usually coming to the throne when they are older, etc.  Remember, she was probably born in the 530s, possibly 538, and so she took the throne in her late 50s or early 60s and held it until she was about 90 years old. During this period, there was a lot of change going on outside the archipelago as well as inside.  In 589, the Sui dynasty had come to power, uniting the Yellow River and Yangtze River basins.  Their reign officially ended about 618, though that wasn't necessarily a given at the time, and they were certainly a powerhouse as they united the northern and southern dynasties.  The Sui status fell in 618 only because it was replaced by a new dynasty: The Tang dynasty.  This was a dynasty founded by Li Yuan, a cousin of the Sui emperors, with a multi-ethnic background including Han and non-Han parentage, who came from a traditionally Xianbei—or by that time Tuoba—region.  Tang dynasty culture would come to influence all of the cultures on the peninsula and the archipelago, truly becoming the “Middle Country” that various states looked to as a cultural touchstone.  Tang culture spread throughout East Asia. The states on the Korean Peninsula had been absorbing the culture of the riverine courts for some time—honestly ever since the time of the Han commanderies.  As Buddhism percolated through the elite societies of Baekje, Silla, and now Yamato, it was more than just religious transmission.  Sutras had been translated into Sinic characters, and Buddhist learning often went hand-in-hand with texts on a variety of other issues, as there was no formal line drawn between science, philosophy, and religion. And so, as Yamato embraced Buddhism, there were other avenues of studies that also came over the straits, often attributed to the descendants of the Han dynasty, but largely filtered through a Baekje or even Silla lens.  We see this manifest in myriad ways, from the various physical objects left behind in tombs, etc., as well as the clothing, of which we have several indications that the islands were adopting continental practice.  However, we also have passages about the adoption of certain knowledge or technology, as well: everything from philosophy and calendar making to geomancy and even magic and the art of invisibility. And then we see another important development this reign: The first constitution in Japan.  Known as the 17-Article Constitution, it is attributed to none other than Shotoku Taishi himself, making him, in a way, the father of the country.  Granted, the constitution was light on actual details, and more like a collection of moral maxims.  This included things like anti-corruption tenets, suggesting that maybe you shouldn't do things in government just because someone paid or flattered you.  Still, these were not necessarily formative statements.  After all, the Yamato state had customs and traditions, and so these were seen as more guiding principles than the kind of generative formulae that you might find in something like the US Constitution, where they were attempting to deliberately define the legal framework for a brand new nation. Nonetheless, it is seen as the start of a new era for Yamato.  This law may have been loosely worded, but it was, eventually, written down.  It also was quickly followed by a new ranking system.  The kabane system of ranking didn't go away—not even the traditional individual honorifics, like Sukune, although that would have a bit of gap in the record.  The Kabane system remained in use to rank the various families, but then a twelve cap system was instituted to rank individual courtiers.  This was a first.  While certain courtiers certainly had privileges—for example, the heads of certain families—the ranking system, which came to be used, in one form or another, throughout east Asia, was a distinctly continental tradition.  On the face of it, this was about setting up a meritocracy.  Those who were most deserving would stand at the top, overseeing those below them.  Of course in Yamato, “most deserving” usually meant those who came from the right families, so we'll see how that evolves over time. We also see some changes in the way that Yamato was coming to view itself as the center versus the periphery.  Lands that were once sovereign units unto themselves, had gone from simply acknowledging the nominal hegemony of Yamato to finding their subservient position being written into the law.  We see an idea that individual governors—the lords of those regions now part of the larger Yamato state—should not levy their own taxes, but that there should be a single tax on the people.  This is a critical concept, and it would be interesting to see just how well it was obeyed; certainly in later periods it was often the prerogative of local governors to adjust the taxes to take into account their, ahem, overhead.  Nominally this was to cover the costs of local administration, but in many periods it was assessed by those in charge, locally, to help cover their personal costs, and was often set based on what the local administrators thought that they could get away with, as all of the excess went to line their own pockets.  This would make provincial governorships rather lucrative, though being that far from the capital and the seat of power would have its drawbacks.  This is a not uncommon model for tax collecting in different societies, where tax collectors paid themselves out of the taxes they collected. At this point in time, however, the central government was clearly trying to get a handle on this practice, and it makes sense as they were trying to assert more direct sovereignty over the land and the people.  So it would not do to have the people paying taxes to two lords, since there could be only one ultimate sovereign, and they were seated on the throne in Yamato.  This goes along with a continual thread of centralization of state control, another concept that they were likely pulling from the way that continental states were organized. And all of this came along with a healthy dose of Buddhism.  This reign we see the completion of Asukadera, one of the key temples to be set up in this time.  We also get indications of the start of Shitennouji, in modern Ohosaka, the ancient temple of Houryuji, which even today still boasts the oldest wooden building in the world, and the temple of Koryuji, in the Uzumasa district of modern Kyoto.  In addition to this we are told that the elites went on something of a temple-building craze. This temple building craze—and particularly the building of state sponsored temples—would be a new sign of elite status, but it would also pull resources away from previous traditional efforts.  Most notably, the labor going to build, staff, and maintain Buddhist temples would pull people away from the building and maintaining of monumental tombs.  This doesn't mean that they would go away, but the tombs certainly changed, and we would see them become smaller, less prominent, and, ultimately, they would be just about phased out altogether, except for a few particularly prominent examples. In addition to the growing influence of the Buddhist religion, relations with the mainland were also notable.  There are several mentions of different types of “tribute” from Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even various parts of the archipelago. Of course, once more we kick off the regular attempts to “free” Nimna from Silla rule.  However, it should be noted that there isn't a lot of corroborating evidence for any of Yamato's peninsular activities.  Perhaps this is due to the fact that they were successful, and that hardly appealed to those compiling works like the Samguk Sagi, who were, after all, writing to help prop up the Silla kingdom  and their royal family just as the Japanese Chroniclers were doing for theirs.  There is also the possibility that this was something that didn't happen.  Or at least not as it is described.  It is quite possible that the impact of any attempts to chastise Silla were overblown, or even anachronistic.  Long story short, we don't see any lasting gains by Yamato this period, with many of the attempted military excursions being halted or called off for a number of reasons. We also see Yamato racing farther afield.  Although they call them the Great Tang, based on the timing it seems that Yamato made direct contact with the Sui dynasty some time after the latter had one again unified the area of eastern China.  This contact was significant in a time when the Court, in general, was turning to more Sinified continental practices.  It is also significant that Yamato approached these contacts with a certain pride, assuming an equal status in their communications.  This is borne out in the Chinese histories as well. All in all, there is a lot going on here, so we are going to deep dive into many of these topics. That said, there is one thing that I'll cover in this episode as I'm not sure it really fits well into anything else, but it is a fun diversion.  It happened in the summer of 599, about six years into Kashikiya Hime's reign.  Specifically it was the 27th day of the 4th lunar month when the peace of the realm was disturbed by a tremendous earthquake that we are told “destroyed all the houses”. Now Japan is no stranger to earthquakes.  They sit on the Pacific Rim's “Ring of Fire”, and volcanic and geologic activity is largely responsible for the islands' shape and mountainous terrain.  Not only that, but many of the volcanos across the island are still active, even today.  One stat I read suggested that 10% of the world's active volcanoes are in Japan.  We talked about two eruptions that we know about from the early 6th century back in Episode XXX, but still, those are rare enough.  There has been roughly only one significant eruption every hundred years or so, that we know of.  Meanwhile, Japan experiences about 1500 earthquakes each year.  Most of them are probably not even noticed by anyone not looking at a seismograph, of course.  Over the past decade there has been more than one earthquake each year at magnitude 7 or higher, but these are often in particular places.  Quick digression here—but if you hear about an earthquake in Japan, the numbers that they use to calculate the size are often different from what you might find in the US or other countries.  In the US we usually talk about the Richter scale, developed in 1935 by Charles Richter.  It measures the magnitude in a logarithmic scale, meaning that a category 7.0 earthquake is actually 10 times as powerful as a category 6.0.  Likewise a category 8.0 is ten times that of a 7.0, and one hundred times more powerful than a 6.0.  However, this only really provides the local magnitude, and it doesn't tell you other things, such as the type of force—a sharp crack versus rolling waves, for example—or even the duration.  In Japan, there are a few different ways that the Japanese Meterological Agency classifies earthquakes, and one of those is the Seismic Intensity scale, also known as the Shindo scale. The Shindo scale is more concerned with the effects of the earthquake than simply the magnitude, and while there are 10 different classifications, it only goes up to 7, as levels 5 and 6 are broken up into “Weak” and “Strong” intensities.  This can lead to some misunderstanding when looking at a report regarding Japanese earthquakes, as 7 is the highest they go, but they aren't measuring things the same way. However you measure it, there have been significant earthquakes, with a magnitude of 7.0 or higher, or with loss of life and property, over once a year, on average.  The damage and effects are often somewhat localized, but with modern media it is easy to learn about these earthquakes, which can certainly make it seem like they are happening all the time.  On the other hand, back in ancient times, news would take time to travel.  Still, it is remarkable to me that we really haven't seen anything in the Chronicles on major earthquakes up to this point, similar to how it is strange that we haven't really heard about any major volcanos.  There was an earthquake back in the reign of Woasatsuma no Wakugo, aka Ingyou Tennou, and we mentioned it in Episode 56.  It damaged the temporary burial of the previous sovereign, which is why it was considered of note, but otherwise it was largely just a passing mention to a natural phenomenon.  It is possible that we didn't hear about them because the Nara Basin just didn't experience anything that sizeable, or if there was, it just didn't make it into the records.  Meanwhile, the smaller quakes may have been no less common than heavy rains, and equally predictible. Compare that to later in the Nihon Shoki, where the 7th century would see at least 19 of 22 mentions of the word “earthquake”.  While it is possible that was just a particularly active century, I tend to suspect that it meant that from this point on we probably are getting better records, and thus we will get details that might not have otherwise survived if we were just relying on the historical highlights. In this case, it sounds as if the earthquake was particularly destructive, perhaps a level 6 or higher on the Shindo intensity scale.  And, of course, it impacted the Yamato elites.  We aren't told of any deaths, but it was still a traumatic event and the court took immediate action.  No, they didn't issue emergency relief funds, and they didn't provide labor to rebuild all the houses—or at least not that is mentioned.  No, the Court had something more important it needed to do:  and so orders were given to sacrifice to the “god of earthquakes.” This does make some sense.  After all, a large part of the sovereign's portfolio was in regards to the spiritual realm.  Sure, there was the administration of the state, but just about anyone could provide funding or even people to help with physical tasks.  The role of the sovereign, however, was often as the intermediary between Heaven and Earth; between the kami and human beings.   And so it was completely within Kashikiya Hime's responsibilities to try and placate the spirits that had caused this disaster and to prevent future earthquakes. Now the name of the god of earthquakes is not exactly given.  It is sometimes read as “Nawi” or “Nai” no kami, but even then it is just referencing the shaking land, or “Na”.  There are traditions that connect this kami to one that we've heard about before, Takemikazuchi. Takemikazuchi's name lets us know that he is a thunder deity, and it is not difficult to make a connection between the rolling thunder in the sky and the rolling waves of an earthquake.  Takemikazuchi's previous appearance in the Nihon Shoki was back in the Age of the Gods, when Takemikazuchi and Futsunushi came down to help pacify the land, and particularly the land of Izumo.  Today, Takemikazuchi is worshipped at Kashima Jingu, in the old land of Hitachi, and he is, in fact connected with earthquakes. There is an old belief that earthquakes were actually caused by giant catfish, or Namazu—and once again there is that “Na” component possibly making an appearance.  These old stories said that when the Namazu thrashed about, underground, the land would shake.  When this happened, Takemikazuchi found the kaname ishi, a stone at the top of the catfish's head that poked out above ground.  He struck this stone so hard that there is a divot in the rock even up to this day.  That stone sits on the grounds of Kashima shrine.  It may not look like much, but according to the shrine they tried to dig it out and found that it wasn't just a rock, but it was part of a much larger stone that continued deep into the earth.  Today this stone is a focus for worship to help prevent earthquakes. Now the kaname ishi is not only found in Kashima—there is another one a short distance away at the famous Katori shrine as well, where they worship the spirit of Futsunushi.  There are also Kaname Ishi found in Ohomura Shrine, in Iga, as well as another Kashima shrine in modern Miyagi prefecture.  These are all central to eastern Honshu, possibly indicating a common thread amongst all of them. I would note that I don't know when the tradition of the kaname ishi stone, or that story about Takemikazuchi, first came about, or if that is even the original telling of the story.  We do have an entry in the Shoku Nihongi, the successor history to the Nihon Shoki, where there were shrines to the—or an—“earthquake god” in all seven of the home provinces.  I suspect that local deities were often consulted, and different local traditions may have held some shrines, kami, and rituals as more effective than others. Regardless, I hope it has been an interesting diversion.  I know it was something I enjoyed, having recently visited Kashima and Katori shrines and seen their Kaname Ishi in person—I'll have photos up on the website.  Do you know of other earthquake related rituals or shrines?  Please hit me up online, either on Twitter—or whatever the platform is calling itself today---Facebook, or via email, at the.sengokudaimyo@gmail.com.  I'd love to hear if you know of more shrines that specialize in subduing earthquakes. Next time we'll want to start some of our deep dives.  By then I hope to have done a bit more research on some of the various topics so that we can really tie this all together. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. 

This episode we will look at the influences on Japan from the continent, starting with what was going on between the archipelago and the peninsula with tribute--in the form of birds and even books--as well as conflict.  We'll start to look at what sorts of knowledge was being passed over to Japan in the form of various books, and hopefully set the stage for changes that we will eventually see in the form of the Yamato government, itself. For more, check out our blog post at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-94 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 94: Magpies, Buddhism, and the Baekje Summer Reading Program This is one of a multi-part series discussing the late 6th and early 7th centuries during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou.  Last episode, Episode 93, I did a very quick overview of just what is going on and some of the players involved.  This episode I want to start deep diving into some of the topics, and we're going to start with looking at the relationship between Yamato and the Continent, primarily, but not exclusively, through their relationships, the gifts and tribute that was going back and forth, and immigration—primarily from Baekje and Silla—and the importation of new ideas, not just Buddhism.  This in turn would would eventually lead to a formal change in the way that the Yamato state governed itself and how it came to see itself even as an equal to that of the Sui court, which had unified the various kingdoms of the Yangtze and Yellow River Basins in the area of modern China. To begin, we'll go back a bit, because this dynamic isn't simply about Kashikiya Hime, Soga no Umako, or any one, single figure—though that is often how it is portrayed.  To start with, let's cover some background and what we know about the archipelago and the continent. As we went over many, many episodes back, the early Yayoi period, prior to the Kofun period, saw a growth in material cultural items that were from or quite similar to those on the Korean peninsula.  There had been some similarities previously, during the Jomon period, but over the course of what now looks to be 1200 to 1300 years, the is evidence of people going regularly back and forth across the straits.  It is quite likely that there were Wa cultural entities on both sides in the early centuries BCE, and there are numerous groups mentioned on the Korean peninsula, presumably from different ethno-linguistic backgrounds, though typically only three areas get much focus: The Samhan, or three Han, of Mahan, Byeonhan, and Jinhan. Later this would shift to three Kingdoms:  Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo, and they would  get almost all of the press.  Still, we know that there were groups like the Gaya, or Kara, confederacy, and likely other small, eventually isolated groups that did not have their stories written down anywhere, other than mentions in the Chronicles of Japan or of one of the other three major Kingdoms of the peninsula. These groups continued to trade with the continent, and as the archipelago entered the period of mounded tombs, they were doing so as part of a larger mounded tomb cultural area that included both the archipelago and the Korean peninsula: First the funkyubo, which is to say burial mounds, with multiple burials, and then the kofun, the singular tomb mounds for an individual and possibly their direct relatives.  This tradition reached its apex with the distinct zenpo-koen, or round-keyhole style, kofun, an innovation that was rooted in continental practice but at the same time distinctly a part of the archipelago. Many artifacts came over throughout this period, and a fair number of them came with a new innovation: writing.  There is debate over the earliest forms of “writing” to be found in the islands, with evidence of characters on pottery being questioned as to its authenticity.  However, it is hard to question the writing that appeared on the early bronze mirrors and other such artifacts that showed up. Early writing on the archipelago is more decorative or even performative—crude attempts to copy existing characters that often demonstrate a lack of understanding, at least by the artisans that were making various elite goods.  Though, based on the fact that even obvious forgeries with nonsense characters made their way into tombs as grave goods, we can probably assume that most of the elites were not too concerned with writing, either, other than for its decorative, and possibly even talismanic qualities. In the fourth and fifth centuries, this began to change.  We have specialists and teachers coming over to the archipelago, often there as tutors for the royal Baekje princes who were apparently staying in Yamato as part of a diplomatic mission.  No doubt some Yamato elites began to learn to read and write, but even at this point it seems to have been more of a novelty, and for several centuries reading and writing would seem to have remained largely the purview of educated immigrant communities who came to Yamato and set up shop. Though, along with things like the horse, writing may have nonetheless assisted Yamato in extending its authority, as speech could now, with a good scribe, be committed to paper or some other medium and then conveyed great distances without worry about something begin forgotten. So, at this point, writing appears to mostly be utilitarian in purpose.  It fills a need.  That said, we have discussion of the Classics, and as reading and writing grew, exposure to writings on philosophy, religion, and other topics expanded.  After all, reading meant that you were no longer reliant on simply whom you could bring over from the continent.  Instead, you could import their thoughts—or even the thoughts of humans long dead—and read them for yourself.  In the early 6th century, we see Baekje sending over libraries worth of books.  These are largely focused on Buddhist scriptures, but they also include other works of philosophy as well.  It is unclear to me how much the evangelical nature of Buddhism contributed to this spread.  Buddhism exhorts believers to share the Buddha's teachings with all sentient beings.  Even during the Buddha's lifetime, his disciples would go out and teach and then gather back with their teacher during the rainy season. Buddhist teachings, coming over in books—the sutras—came alongside of other writings.  There were writings about philosophy, about medicine, and about science, including things that we might today consider magical or supernatural.  Those who knew how to read and write had access to new knowledge, to new ideas, and to new ways of thinking.  We can see how all of this mixed in the ways that things are described in the Chronicles.  For example, we see that many of the rulers up to this point have been described in continental terms as wise and sage kings.  Now, as Buddhism starts to gain a foothold, we see Buddhist terminology entering in to the mix.  In some ways it is a mishmash of all of the different texts that were coming over, and it seems that things were coming more and more to a head. In addition, there were things going on over on the continent as well, and this would come to also affect the archipelago.  For one thing, this was a period of unification and consolidation of the various state polities.  Baekje and Silla had been consolidating the smaller city-states under their administration for some time, and in 589 the Sui dynasty finally achieved what so many had tried since the time of the Jin—they consolidated control over both the Yangtze and Yellow River basins.  They set up their capital, and in so doing they had control of the largest empire up to that point in the history of East Asia.  The Sui dynasty covered not only these river basins, but they also had significant control over the Western Regions, out along the famous Silk Road. The Sui could really make some claim to being Zhongguo, the Middle Kingdom, with so many of the trade routes passing through their territory.  They also controlled the lands that were the source of so much of the literary tradition—whether that was the homelands of sages like Confucius, or else the gateway to India and the home of Buddhism.  It is perfectly understandable that those states in the Sui's orbit would enter a period of even further Sinification.  For the archipelago this was likely through a lens tinted by their intermediaries on the Korean peninsula, but even they were clearly looking to the Sui and adopting some of the tools of statecraft that had developed over in the lands of the Middle Kingdom. During the early years of the Sui, Yamato had been involved in their own struggles, and at the end of the previous reign Yamato had an army in Tsukushi poised to head over and chastise Silla for all that they had done to Nimna, but then Hasebe was assassinated, and it is unclear what actually happened to that expedition.  Yamato started gathering an army in 591, and Kishi no Kana and Kishi no Itahiko were sent to Silla and Nimna, respectively, as envoys, and then we are told that in 595 the generals and their men arrived from Tsukushi.  Does that mean that they went over to the peninsula, fought, and then came back from Tsukushi?  It is all a little murky, and not entirely clear to me. Rather, we are told that in 597 the King of Baekje sent Prince Acha to Yamato with so-called “tribute”—the diplomatic gifts that we've discussed before, re-affirming Baekje and Yamato's alliance.  Later that same year, Iwagane no Kishi was sent to Silla, so presumably Yamato and Silla relations had improved.  Iwagane no Kishi returned back some five months later, in 598, and he offered a gift from the Silla court of two magpies to Kashikiya Hime.  We are told that they were kept in the wood of Naniwa, where they built a nest in a tree and had their young. Aston notes here that magpies are plentiful on the continent but not in Japan.  Indeed, their natural range is noted across eastern China and up through the Amur river region, as well as a subspecies up in Kamchatka, and yet it seems like they didn't exactly stray far from the coast.  In modern Japan, the magpie, is considered to be an invasive species, and the current populations likely were brought over through trade in the late 16th century, suggesting that this initial couple of birds and their offspring did not exactly work out.  Even today magpies are mostly established in Kyushu, with occasional sightings further north—though they have been seen as far north as Hokkaido.  Perhaps Naniwa just was not quite as hospitable for them.  There is also the possibility that the term “magpie” was referencing some other, similar bird.  That is always possible and hard to say for certain.  That said, it is part of a trend, as four months later, in the autumn of 598, a Silla envoy brought another bird:  this time a peacock. Not to be outdone, apparently, a year later, in the autumn of 599, Baekje sent a veritable menagerie:  a camel, two sheep, and a white pheasant.  Presumably these were sent alive, though whether or not there was anyone in Japan who knew how to take care of them it is unclear.  I can only imagine what it must have been like to have such animals on board the ship during the treacherous crossing of the Korea strait—for all we know there were other exotic gifts that were likewise sent, but these are the only ones that made it. And if this sounds far-fetched, we have plenty of evidence of the exotic animal trade.  Animals such as ostriches, and possibly even a giraffe or two, were somehow moved all the way from Africa along the silk road to the court in Chang'an. There were also “tribute” gifts sent from parts of the archipelago, though I suspect this was quite different from the diplomatic gifts shared between states.  For example, there was a white deer sent to Kashikiya Hime from the land of Koshi in the winter of 598.  It was no camel or magpie, but white or albino animals—assuming that wasn't their normal color—were considered auspicious symbols. Also, in 595 there was a huge log that washed ashore in Awaji.  A local family hauled it up and went to use it as firewood when they noticed that it gave off a particularly sweet smell.  Immediately they put out the fire, as they suddenly realized what they had:  it was a log of aloeswood.  Aloeswood is well known as one of the most highly prized aromatic woods, and it famously does not grow in Japan.  In fact, it is a tropical wood, growing in Southeast Asia.  For a log to have washed ashore is almost unbelievable—perhaps it was part of a trade shipment that sank.  It isn't impossible that a log somehow fell, naturally, into the ocean and followed the currents all the way up to Japan, which would have been quite the journey. And so, with such a rare gift, the people offered it up to Kashikiya Hime.  This was probably the best course of action.  They could use it for themselves, but that likely wouldn't have done much other than help perfume the air for a time.  Or they could have tried to sell it—but given the rarity, I'm sure there would have been questions.  In both cases, I suspect that they would have been at risk of some elite getting wind and deciding that they should just take it for themselves.  By offering it to the court, publicly, they received the credit for it, at least—and it probably put them in favor with the court at least for a little while. Logs like this would be treated with immense respect.  Small pieces would be taken, often ground down and used sparingly.  A piece much like this called “Ranjatai” came over as a gift from the Tang dynasty in the 8th century, and was later preserved at Todaiji in the 8th century, and is still there as part of the Shosoin collection. The story of this particular one is interesting in that knowledge of aloeswood and the tradition of scent appreciation likely came over from the continent, probably from the Sui and Tang dynasties, as part of the overall cultural package that the archipelago was in the midst of absorbing. Despite the apparently good relations indicated by gifts like magpies or peacocks, it is clear there were still some contentions with Silla, especially given that nobody had forgotten their takeover of Nimna, and it didn't help that in 600, we are told that Silla and Nimna went to war with each other--again.  It isn't clear just how involved Yamato was in this, if at all—by all accounts, Nimna has already been under Silla control.  Was this a local rebellion?  An attempt by Yamato and Baekje to split it off?  Or something else?  Or is it just a fabrication to justify the next bit, where we are told that Kashikiya Hime sent an army of 10,000 soldiers under the command of Sakahibe no Omi as Taishogun and Hozumi no Omi as his assistant, the Fukushogun?  They crossed the waters over to Silla and laid siege to five of Silla's fortresses, forcing Silla to raise the white flag.  The Nihon Shoki claims that Silla then ceded six fortified places:  Tatara, Sonara, Pulchikwi, Witha, South Kara, and Ara. Since Silla submitted, the Yamato troops stopped their assault and Kashikiya Hime sent Naniwa no Kishi no Miwa to Silla and Naniwa no Kishi no Itahiko to Nimna to help broker some sort of peace.  Interestingly, this seems quite similar to the account of 591, when they sent “Kishi no Itahiko”, with no mention of Naniwa.  Presumably it is the same individual, and I have to wonder if it isn't the same event, just relocated and duplicated for some reason. A peace was brokered, and the Yamato troops departed, but it seems that Silla was dealing in something other than good faith: no sooner had the Yamato troops gotten back in their boats than Silla once again invaded Nimna, again. I'd like to stress that there is no evidence of this at all that I could find in the Samguk Sagi, and it is possible that some of this is in the wrong section, possibly to simply prop up this period, in general.  However, it is equally as likely that the Samguk Sagi simply did not record a loss to Yamato—especially one that they quickly overturned, setting things back to the status quo.  As such, the best we can say is that Silla and Yamato around this time were less than buddy buddy. With Silla going back on their word, Yamato reached out to Goguryeo and Baekje in 601.  Ohotomo no Muraji no Kurafu went to Goguryeo, while Sakamoto no Omi no Nukade traveled to Baekje.  Silla was not just waiting around, however, and we are told that Silla sent a spy to Yamato, but they were arrested and found out in Tsushima.  They arrested him and sent him as tribute to the Yamato court. We are told that the spy's name was “Kamata”, and he was banished to Kamitsukenu—aka the land of Kenu nearer to the capital, later known as Kouzuke.  And there are a few things about this story that I think we should pull on. First off, that name: Kamata.  That feels very much like a Wa name, more than one from the peninsula.  We aren't told their ethnicity, only whom they were working for, so it may have been someone from Wa, or possibly that is just the name by which they were known to the archipelago.  There likely were Wa who were living on the peninsula, just like there were people from Baekje, Silla, and Koguryeo living in the archipelago, so that's not out of the question.  Furthermore, it would make sense, if you wanted to send someone to spy on Yamato, to use someone who looked and sounded the part. The punishment is also interesting.  They didn't put him to death.  And neither did they imprison him.  In fact, I'm not sure that there would have been anywhere to imprison him, as there wasn't really a concept of a “prison” where you just lock people up.  There may have been some form of incarceration to hold people until they could be found guilty and punished, but incarceration as a punishment just doesn't really come up.  Instead, if you wanted to remove someone, banishment seems to have been the case—sending them off somewhere far away, presumably under the care of some local official who would make sure that they didn't run off.  Islands, like Sado Island, were extremely useful for such purposes, but there are plenty of examples where other locations were used as well. They probably could have levied a fine, as well, but that seems almost pointless, as he would have been free to continue to spy on Yamato.  Instead they sent him about as far away from Silla and Silla support as they could send him. This also speaks to the range of Yamato's authority.  It would seem that Tsushima was at least nominally reporting to Yamato, though given that he was sent as “tribute” to the court, that may indicate that they still had some level of autonomy.  And then there must have been someone in Kamitsukenu in order to banish someone all the way out there, as well. Of course, given all of this, it is hardly surprising that Yamato was back to discussing the possibility of making war with Silla again.  And so, in the second month of 602, Prince Kume was appointed for the invasion of Silla, and he was granted the various “Be” of the service of the kami—possibly meaning groups like the Imbe and the Nakatomi, along with the Kuni no Miyatsuko, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and an army of 25,000 men.  And they were ready to go quickly—only two months later they were in Tsukushi, in the district of Shima, gathering ships to ferry the army over to the peninsula. Unfortunately, two months later, things fell apart.  On the one hand, Ohotomo no Muraji no Kurafu and Sakamoto no Omi no Nukade returned back from Baekje, where they likely had been working with Yamato's allies.  Kurafu had been on a mission to Goguryeo and Nukade had been sent to Baekje the previous year.  However, at the same time, Prince Kume fell ill, and he was unable to carry out the invasion. In fact, the invasion was stalled at least through the next year, when, in about the 2nd month of 603, almost a year after Prince Kume had been sent out, a mounted courier brought news to Kashikiya Hime that he had succumbed to his illness.  She immediately consulted with her uncle, Soga no Umako, and the Crown Prince, Umayado, and asked them for their counsel.  Ultimately, she had Kume's body taken to Saba in Suwo, out at the western end of the Seto Inland Sea side of western Honshu, modern Yamaguchi Prefecture, where the prince was temporarily interred, with Hashi no Muraji no Wite, possibly a local official, overseeing the ceremony.  Later, Wite's descendants in the region were called the Saba no Muraji.  Kume was finally buried atop Mt. Hanifu in Kawachi. A quick note here about time.  It is sometimes difficult to figure out just what happened when.  This is all noted for the fourth day of the second month of 603.  Clearly it didn't all happen in one day, so what actually happened on that day?   Remember, Kume fell ill in the 6th month of 602, and we are now in the 2nd month of the following year.  So did he fall ill and then was wasting away for 8 months before he passed away?  Or is this the date when the court learned of his death?  Or is it the date when his body was finally buried?  There is a lot going on, and they don't exactly provide a day-to-day.  My general take is that this is when the news arrived at the court, which is when there would have been a court record, while the rest was likely commentary added for context, even if it happened much later. In addition, this whole thing holds some questions for me, not the least the name of this prince:  Kume.  Presumably, Kume was a full brother to none other than the Crown Prince, Prince Umayado.  He was also a son of Princess Anahobe and the sovereign, Tachibana no Toyohi, and we have seen then name “Kume” before as a name, or at least a sobriquet, for someone in the royal family.  However, it also means “army”, which seems surprisingly on the nose, given that all we are given about him is that he was supposed to lead an army.  It makes me wonder if this wasn't one of those half-remembered stories that the Chroniclers included without all of the information.  Then again, maybe Kume really was his name, and this is all just a coincidence. I also would note that it was not typical to have a royal prince leading an expedition like this.  Typically, the taishogun would be someone from an influential family, but not a member of the royal family, themselves.  That this army was being led by a royal prince also seems to speak to how this was seen as significant.  Perhaps that is why, when Kume passed away, they chose as his replacement his older brother:  Tahema. [Look up more on Tahema and if I can find out about him] Tahema was selected to take over for his younger brother on the first day of the 4th month of 603, and 3 months later, on the 3rd day of the 7th month, he was leaving out of Naniwa.  He didn't get very far, however.  Tahema embarked on this adventure along with his own wife, Princess Toneri.  We've seen this in past episodes, where women were in the camp alongside their husbands, directly supporting the campaigns.  Unfortunately, in this case, Princess Toneri died shortly into their journey, at Akashi.  This is recorded as only three days after they had departed, which likely means it happened quickly.  They buried her at Higasa Hill, but Tahema, likely grieving his loss, returned, and never carried out the invasion. Five years later, things may have improved with Silla, as there were a number of immigrants—we are only told that they were “many persons”—came to settle in Japan.  What isn't noted is whether or not this was of their own volition.  What forces drove them across from the peninsula?  Did they realize that there were opportunities to come and provide the Yamato elites with their continental knowledge and skills?  Were they prisoners of war?  If so, where was the war?  Or were they fleeing conflict on the peninsula?  Perhaps political refugees?  It isn't exactly clear. While things were rocky with Silla, relations seem to have been much better with the Baekje and Goguryeo.  While exotic animals may have been the gift of choice in the early part of the period, by 602, Baekje and Goguryeo were both sending gifts of a different sort.  These were more focused on spiritual and intellectual pursuits.  And so, in 602, a Baekje priest named Kwalleuk—or Kanroku, in the Japanese pronunciation—arrived bringing books on a number of different subjects, which three or four members of the court were assigned to study.  We don't know exactly what the contents of each book was, but based on what we generally know about later theories, we can probably make some educated guesses that much of this was probably based on concepts of yin and yang energies.  Yin and yang, were considered primal energies, and at some point I will need to do a full episode just on this, but during the Han dynasty, many different cosmological theories came together and were often explained in terms of yin and yang.  So elemental theory is explained as each element has some different portion of yin and yang, and similarly different directions, different times of day, and different times of the year were all explained as different proportions of yin and yang energies, which then contributed to whether certain actions would be easier or more difficult—or even outright dangerous. The book on calendar-making, or ”koyomi”, was assigned to Ohochin, whose name suggests that he may have been from a family from the continent, and he was the ancestor of the Yako no Fumibito.  Calendar-making was considered one of the more important roles in continental sciences, although it never quite took off to the same degree in Yamato.  Still, it described the movement of the stars and how to line up the lunar days with various celestial phenomena.  It also was important for understanding auspicious and inauspicious days, directions, and more—arts like divination, geomancy, and straight up magic would often provide instructions that required an understanding of the proper flow of yin and yang energies, as represented by the elements, and expressed on the calendar in terms of the elemental branch and stem system, with each day being related to a given element in an either greater or lesser capacity, usually related as the elder or younger brother.  Events might be scheduled to take place, for instance, on the first rat day of the first month, and so the calendar maker would be the one to help determine when that would be.  Also, since the solar and lunar calendars were not in synch, there would occasionally be a need for a “leap month”, often known as an extra-calendrical month, which would typically just repeat the previous month.  This would happen, literally, “once in a blue moon”, an English expression referring to a solar month with two full moons.  In fact, we just had one of those last month, in August of 2023. This isn't to say that the archipelago didn't have a system of keeping track of seasons, etc.  Clearly they were successfully planting and harvesting rice, so they had knowledge of roughly what time it was in the year, though there are some thoughts that a “year” was originally based on a single growing period, leading to two or three “years” each solar year.  Either way, farmers and others no doubt knew at least local conditions and what to look for regarding when to plant, and when to perform local ceremonies, but this was clearly a quote-unquote, “scientific” approach, based on complex and authoritative sounding descriptions of yin and yang energies. Closely related to the calendar-making studies, another book that the Baekje priest Kwalleuk brought over was one on Astronomy, or “Tenmon”, a study of the heavens, which was studied by Ohotomo no Suguri no Kousou.  For perhaps obvious reasons, astronomy and calendar-making were closely aligned, since the change in the stars over the course of the year would often have impacts on the calendar.  However, this was also likely very closely aligned with something akin to astrology, as well, following the celestial paths of various entities, many of those being things like planets.  If you aren't aware, planets, though they often appear in the sky as “stars”, have apparently erratic movements across the heavens.  The stars generally remain fixed, and from our perspective appear to “move” together throughout the year.  Planets, however, take funky loop-de-loop paths through our sky, as they, like the earth, are also orbiting the sun.  Furthermore, different planets orbit at different speeds.  All of this leads to some apparently strange movements, especially if you envision the sky as a round dome over a flat earth.  There are also other phenomenon, from regular meteor showers to comets, and even eclipses, all of which were thought to have their own reasons.  Some of these were considered natural—neither auspicious nor inauspicious—while others were thought to impact the flow of yin yang energy on the earth, thus potentially affecting our day-to-day lives. Kousou was apparently trying to get the special bonus for the summer reading program, because he also studied another book that came over from Baekje on a subject that Aston translates as “Invisibility”, or “tonkou”.  This is a little less obvious an explanation.  I don't think that they were literally studying, ninja-style, how to not to be seen.  In discussions of kami we've talked in the past about visible kami and, thus, conversely, invisible kami.  It appears to be based on a type of divination to help better understand auspicious and inauspicious signs, and is based on a blend of various theories, again connected to a large yin-yang theory. Finally, there was another volume that was studied by Yamashiro no Omi no Hinamitsu that Aston translates as straight up “magic”, or “houjutsu”.  Of course, in the worldview at the time, Magic was just another science that we didn't understand.  By understanding the flow of yin and yang, one can affect various things, from helping cure disease and heal the sick to causing calamity, even to the point of possibly learning the secrets of immortality. Much of this would fall into the terms “onmyoudou”, the way of Yin and Yang, and there had been some work on that introduced earlier.  That it was being introduced by a Buddhist priest demonstrates what I was saying earlier about just how interconnected it all was. Other Buddhist gifts were much more straightforward.  In 605, for instance, the king of Goguryeo sent 300 Ryou of what they call “yellow metal”, possibly an admixture of gold and copper, for a Buddhist image.  Five years later they sent two priests.  One of them, Tamchi, is said to have known the Five Classics, that is the Confucian classics, as well as how to prepare different colored paints, paper, and ink. All of this is interesting, but it is the usual suspects.  Yamato had been siphoning off culture and philosophy from the states and kingdoms of the Korean peninsula for some time, and in that time, they began to adopt various continental practices.  In later centuries, much of this would be attributed to the work of Shotoku Taishi, aka Prince Umayado, especially the transmission of Buddhist thought, although for the most part we haven't actually seen a lot of that in the Chronicles themselves, which we'll get to. However, later stories paint him as one of the main forces pushing for reform in the court, especially when they would eventually push for a new, 17 article constitution, based on principles pulled from a variety of sources—both Buddhist and Han philosophical foundations.  Along with that constitution, the court also instituted a 12 rank system for court ministers.  This ranking system would remain in place, eventually replacing entirely the kabane system that ranked individuals based on their family in favor of ranking one for their individual achievements.  Furthermore, it wasn't just a status symbol.  Rank would come into play in all aspects of courtly life, from the parts of the palace you were allowed to be in, the kinds of jobs you could do, and even the amount that you were paid for your service, making the families of the land part of and dependent on the bureaucracy. And with such a system in place, there was only one natural thing for it:  The Yamato court would reach out beyond the Korean peninsula and go directly to the source.  They would send envoys to the court of the Sui Emperor himself and establish relations with the Middle Kingdom directly, leading to one of the most famous diplomatic incidents in all of the early Japanese history. And that is where I'm going to have to leave it for now, because once we get into that rabbit hole we are going to have a whole other episode.  And so now we are fully grounded in our foundation.  We can see Yamato importing people and also ideas from the continent, through the peninsula, and those ideas are taking root.  They are causing changes, at least at the Yamato court, but those changes would eventually make there way throughout society, and forever change Japan and even how they see themselves.  The lens of what is commonly seen as Buddhist and Confucian thought would be a powerful tool that would shape the ideas to come. Until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

For more see: https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-95 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 96: From the Land Where the Sun Rises. We are still talking about the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, from the late 6th to the early 7th century.  We've been covering discussions of the continental influences on the archipelago, especially as they adopted more and more continental practices—both religion and government.  This episode we are going to continue the discussion regarding Yamato's interactions, specifically a notably famous trip to the continent and Yamato's apparent assumption of equality between their ruler, the Ohokimi, and the Emperor of the Sui dynasty—the Son of Heaven.  We'll also touch on the changes Japan was adopting in their own government as a result of greater adoption of continental philosophy.  These are largely seen as a Sinification—a trend towards a more “Chinese” style system—but I want to emphasize that a lot of this was filtered through the lens of the states on the Korean peninsula: Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla.  This is one of the reasons I hesitate to just call it “Chinese”, as Yamato was really blending aspects of several cultural influences, as well as adding their own spice to the sauce.   Hence, last episode we talked about Yamato's contact with the continent—specifically the Korean Peninsula—and the various diplomatic gifts, often put in terms of “tribute”, that came over.  Besides a small menagerie of exotic animals and Buddhist statues, there were learned monks and various books conveying continental teachings.  At the same time that Yamato was starting to experiment with a new, foreign religion—Buddhism—they began to experiment with other foreign concepts as well.  They had members of the court studying specific disciplines, and presumably passing those on to others.  I want to go more in depth into just what Yamato did and how they trans (Touch on the Rank System and the 17 Article Constitution once again) Now these 17 articles were almost all based on Confucian or Buddhist philosophy; clearly the Court was looking to the continent more and more for inspiration on how to govern, especially as it further expanded and solidified its grasp across the archipelago.  Up to this point, much of that innovation had come through the Korean peninsula, by way of Silla, Goguryeo, and, most prominently, their ally Baekje.  But no doubt they recognized that much of what was influencing those kingdoms had, itself, come from even farther away.  And so, this reign, the Chronicles record that Yamato once again sent envoys beyond their peninsular neighbors all the way to the Middle Country itself.  This is significant as they were making direct contact with the mighty empire, the source of so many of the philosophical and scientific innovations that Yamato was trying to adopt.  This wasn't the first time this had happened, of course—we know of the cases of state of Na contacting the Han court, and then Himiko of the Wa during the Wei period, as well as several missions immediately after Himiko's death.  We also know of the five kings of Wa who reached out to the Liu Song court, though the Chronicles themselves are often silent on actual embassies, making it hard to tell exactly which reigns that occurred in, though it is generally agreed that one of those “Five Kings” was none other than Wakatakiru himself, Yuuryaku Tennou. There may have been other missions.  There seems to be some discussion amongst the Liang dynasty records that may indicate greater contact with Japan, but again, we don't necessarily see that in the records themselves.  Furthermore, with the fractured nature of the various dynasties since the Han period, and the various conflicts on the peninsula and in the archipelago, it would be understandable if there hadn't been much direct diplomatic contact since about the time of Wakatakiru. And so it is a pretty big thing that we not only have an envoy around the year 608, but that there appears to be agreement for it in the Sui history—though there is one glaring mistake: in the Nihon Shoki they clearly say that they sent envoys to the “Great Tang”, and not the Sui.  However, this is fairly easily explained.  By the 8th century, as the records were being compiled, the Tang dynasty was, indeed, in control of the Chinese court.  In fact, the Tang dynasty was so admired by the Japanese of the day that even now the term “Karafu”, or “Chinese style”, uses the character for the Tang dynasty, rather than the Han.  On the one hand it seems as though the scholars of the 8th century would surely have known of the Sui dynasty coming before the Tang, but it is also understandable that anyone would have just thought of the successive courts as a single continuity.  Either way, I'll talk about the Sui dynasty, and it is in the Sui dynasty records that we find the corresponding description of this embassy. It starts on the 3rd day of the 7th month of 607.  The Chronicles tell us that Wono no Omi no Imoko was sent to the Sui court, taking along Kuratsukuri no Fukuri as an interpreter.  As you may recall, the Kuratsukuri, or saddle-makers, claimed a descent from Shiba Tattou, himself from the continent.  It would make sense to take someone who could actually speak the language or, failing that, read and write it.  This was a peculiar function of the Chinese language, since the various dialects, though often mutually unintelligible, still use the same characters. Imoko, by the way, may have also had connections, but in this case it was to the Soga.  We are told in the Nihon Shoki that Imoko was known in the Sui Court as “So Imko”, and the “So” character is the same as the first character in the name “Soga”.  It is possible that Imoko was, indeed, a Soga family member, and the name Wono no Omi may have come later.   Or it is possible that he was forgotten for some reason. In the Sui history, we are told that in the year 607 there was an envoy sent with tribute from King Tarashihoko, which may have been another name for Kashikiya Hime, or perhaps it was simply an error caused by the problems with attempting to record foreign names in Sinitic characters. According to the history as translated by Tsunoda Ryusaku and L. Carrington Goodrich, the envoy from Yamato explained the situation as such: “The King has heard that to the west of the ocean a Boddhisattva of the Sovereign reveres and promotes Buddhism.  Accompanying the embassy are several tens of monks who have come to study Buddhism.” This is great as we see some of the things that the Japanese scholars left out—that there were Buddhists on this mission.  For many, getting to the monasteries and temples of the Middle Kingdom was almost as good as making the trip all the way to India. Over all, the embassy appears to have been largely successful in their mission.  The ambassador, Imoko, came back with an envoy from the Sui, Pei Shiqing, along with twelve other individuals. According to the Sui dynasty history, they first headed to Baekje, reaching the island of Chiku, and then, after seeing Tara in the south, they passed Tsushima and sailed out in to the deep ocean, eventually landing on the island of Iki.  From there they made it to Tsukushi, and on to Suwo.  They then passed through some ten countries until they came to the shore.  Now, Naniwa no Kishi no Wonari had been sent to bring them to court and they had a new official residence erected for them in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  When they arrived, on the 15th day of the 6th month of the year 608, Yamato sent out thirty heavily decorated boats to meet them—and no doubt to make an impression as well.  They met them at Yeguchi, the mouth of the river and they were ensconced in the newly built official residence. Official entertainers were appointed for the ambassadors—Nakatomi no Miyatoko no Muraji no Torimaro, Ohohoshi no Kawachi no Atahe no Nukade, and Fume no Fumibito no Oohei.  Meanwhile, Imoko continued on to the court proper to report on his mission. Unfortunately, for all of the goodness that came from the whole thing, the trip had not been completely flawless.  The Sui court had entrusted Imoko with a letter to pass on to the Yamato court, but the return trip through Baekje proved… problematic, to say the least.  We are told that men of Baekje stopped the party, searched them, and confiscated the letter.  It is unclear whether these were Baekje officials or just some bandits, but the important thing was that Imoko had lost the message, which was a grave offense.  The ministers suggested that, despite all of his success, Imoko should be banished for losing the letter.  After all, it was the duty of an envoy to protect the messages between the courts at all costs. In the end, it was agreed that, yes, Imoko should be punished, but that it would be a bad look in front of their guests.  After all, he had just represented them to the Sui Court, and so Kashikiya Hime pardoned Imoko of any wrongdoing. A couple months later, on the 3rd day of the 8th month, the preparations had been made and  the envoys formally approached the palace.  There were met on the Tsubaki no Ichi road by 75 well-dress horses—the Sui history says two hundred—and there Nukada no Muraji no Hirafu welcomed them all with a speech. After finally reaching the location of the palace, it was nine more days before they were formally summoned to present themselves and state their reason for coming.  Abe no Tori no Omi and Mononobe no Yosami no no Muraji no Idaku acted as “introducers” for the guests, announcing who they were to the court.  Then Pei Shiqing had the various diplomatic gifts arranged in the courtyard, and then presented his credentials to the court.  Then, bowing twice, he gave his own account of why he had been sent—he announced greetings from the Sui emperor, recognized the work of Imoko, and then provided an excuse that the emperor himself could not make it due to his poor health.  That last bit I suspect was a polite fiction, or perhaps an erroneous addition by the Chroniclers.  After all, it isn't like the Sui emperors were in the habit of just flouncing off to an unknown foreign land—especially one across the sea. After delivering some polite niceties, Shiqing also provided a detailed list of all of the diplomatic gifts that they had brought. The dance that happened next is telling.  In order to convey Pei Shiqing's letter to the sovereign, it wasn't like they could just hand it.  There were levels of protocol and procedure that had to be observed, and so Abe no Omi took the letter up and handed it to Ohotomo no Kurafu no Muraji, who in turn placed it on a table in front of the Great gate where Kashikiya Hime could then get it.  This setup is similar to the later court, where only certain individuals of rank were actually allowed up into the buildings of the palace, whereas others were restricted to the ground. After that formal introduction, there was a month or more of parties for the envoys, until finally they had to return to the Sui court.  When they departed, they were sent with eight students and Imoko, who was bringing another letter to the Sui Court.  The students were all scheduled to study various disciplines and bring the knowledge back to the Yamato court. But that wasn't quite so special, or at least we aren't given much more on the specifics of what the students brought back..  What really stands out in the Sui histories is the contents of the formal letter that Imoko was carrying, as it had a phrase that will be familiar to many students of this period of history, and which really connects across the Japanese and Sui histories, despite other inconsistencies.  It read: “The Son of Heaven in the land where the sun rises addresses a letter to the Son of Heaven in the land where the sun sets.  We hope you are in good health.” Or at least, that is how the Sui histories record it.  In the Nihon Shoki they say something similar, “The Emperor of the East respectfully addresses the Emperor of the West.”  Here, rather than using “Child of Heaven”, the author made use of the term “Tennou” when referring to the Yamato sovereign, and then different characters were used for the Sui emperor.  At the same time, that is one of the reasons that I give more credence to the Sui history..  Of course, however you slice and dice this thing, there are some major airs being taken by the sovereign.  Thus it is no wonder that, when the Sui emperor heard this, he was displeased, to say the least, and he told his minister that the letter was discourteous and should never again be brought to his attention.  So that's a whole mood. The reason for this may be obvious, as the letter paints the sovereign of Japan as equal to the emperor of the Sui dynasty.  That was indeed a bold claim.  There is also the fact that they claim to be the land where the sun rises while the Sui are the land where the sun sets, which may have just been referencing east and west in a poetic fashion, but on another level it is almost as if they were talking about the rise of Yamato and the fall, or setting, of the Sui. I would note that we still don't see the term “Land of the Rising Sun”, or “Nihon”, used for the name of the country yet—one of the reasons I continue to refer to Yamato and not just “Japan”.  However, all of this is in keeping with the traditions of the Wa people as we know them—the sun was given a special place in their worldview, as demonstrated linguistically, and not just through the legends curated in the 8th century.  The Nihon Shoki mentions this letter, but not for this first Certainly, as Japan continued to take on more and more trappings of the continental courts, they would eventually even take on the term Tennou—also read in Japanese as Sumera no Mikoto—to refer to the sovereign.  This is basically saying that the sovereign is, indeed, a Heavenly Son, and which they would come to translate as “emperor”, in English.  There would be other terminology and trappings that would reinforce this concept, which placed the sovereign of Japan in a position that at least locally seemed to be much more prestigious. Imoko came back from this last diplomatic mission and was well beloved—some later sources even suggest that he may have been promoted for his diplomatic efforts.  Oddly, however, we don't really hear more, if anything, about Imoko, and he fades back into the past. And so that covers much of the story of what Yamato was borrowing form the Sui and others during this period.  Next episode—well, I'm honestly not sure what we'll be covering next, as there is just so much.  But stick around. Until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode, we look at the rise of the Sui Dynasty and the famous interactions between Yamato and the Sui Dynasty, recorded in the histories of each state. For more, check out the podcast webpage:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-96 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 96: From the Land Where the Sun Rises. Once again, we are still talking about the reign of Kashikiya Hime,   from the late 6th to early 7th century.  This time, though, we are going to take a quick diversion from Yamato and first look at what was going on over on the continent, in the  area of the Yellow and Yangzi River Basins—the area of the so-called “middle country”.  This is, after all, where a lot of the philosophy and other things that the archipelago was importing came from, so what was going on over there? Back in Episode 73, ee talked about the various northern and southern dynasties in the Yellow and Yangzi River Basins.  To sum up, during that period, the eastern area of modern China was split between a variety of dynasties, many of them short-lived, and many of them—especially in the north—were dynasties from outside of the main Han ethnic group. Up through the early 580's, the dynasty in charge of the Yellow River region was the Northern Zhou, one of the many dynasties in the north descended from the nomadic Xianbei ethnic groups.  Though their aristocracy was a mix of multiple ethnicities that had intermarried over the years, the Northern Zhou celebrated their Xianbei roots, often to the detriment of ethnic Han groups.  They had inherited the territory of the Western Wei, including much of the central Yangzi region down to Sichuan.  They then defeated the Northern Qi in 577 and claimed dominion over all of the Yellow River region in the north of modern China.  Their only rival was the Chen dynasty, along the eastern reaches of the Yangzi river, but the Chen themselves were relatively weak, and it was only the power struggles within the Northern Zhou court that kept them from wiping out the Chen completely. In 581, the Northern Zhou suffered a coup d'etat. Yang Jian was a Northern Zhou general, and his family, the Yang clan, had Han origins but had intermarried with the Xianbei as well, creating a truly mixed lineage. Jian also held some sway at court, and was known as the Duke of Sui—his daughter was the Empress Dowager, and her stepson was the young Emperor Jing.  In 581 Yang Jian usurped power from his step-grandson, the child emperor Jing, and placed himself on the throne, taking the name Emperor Wen of Sui, using his previous title as the name of the new dynasty. He killed off fifty-nine princes of the previous Northern Zhou, and began to consolidate his power.  By 587, he had strengthened his position, and by 588 invasion of the Chen territories began under Prince Yang Guang.  By 589, the Chen were defeated and any attempts at rebellion were put down, giving the Sui dynasty full control of northern and southern regions—from the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers down to the Sichuan basin.  Although, as I noted, the Yang family had intermarried with the Xianbei families of the Northern Zhou, they still retained some connection with their Han roots, and Emperor Wen won over the Han Confucian scholars with reforms to the rank system and at least a nod towards getting rid of nepotism and corruption that had taken hold in the Northern Zhou and previous dynasties.  He reinstituted Han dynasty titles and restored the nine rank system.  He also reinstituted a system of impartial judges to seek out talent and moved towards the idea of an examination system—something that would really take hold in later centuries. Furthermore, while he set himself up in the northern capital of Daxingcheng, aka Chang'an, he helped rebuild the southern capital, naming it Dayang.  He also supported Buddhism and Daoism.  He became a patron of southern Buddhist monasteries, and recognized major temples as state-sponsored institutions—a far cry from the suppression attempts in the north in 574 and 578. Emperor Wen also worked on repairing canals along the Yellow River.  These canals, which allowed easy transport of goods, regularly silted up without maintenance, and the dikes on either side could break, flooding the land on either side. They had been neglected during many of the short-lived reigns up to this point, with perhaps a few exceptions when things got really bad.  However, Emperor Wen began work to fix these old canals and thus improve the flow of goods and services. Given all of this - his patronage of Buddhism and Daoism, as well as his attempt to resurrect the Han dynasty and the Confucian principles that underlay its government, as well as the public works that he instituted, Yang Jian, aka Emperor Wen of Sui, is remembered as the Cultured Emperor—despite that fact the had started out as a blood-soaked general who had secured his usurpation with a not inconsiderable amount of murder.  Sima Guang, writing from the Song dynasty, centuries later, praised Emperor Wen for all he did to grow the Sui, uniting north and south, supporting the people, and helping the country to prosper as it rarely has before.  And yet, Sima Guang also says that in his personal life he was mean and stingy and paranoid—afraid that everyone was out to get him.  Given the life he'd lived, that would make some sense.  Still, he seems to have been good for his people, in the long run. But this wasn't to last.  In 604, Emperor Wen fell ill and died.  Or at least that is the official story.  Another says that he had grown angry over some event and was about to disinherit the crown prince, Yang Guang, who sent someone to kill his father.  That is a very abbreviated version of the story, and, as I said, it is not without controversy. However he died, his son, Yang Guang, succeeded him to the throne and became known as Emperor Yang.  Emperor Yang continued to expand the empire, and under his dynasty the Sui would attain their greatest extent yet.  He rebuilt parts of the Great Wall, and expanded the borders south, into modern Vietnam, as well as up to the borders with Goguryeo.  He also continued the work his father had begun on canals, eventually undertaking the creation of the Grand Canal, which would connect the Yellow and Yangzi Rivers.  No longer would the two be separate, forced to send goods out to sea or over treacherous land routes to get from one river basin to another.  Now they could sail ships straight from one river to the other—an impressive feat that you can still see today in parts of modern China.  The project would forever change the landscape of China, both literally and figuratively.  It connected the north and south, leading to greater political, economic, and cultural unity between the two regions.  It would connect the culture and economic resources of the south with the military institutions of the north.   Unfortunately, for all that this expansion may have been good for commerce, it came at a price.  The wars in Champa, in Southern Vietnam, saw thousands of Sui soldiers die from malaria.  And then, in the north, though they continuously pushed against Goguryeo, they were never quite able to overthrow them.  Finally, there was the Grand Canal.  Although it would truly be a wonder of the world, and become a part of the lifeblood of dynasties for centuries to come, it was built at a huge price both monetarily and in human lives.  We can assume a large number of people died as conscript labor working on the canals or on refurbishing the Great Wall, but also we are told that the monetary price largely bankrupted the empire, and for which later historians castigated the Sui dynasty But that was still to happen.  For our purposes, we should rewind a bit, to the very beginning of the 7th century.  As we touched on last episode, Yamato was just adopting their own twelve rank system and a seventeen article constitution shortly after Emperor Wen passed away and Yang Guang took the throne.  Now these 17 articles were almost all based on Confucian or Buddhist philosophy; clearly the Court was looking to the continent more and more for inspiration on how to govern, especially as it further expanded and solidified its grasp across the archipelago.  Up to this point, much of that innovation had come through the Korean peninsula, by way of Silla, Goguryeo, and, most prominently, their ally Baekje.  But no doubt they knew that much of what was influencing those kingdoms had, itself, come from even farther away.  And so, this reign, the Chronicles record that Yamato once again sent envoys beyond their peninsular neighbors all the way to the Middle Country itself.  This is significant as they were making direct contact with the mighty empire, the source of so many of the philosophical and scientific innovations that Yamato was trying to adopt.  This wasn't the first time this had happened, of course—we know of the cases of state of Na contacting the Han court, and then Himiko of the Wa during the Wei period, as well as several missions immediately after Himiko's death.  We also know of the five kings of Wa who reached out to the Liu Song court, though the Chronicles themselves are often silent on actual embassies, making it hard to tell exactly which reigns that occurred in, though it is generally agreed that one of those “Five Kings” was none other than Wakatakiru himself, Yuuryaku Tennou. There may have been other missions.  There seems to be some discussion amongst the Liang dynasty records that may indicate greater contact with Japan, but again, we don't necessarily see that in the records themselves.  Furthermore, with the fractured nature of the various dynasties since the Han period, and the various conflicts on the peninsula and in the archipelago, it would be understandable if there hadn't been much direct diplomatic contact since about the time of Wakatakiru. And so it is a pretty big thing that we not only have an envoy around the year 608, but that there appears to be agreement for it in the Sui history—though there is one glaring mistake: in the Nihon Shoki they clearly say that they sent envoys to the “Great Tang”, and not the Sui.  However, this is fairly easily explained.  By the 8th century, as the records were being compiled, the Tang dynasty was, indeed, in control of the Chinese court.  In fact, the Tang dynasty was so admired by the Japanese of the day that even now the term “Karafu”, or “Chinese style”, uses the character for the Tang dynasty, rather than the Han.  On the one hand it seems as though the scholars of the 8th century would surely have known of the Sui dynasty coming before the Tang, but it is also understandable that anyone would have just thought of the successive courts as a single continuity.  Either way, I'll talk about the Sui dynasty, and it is in the Sui dynasty records that we find the corresponding description of this embassy. It starts on the 3rd day of the 7th month of 607.  The Chronicles tell us that Wono no Omi no Imoko was sent to the Sui court, taking along Kuratsukuri no Fukuri as an interpreter.  You may recall that the Kuratsukuri, or saddle-makers, claimed a descent from Shiba Tattou, himself from the continent.  It would make sense to take someone on this diplomatic exhibition who could actually speak the language or, failing that, read and write it - a peculiar function of the Chinese language, since the various dialects, though often mutually unintelligible, still use the same characters. Imoko, by the way, may have also had important connections, but in this case it was to the Soga.  We are told in the Nihon Shoki that Imoko was known in the Sui Court as “So Imko”, and the “So” character is the same as the first character in the name “Soga”.  It is possible that Imoko was, indeed, a Soga family member, and the name Wono no Omi may have come later.   Or it is possible that he was forgotten for some reason. On the Sui side, we are told that in the year 607 there was an envoy sent with tribute from King Tarashihoko, which may have been another name for Kashikiya Hime, or perhaps it was simply an error caused by the problems with attempting to record foreign names in Sinitic characters. The arrival of the embassy must have been something else, especially as they came upon the capital city.  Wen's capital city, that of Daxingcheng, was a new city, built just southeast of the ancient city of Chang'an, which was in a sad state of decay, despite hosting so many rulers over the centuries, including the Northern Zhou themselves.  Wen had laid out a new plan of a permanent, rectangular city, with the royal palace taking up the northern central district.  Buddhist and Daoist temples were scattered throughout the city.  The city itself was five to six miles a side, and so it would take time to truly build it out.  However, first the walls were set up, and then the palace area, so that Wen effectively moved into an empty city when he arrived in 583.  Many people were forcibly resettled, and members of the new royal family were encouraged to set up their own palaces, but it would take time to truly fill up—by the end of the Sui dynasty, and the beginning of the Tang, the city was still being built, and it wouldn't see its ultimate heyday as a vibrant urban capital until the Tang dynasty. And so when the Yamato delegation arrived in 608, they would have seen the impressive walls and the immense palace, but in all likelihood, much of the city was still being built, and there was likely construction on every block.  Nonetheless, the sheer size would have to have made an impression on them—nothing like this existed in the archipelago in the slightest. On the other hand, the Sui had their own curiosities about Yamato.  The history of the Sui, written only twenty to thirty years afterwards, starts out its account with a description of the Land of Wa.  Some of it is taken directly from the Wei histories, recounting what was previously known about these islands across the eastern sea—we talked about that back in episodes 11 to 13.  The Sui history summarizes these previous historical accounts, including mention of envoys that came over during the Qi and Liang dynasties—between 479 and 556—though little more is said. Then the Sui history mentions an envoy that is said to have arrived in the early part of the Sui—the Kaihuang era, between 581-600.  We are told that this was for a “King” whose family name was Ame and his personal name was Tarashihiko, with the title of Ohokimi—at least, assuming we are transliterating correctly, as the characters used have slightly different pronunciations.  That could easily be attributed to just mistranslations.  Even the family and personal name are familiar, but not exactly attributed in the Chronicles—though we have seen the elements elsewhere in the royal family, and it may be that they were also titles, of a sort.  Also, they mention a King, but that could also just be due to the fact that the Ohokimi was not a gendered title, and as such the Sui simply assumed a male ruler.  There is no evidence of this in the Chronicles for this, however it is said that at that time they looked into the ways of the Wa and they were told that “The King of Wa deems heaven to be his elder brother and the sun, his younger.  Before break of dawn he attends the Court, and, sitting cross-legged, listens to appeals.  Just as soon as the sun rises, he ceases these duties, saying that he hands them over to his brother.” This is likely a misunderstanding, once again, but it rings with some truth.  Even if we discard some of the legends about Amaterasu as later additions, there is plenty of linguistic and cultural evidence that the sun held a special place in Wa culture.  There is also the article in the new constitution about starting early to work that might just be referenced here. We aren't sure when, exactly, the Sui collected this information—though given that it was written within living memory of many of the events, a lot of the information is considered to at least be plausible, if perhaps a bit misunderstood at times. The Sui history specifically mentions the twelve court ranks—in fact, it is possible that the Chronicles, compiled in the 8th century, were actually referencingthis earlier history about the ranks, though we know that ranks continued in one way or another.  It also makes the comment that there were no regulated number of officials in each rank—that would certainly be the case later, and makes sense when the ranks also dictated how much of a salary that one could expect from the court.  Then, outside of the court they mention the “kuni”—the kuni no miyatsuko—and then claimed that each kuni no miyatsuko oversaw about 10 inaki, officials in charge of the royal granaries, who each oversaw 80 families.  It is doubtful that these numbers were that precise, but it gives an interesting concept of scale. The Sui history also tells us about other things that the Chronicles tend to leave out.  We are told that the men wore both outer and inner garments, with small (likely meaning narrow) sleeves.  Their footgear was like sandals, painted with lacquer, which sounds not unlike geta, which we do have evidence for going back into the Yayoi, at least, though this was only for the upper crust—most people just went barefoot, wearing a wide piece of cloth tied on without sewing. We do get a hint at the headgear that was instituted along with the court rank system, by the way, but only a glimpse.  We are told that it was made of brocade and colored silk and decorated with gold and silver inlaid flowers, which does correspond to some of what we know from the Chronicles. As for the women of Yamato, we are told that they arrange their hair on the back of the head, and they wear outer garments and scarves with patterns.  They have decorative combs of bamboo as well.  They also wore tattoos, as did the men.  Much of this, including the tattoos, accords with what we have evidence of in the Haniwa from the 6th century and later. For sleeping arrangements we are told that they weave grass into mattresses—possibly the origin of the later tatami that would originally just be woven mats but eventually turned into a type of permanent flooring.  For covers we are told they used skins lined with colored leather—a curious blanket, and one wonders if this was for everyone or just the upper crust. We are given some discussion of their weapons and armor, including their use of lacquered leather and the fact that they made arrowheads out of bone.  We also know they used metal, but bone was likely the more prevalent material, as losing a metal arrowhead was much more costly than losing a bone one. Interestingly we are told that, though there is a standing army, wars are infrequent—which may have been accurate in relation to what the Sui themselves had gone through and seen, since it seems like they were almost constantly fighting somewhere along their borders.  But Yamato was far from peaceful, and it is telling that the court was accompanied by music and displays of military might. As for the justice system, we talked about this a little bit in previous episodes, based on various punishments we've seen in the archipelago, though the Sui history gives us a slightly more direct description.  It claims that there were some high crimes punished by death.  Others were punished with fines, often meant to make restitution to the aggrieved.  If you couldn't pay you would be enslaved to pay for it instead.  They also mention banishment and flogging.  All of this is in line with some of what we've seen in the Chronicles, though it also seems like some of this may have also depended on other factors, including the accused's social status.  After all, not everyone had rice land that they could just turn over to wipe out their misdeeds. Then there were the various judicial ordeals.  We've mentioned this idea , with the idea that somehow the righteous would be protected from injury.  These included things like pulling pebbles out of boiling water, or reaching into a pot to grab a snake and hoping he doesn't bite you.  There are also various tortures designed to get one to confess. In discussing literacy, the Sui histories mention that the Wa have no written characters—and at this point, the writing would have been some form of Sinic characters, assuming one could read and write at all.  Instead, the Sui anthropologists said that the Wa used notched sticks and knotted ropes as a means of conveying messages.  How exactly that work, I'm not sure, but there are certainly cultures that we know used things like knotted rope for various math and conveying numbers, etc. In regards to religion, the Sui noticed that Buddhism had taken hold, but it had not gotten rid of other practices.  Thus we know they practiced forms of divination and had faith in both male and female shamans. In their free time, people would enjoy themselves.  On New Year's day, they would have archery tournaments, play games, and drink—the Sui said that it was very much like how they themselves celebrated. Coromorant fishing and abalone diving—well, diving for fish—are both noted already.  Again, these are activities that continue into the modern day. At dinner we are told that the people do not eat off of dishes or plates, but instead use oak leaves.  We've seen mention of this kind of practice, and that may have just been a particular ritual or ceremony that made its way back. Finally, there are the rituals for the dead.  We are told people wear white—white is often considered the color of death in Japan, even today.  They would have singing and dancing near the corpse, and a nobleman might lay in state—in a mogari shelter or temporary interment—for three years.  Certainly, we've sometimes seen it take a while, especially if the kofun isn't ready to receive the body, yet.  Commoners apparently would place the body in a boat which was pulled along from the shore or placed in a small palanquin—though what happens after that is somewhat of a mystery. The Sui envoys writing about this also apparently experienced an active period of Mt. Aso—or another mountain so-named—as they said it was belching forth fire from the rocks.  As we've mentioned, the archipelago is particularly active, volcanically speaking, so I'm not surprised that an envoy might have had a chance to get to know a little more about that first hand. Having described the country thus, the Sui Chronicles go on to describe the embassy that came over in the year 607.  According to the history as translated by Tsunoda Ryusaku and L. Carrington Goodrich, the envoy from Yamato explained the situation as such: “The King has heard that to the west of the ocean a Boddhisattva of the Sovereign reveres and promotes Buddhism.  Accompanying the embassy are several tens of monks who have come to study Buddhism.” This is great as we see some of the things that the Japanese scholars left out—that there were Buddhists on this mission.  For many, getting to the monasteries and temples of the Middle Kingdom was almost as good as making the trip all the way to India. Over all, the embassy appears to have been largely successful in their mission.  The ambassador, Imoko, came back with an envoy from the Sui, Pei Shiqing, along with twelve other individuals.  It is thought that this may have been the same embassy that then reported back to the court all of the various details that the later Sui history  captured. According to the Sui dynasty history, the embassy first headed to Baekje, reaching the island of Chiku, and then, after seeing Tara in the south, they passed Tsushima and sailed out in to the deep ocean, eventually landing on the island of Iki.  From there they made it to Tsukushi, and on to Suwo.  They then passed through some ten countries until they came to the shore.  Now, Naniwa no Kishi no Wonari had been sent to bring them to court and they had a new official residence erected for them in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  When they arrived, on the 15th day of the 6th month of the year 608, Yamato sent out thirty heavily decorated boats to meet them—and no doubt to make an impression as well.  They met them at Yeguchi, the mouth of the river and they were ensconced in the newly built official residence. Official entertainers were appointed for the ambassadors—Nakatomi no Miyatoko no Muraji no Torimaro, Ohohoshi no Kawachi no Atahe no Nukade, and Fume no Fumibito no Oohei.  Meanwhile, Imoko continued on to the court proper to report on his mission. Unfortunately, for all of the goodness that came from the whole thing, the trip had not been completely flawless.  The Sui court had entrusted Imoko with a letter to pass on to the Yamato court, but the return trip through Baekje proved… problematic, to say the least.  We are told that men of Baekje stopped the party, searched them, and confiscated the letter.  It is unclear whether these were Baekje officials or just some bandits, but the important thing was that Imoko had lost the message, which was a grave offense.  The ministers suggested that, despite all of his success, Imoko should be banished for losing the letter.  After all, it was the duty of an envoy to protect the messages between the courts at all costs. In the end, it was agreed that, yes, Imoko should be punished, but that it would be a bad look in front of their guests.  After all, he had just represented them to the Sui Court, and so Kashikiya Hime pardoned Imoko of any wrongdoing. A couple months later, on the 3rd day of the 8th month, the preparations had been made and  the envoys formally approached the palace.  There were met on the Tsubaki no Ichi road by 75 well-dressed horses—the Sui history says two hundred—and there Nukada no Muraji no Hirafu welcomed them all with a speech. After finally reaching the location of the palace, it was nine more days before the Sui envoys were formally summoned to present themselves and state their reason for coming.  Abe no Tori no Omi and Mononobe no Yosami no no Muraji no Idaku acted as “introducers” for the guests, announcing who they were to the court.  Then Pei Shiqing had the various diplomatic gifts arranged in the courtyard, and then presented his credentials to the court.  Then, bowing twice, he gave his own account of why he had been sent—he announced greetings from the Sui emperor, recognized the work of Imoko, and then provided an excuse that the emperor himself could not make it due to his poor health.  That last bit I suspect was a polite fiction, or perhaps an erroneous addition by the Chroniclers.  After all, it isn't like the Sui emperors were in the habit of just gallivanting off to an unknown foreign land—especially one across the sea. After delivering some polite niceties, Shiqing also provided a detailed list of all of the diplomatic gifts that they had brought. The dance that happened next is telling.  In order to convey Pei Shiqing's letter to the sovereign, it wasn't like they could just hand it.  There were levels of protocol and procedure that had to be observed, and so Abe no Omi took the letter up and handed it to Ohotomo no Kurafu no Muraji, who in turn placed it on a table in front of the Great gate where Kashikiya Hime could then get it.  This setup is similar to the later court, where only certain individuals of rank were actually allowed up into the buildings of the palace, whereas others were restricted to the ground. After that formal introduction, there was a month or more of parties for the envoys, until finally they had to return to the Sui court.  When they departed, they were sent with eight students and Imoko, who was bringing another letter back to the Sui Court.  The students were all scheduled to study various disciplines and bring the knowledge back to the Yamato court. But that wasn't quite so special, or at least we aren't given much more on the specifics of what the students brought back..  What really stands out in the Sui histories is the contents of the formal letter that Imoko was carrying, as it had a phrase that will be familiar to many students of this period of history, and which really connects across the Japanese and Sui histories, despite other inconsistencies.  It read: “The Son of Heaven in the land where the sun rises addresses a letter to the Son of Heaven in the land where the sun sets.  We hope you are in good health.” Or at least, that is how the Sui histories record it.  In the Nihon Shoki they say something similar, “The Emperor of the East respectfully addresses the Emperor of the West.”  Here, rather than using “Child of Heaven”, the author made use of the term “Tennou” when referring to the Yamato sovereign, and then different characters were used for the Sui emperor.  At the same time, that is one of the reasons that I give more credence to the Sui history. Of course, however you slice and dice this thing, there are some major airs being taken by the Yamato sovereign.  Thus it is no wonder that, when the Sui emperor heard this, he was displeased, to say the least, and he told his minister that the letter was discourteous and should never again be brought to his attention.  So that's a whole mood. The reason for this offense may be obvious, as the letter paints the sovereign of Japan as equal to the emperor of the Sui dynasty.  That was indeed a bold claim. As we mentioned towards the top of the episode, the Sui were just about at their zenith.  They had defeated their enemies, taken control of both the northern and southern regions, expanded to their south and north, and they were using their vast reserves on massive public works.  They were a large, established and still growing empire.  Comparatively Yamato had, what, 100,000 households?  No writing system.  They were eating off of oak leaves.  And yet they were taking on airs and claiming that they were equal to the Sui.  That had to garner more than a few eyerolls, and I really wonder at the temerity of the officer who presented it up the chain, especially as they would have seen what the Sui was really like—a reality that most of envoys to the Sui court would have seen firsthand. There is also the fact that they claim to be the land where the sun rises while the Sui are the land where the sun sets, which may have just been referencing east and west in a poetic fashion, but on another level it is almost as if they were talking about the rise of Yamato and the fall, or setting, of the Sui. I would note that we still don't see the term “Land of the Rising Sun”, or “Nihon”, used for the name of the country yet—one of the reasons I continue to refer to Yamato and not just “Japan”.  However, all of this is in keeping with the traditions of the Wa people as we know them—the sun was given a special place in their worldview, as demonstrated linguistically, and not just through the legends curated in the 8th century. By the way, this  exchange is mentioned in both the Sui History and the Nihon Shoki, but they place it in slightly different contexts.  According to the Sui History, this was one of the first things that envoys said, whereas the version in the Nihon Shoki it was actually sent with the second mission.  In either case, however, the content is relatively the same.  Certainly, as Japan continued to take on more and more trappings of the continental courts, they would eventually even take on the term Tennou—also read in Japanese as Sumera no Mikoto—to refer to the sovereign.  This is basically saying that the sovereign is, indeed, a Heavenly Son, and which they would come to translate as “emperor”, in English.  There would be other terminology and trappings that would reinforce this concept, which placed the sovereign of Japan in a position that at least locally seemed to be much more prestigious. Imoko came back from this last diplomatic mission and was well beloved—some later sources even suggest that he may have been promoted for his diplomatic efforts.  Oddly, however, we don't really hear more, if anything, about Imoko, and he fades back into the past. And so that covers much of the story of what Yamato was borrowing from the Sui and others during this period.  Next episode—well, I'm honestly not sure what we'll be covering next, as there is just so much going on during Kashikiya-hime's reign.  But stick around. Until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.   

This episode we are looking at some of the earliest temples to be built in Japan.  Namely: Asukadera and Shitennoji.  These have pretty good claims to be some of the earliest temples, and they are mentioned in this reign, both in relation to the Soga-Mononobe War. For photos and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-97  Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 97: Asukadera and Shitennouji. First off, quick shout out to Craig for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com.  We'll have more information on how you can help support the show at the end of the episode. To recap so far, we are still in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, in the 6th and early 7th centuries—though for this episode we are going to step back a little bit as much of this has origins in the 6th century, looking at the early spread of Buddhism and the founding of some of the first permanent temple complexes—specifically Asukadera in, well, Asuka, and Shitennouji in the area of modern Ohosaka. As we've seen, Yamato was in the process of importing various things from the mainland—both material culture and immaterial things as well, including philosophy and religion.  By religion, of course, we are talking about Buddhism, which we've already covered to some extent in Episodes 85 and 88, but let's go over a little bit of the history, shall we, and catch up with what has been happening since. Buddhism had likely been coming over to the archipelago since the arrival of Buddhist immigrants from Baekje and elsewhere, though their religion is not much discussed.  After all, the Nihon Shoki is focused largely on the Yamato royal family and the court, and so other than groups of immigrants beings settled and possibly organized into family groups, there wasn't much call to look into their day to day practices. It is also difficult to know just how far Buddhism had penetrated into the lower ranks of society on the continent, as well.  Certainly the courts had adopted Buddhism, but to what extent it was part of the daily lives of the common person, I don't know that I could say with any certainty.  Still, we can imagine that there were likely those who came over to the archipelago with an extant belief in the Buddha and some inkling of the rites and other aspects of Buddhist worship.  Did they set up small temples in their villages?  Or convert a house into a shrine?  Or did they just keep private practice and worship?  We don't know, and as far as I've come across we don't seem to have any conclusive evidence via the archaeological record, either.  And so we are left with the written record and what it has to say on the subject. The Nihon Shoki notes the first official mention of Buddhism in the archipelago as the arrival of a Buddhist statue from Baekje.  The official record puts this in the year 552, in the reign of Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, and credits Soga no Iname with taking and building the first temple and setting up the first temple by repurposing his own house—or at least some part of his property.  Other families, however, opposed the Soga's attempts at bringing in and establishing this new religion and ultimately ended up destroying that first temple, tossing the image into the river. This whole thing repeated itself in 584, about 32 years later—Silla had given Yamato a Buddhist image in 579, and then an image of Miroku, aka Maitreya, and an image of the Buddha, aka Shakyamuni, were both found.  Soga no Umako, Iname's son and successor to his role as Oho-omi, took the two images and had a temple once again built, importing specialists and setting up three nuns to attend to the appropriate rituals.  Once again, the Soga's opponents, led by the powerful Mononobe family, cried foul and had the temple destroyed and the nuns stripped of their robes. There are a few things about this account that are more than a bit sus, however.  First, there is mention of that first Buddha image in both the Joguki, the record of the life of Prince Shotoku Taishi, as well as a record from Gangoji Garan Engi, a record from Gangoji temple—which is to say Asukadera, one of the temples we'll be talking about, today.  In those records we find a different date for the first Buddha image, with its arrival coming in 538, not 552.  That would have put its arrival a year before Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, took the throne.  It is also rather interesting at just how much the two stories parallel each other, and one has to wonder if they were really two separate stories or if they were one story that got attributed to different members of the Soga family, for some reason.  It is also possible that they are different stories, but with similar elements that got conflated across each other.  Or it really was a matter of déjà vu, with the experience of Soga no Umako paralleling that of his father, Iname.  We also cannot discount some massaging of the text.  For one thing, they put it in the reign of Amekunioshi, who had a different maternal line than his previous two successors and elder half-brothers.  There may have been political reasons to keep the stories as they were and, hopefully, keep the story relatively tidy. Regardless of why, the implication seems clear that by 585 there were people in Yamato with some knowledge of Buddhism, as well as the necessary artisans and craftspeople to create a continental style temple complex. In the following years, the fight between the Soga and the Mononobe escalated with the death of sovereign and the ensuing succession dispute.  The Mononobe and their candidate, Prince Anahobe, were destroyed by forces in league with the Soga family.  During that conflict, which we covered in Episodes 90 and 91, there was a point where both Soga no Umako and his nephew, the young Prince Umayado, each prayed to the Buddha for victory, promising to erect a temple if they succeeded.  Indeed, they did succeed, and based on their vows, two temples were eventually created. The first temple is known as Asukadera, or the Temple of Asuka, although it also is known by its official name of Hokoji, and later Gangoji.  Construction of Hokoji started in 588, and is attributed to Soga no Umako. The second temple is Shitennoji, or the Temple of the Four Heavenly Kings.  We'll talk about them a bit more, later, but the Four Heavenly Kings are four gods, who appear to pre-date Buddhism, who were co-opted into the Buddhist pantheon as protectors of Buddhism, each one representing a cardinal direction.  Shitennouji's traditional founding is given to us as 593. Both of these temples still exist, in one form or another.  If you go to Asuka, today, you can find a small Asukadera on the site of the previous temple, but it is much reduced from its original form.  When it was built, Asukadera would have been at the center of the political heartland of Yamato.  It was the land of the Soga, but also the location of the palace of Kashikiya Hime, and it likely rivaled her palace for pride of place in Asuka.  However, when the capital eventually moved away from Asuka—first to nearby Kashihara, but then across the Nara basin to Heijo-kyo, modern Nara city—the temple buildings were removed to Nara, to modern day Gankouji, though the site of Houkouji continued to be used as a small, local temple.  The modern temple in Asuka does have a Buddha statue, however, that they believe to have been the original Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha, known as the Asuka Daibutsu.  It changed hands many times over the centuries, but has since come back to Asuka, though a little worse for wear. Shitennouji, on the other hand, is in the heart of modern Ohosaka, in the Tennoji ward.  The buildings of Shitennouji have been rebuilt numerous times, although supposedly by the same construction company, one of the oldest businesses in the world, and they remain in their original configuration.  Since they've been rebuilt, however, this is why you will often hear of another temple, Horyuji, also associated with Prince Shotoku Taishi, as being the oldest temple in Japan, as it has the oldest extant buildings.  Make no mistake, however—Asukadera and Shitennouji were founded first, and both still survive in some manner. These two temples do a lot to help us better understand Buddhism and its influence, but also helps us understand more than that.  They help us look into the politics of the time, and even illuminate some of the apparent tensions between different immigrant groups from Baekje and Silla that were becoming more and more prominent in Yamato. Of the various early temples that were built, Asukadera is perhaps one of the most well-documented, both in the historic record as well as the archaeological evidence.  Donald McCallum, in his book, “The Four Great Temples”, notes that serious study of Asukadera began around the Meiji and into the Taisho era, in particular calling out the work of Fukuyama Toshio, published in 1934.  Up to that point, it was mostly looking at the histories—both the Nihon Shoki and also works like the Gangouji Engi, the record of Gangouji, the later name for Asukadera.  He determined that much of the record, though it claimed to have been written by Shotoku Taishi himself, was actually written later than the Nihon Shoki, based on linguistic analysis.  However, there were some sections that appear to be earlier or contemporaneous with the Nihon Shoki, likely pulled from other works, which the Nihon Shoki may have been pulling from as well, including inscriptions on the extant temple buildings at the time.  This was determined by things like the grammar and Sinitic characters used, as well as the lack of terms like “Tennou”, which still were not in use until later periods.  It is also interesting to note that Shotoku Taishi is referred to in the document by the name “Prince Umayado no Toyotomimi” Based on that analysis, it seems fairly certain that Soga no Umako was, indeed, largely responsible for donations to build Asukadera, although the Nihon Shoki gives credit to Kashikiya Hime as well.  That and certain other features of the Nihon Shoki account were probably added later, possibly at the urging of the Gangouji priests themselves, to stress a stronger connection with the Yamato royal family rather than just Soga no Umako. The text gives a brief history of Buddhism, which is where we see Buddhism being introduced as early as 538, though it seems to suggest this was still in the reign of Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennou, rather than his predecessors.  Soga no Iname is still given much of the credit, though there is a note about Kashikiya Hime also installing a Buddhist icon in her own quarters at one point—something not mentioned in the Nihon Shoki.  It does mention the various pro- and anti-Buddhist arguments and steps that the various sides took, including Umako having three nuns ordained and them being eventually defrocked—though without mention of them being whipped, which may have been too much or could be sensationalist additions to the Nihon Shoki text. One thing that is notably missing in the Gangouji Engi, at least as McCallum summarizes it, is mention of the Mononobe and Soga conflict, and so there is no mention of any special vow that was made to build Asukadera if they were victorious—let alone anything about the vow to build Shitennouji.  Instead, it is instigated by the three nuns, who request both a nunnery and a monastery, each with at least 10 ordained nuns or priests, as that was the number required for many of the rites and to ensure proper ordination could take place in the future, thus allowing them to grow the religion.  These two temples would need to be close enough so that they could each hear the bells from the other. Although priests were requested from Baekje, too few came over in response, which is why the nuns themselves were sent over to get a proper ordination.  They return in 590 and urge the completion of the two temples—Asukadera and Toyouradera, the latter using the land that was previously Kashikiya Hime's palace prior to her moving to the Oharida palace site, nearby. All of that was based on the extant texts, but there were also archaeological excavations that took place in 1956 to 1957, as well as later investigations in and around Asuka Temple and the general area.  Even today, excavations in the regions are ongoing, and in a recent visit I saw them excavating nearby palace ruins.  Fortunately, the area has not seen the kind of heavy urban development, whether in the modern or pre-modern period, that many other areas have gone through, with much of the land having been returned to farmland, and the importance of the area, today, is well understood. The initial excavations were a bit surprising.  Based on extant temples such as Shitennoji, it was expected that Asukadera would have been planned out in such a way that there was a straight line from the central gate, to the pagoda and the kondou, or golden hall, sometimes called an image hall, with the koudou, or lecture hall, in back.  Often there is some separation of the lecture hall from the other two.  These buildings are both connected and separated by gates, walls, and pathways, including covered cloisters along the wall, which conforms to the pattern of temples on the Korean peninsula as well.  This is very reminiscent of the Baekje layout for temples, and may include other elements such as belfries or similar. The three main buildings each serve a purpose.  As we noted back in Episode 84, the Pagoda had replaced the Stupa, and was often a reliquary, holding relics of some kind.  Then there is the Kondou—literally golden halls, as many of the statues and other artwork would be gilded and designed to reflect light, often shining out from the darkness with the goal of leading more people to consider enlightenment.  These are the halls where images are placed—hence the other term, “image hall”—whether metal, wood, stone, et cetera. The pagoda and the kondou may be areas of personal worship, with believers coming to visit them, perhaps to venerate a particular aspect of the Buddha or contemplate something, and images or particular relics are often ascribed particular spiritual power.  Often these are included together or near one another. On the other hand the koudou, or Lecture Hall, also known as the Ordination Hall, would be the place for sermons and various ceremonies.  In many ways these are the “working” areas of a temple, and while they often have images and are ornately adorned, they have, in some ways, a more utilitarian function, and in many early temple layouts they are often held apart from the pagoda and kondou in some way. At Asukadera, the excavations revealed that it was not planned out in the standard three building model, all lined up, as had been expected.  Instead, there was a walled courtyard, with cloisters around the sides and a central gate that led to a pagoda in the middle of the area.  Then there were three buildings, identified as individual kondou, or image halls, spaced equally to the left, right, and behind the pagoda.  A larger building was then found behind the walled courtyard area, determined to be the temple's lecture hall.  All of this was enclosed in another wall, which seems to have defined the larger area of the temple. This layout is fairly unique.  It doesn't exactly fit anything we've seen in Baekje or Silla temples of the period, and most closely resembles something out of Goguryeo.  It may be worth noting that there are records that claim the King of Goguryeo provided funds to help build temples in Japan, and that some of the monks involved, including the monk Eben, or Hyephyeon, who helped initially ordain the Zenshin and her fellow nuns, was said to be a man from Goguryeo, and so may have had some influence on the design. On the other hand, the rooftiles found at the Asukadera site are very much in the Baekje tradition.  Up to this point, there is no indication that the Japanese were using rooftiles in their construction, and were likely using thatching, much as many Shinto shrines continue to use to this day.  The use of rooftiles is thought to have started with Buddhist temples, and occurred much earlier than their use in other buildings, including palace buildings.  Since rooftiles were ceramic, they required different construction techniques so that the roof could support the weight, which would further explain the need to import craftsmen from the continent to help build these structures. Rooftiles are not necessarily the most exciting thing for people wandering through a museum.  Often one is looking at weapons, jewelry, or haniwa statues, and suddenly you come across a plethora of tiles from different buildings, and it can be easy to just glance past.  Without understanding what you are looking at, the rooftiles often seem the same—or same-ish.  The majority of the tiles are plain, without much distinction.  End tiles—whether round or flat—often have similar decorations, such as lotus flowers, and they are often very similar to one another.  Furthermore, these are rarely refined works of art—tiles were meant to be mass produced and were often created quickly to meet the demands of construction. Despite all of this, I think it is worth recognizing that the rooftiles are often important to helping archaeologists, especially when the rest of the building is no longer extant.  Rooftiles often would fall off and get buried, or even be reused in some way to edge a gutter or something similar.  However, how they are made, the molds that were used, the composition of the clay, etc. can all be analyzed to provide information about the age and size of a structure, helping to know when different buildings may have been built or rebuilt, as well as providing some information on where the materials were coming from.  And for those who want to learn more, you can be sure that every part of a tile has its own specialized name and vocabulary—it is something that you can really delve deep into if that is your thing. The rooftiles at Asukadera are somewhat odd in that they are not as uniform as one might expect, and this may come from the fact that they had imported different tile makers from Baekje, and so each one set up their workshop with slightly different standards.  Later, as Yamato as more temples and other continental style buildings were built, these would become larger, more standardized industries.  Still, that they seem to conform to the general patterns found in Baekje speaks, again, to the location that the craftsmen were likely from, as well as the connections mentioned in the texts. And so we see at least Baekje and possibly Goguryeo influence on the design of this temple. One other thing that has been found is the stone pedestal for an image in the central image hall.  We know that at some point a large image was crafted, and the Asuka Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha Image of Asuka, is still extant, and the stone pedestal was likely where it or a similar image sat at some point.  However, just when this image was created and installed is still unknown—there are references to various images, but nothing that can be directly attributed to the current Asuka Daibutsu, though various scholars have identified it as being consistent with the Asuka style from at least the 7th century. The earliest information talks about the stone Miroku, or Maitreya, image that Kafuka no Omi brought back.  It was probably not that large, and it seems that it was eventually enshrined at Asukadera in some form.  There are mentions of various icons made in the early 7th century as well, which could refer to this.  It is said that it was made in 609 by Kuratsukuri no Tori, though that is not without controversy.  It was damaged in a fire in 1196, which was originally thought to have destroyed everything.  Indeed, an examination of the image has shown that it appears to have been reconstructed, though there is some evidence that the face and right hand are likely original, while the rest of the body was refashioned, probably from the burnt and melted pieces that were damaged in the fire.  It still sits in the Angoin at the modern site of Asukadera, for anyone who wants to come and see it. Taken together, this can give us some idea of what it took to build the temple.  Previous so-called temples appear to be conversions of local buildings, with perhaps some work on building a proper pagoda, but at Asukadera they went full-out to build according to the continental standards.  That said, there has been a significant amount of ink spilled over just how this process went. Based on the Nihon Shoki, it would almost appear that everything arrived, fully formed, at the end of 588.  As I've noted previously, the way that the Nihon Shoki records read it can sometimes be difficult to figure out exactly what happened when, as a single entry will often contain details that must have happened before or after the date of the entry itself, and it isn't entirely clear exactly what happened on the referenced date, in many cases.  Furthermore, since the Chroniclers were pulling from other sources, there is always the possibility that they, themselves, misinterpreted something.  Finally, I would note that their primary goal was to give readers and idea of what happened that conformed with what was known as true and what supported the state institutions.  Would it have mattered to them exactly when Asukadera was built, as long as it was generally right and in the regards to the appropriate sovereign and nobles?  Probably not. It likely would have taken some time to pull everything together.  There would have been planning sessions, and drawings.  They would have to harvest the right kind of wood and shape it based on the designs, and an entire industry of tile-making would have to be set up, likely with local hands learning the process.  Similarly, woodcarvers would have already existed, but they would likely need to learn new techniques to account for the continental design.  And then there were the various rituals that would need to be carried out.  This is all in addition to any stonework, special metalwork, or other such things that had not been previously done in the archipelago.  On top of that, there would have been issues of translation, with immigrant artisans directing their various groups of craftsmen. It is possible that work for planning the temple began as early as 588—which may have just been the request for more craftsmen—and then in 596, when we have textual evidence that some part of the temple was “finished”, that may have been nothing more than the pagoda by that time.   It is then unclear whether the other buildings were finished together or in separate phases—perhaps the central image hall was finished, and then the two on the sides of the pagoda were added at a later date.  Images may have also been shifted around as new images, like the Asuka Daibutsu, were completed.  Many scholars have argued for different interpretations based on their readings of the texts, but none of the evidence is so clear as to be incontrovertible. What is clear is that this was a grand temple, and that would have been equally clear to everyone who viewed it.  Furthermore, this temple was connected directly to Soga no Umako and the Soga family.  Something to consider:  Just as the giant tomb mounds helped demonstrate the power of various clans based on the work and resources that went into them, a temple like Asukadera would have provided similar cache for the Soga family.  This is more than just religious devotion, it was a political statement, made in the heart of the region that Kashikiya Hime was ruling from.  Visitors to her palace—not to mention later palaces in the area—would have hardly been able to miss the pagoda and the tiled rooves, and locals would have likely heard the toll of the bell, assuming that both they and Toyouradera had them as the sources mention. Speaking of Toyouradera, I have less information on that compound, but it seems to have been built sometime later.  Kashikiya Hime moved to the new Woharida palace around 603, which would have freed the Toyoura palace buildings to be used for the nunnery.  While there is evidence of a pagoda being built, I suspect that it originally reused the old palace buildings, repurposing them, and then would have been built out as time allowed.  There is still a temple in Toyoura, and some remains that have been examined, but I am not aware of anything as extensive as the work on Asukadera. In comparison—and perhaps contrast—to Asukadera is the other temple of this episode: Shitennouji, the temple of the Four Heavenly Kings.  Now while many later texts certainly involved both Kashikiya Hime and Prince Umayado in the building of Asukadera, it is clear that Soga no Umako played a leading role—and was probably the primary patron for that temple.  In contrast, Shitennouji is directly associated with none other than Prince Shotoku Taishi.  It claims to have been founded in 593, based on the account of the Nihon Shoki, and it is said to have been commissioned by Crown Prince Shotoku, aka Prince Umayado, in response to the Four Heavenly Kings' intervention in the Soga-Mononobe war. To put some of this in perspective:  Prince Umayado is said to have been born in 574, and he would have been a teenager during the Soga-Mononobe war, and would have been about 20 years old or so in 593.  Granted, this is Shotoku Taishi we are talking about, and all of the history about him claims that he was quite precocious.  It is said that when he was born, his hands were clasped together.  Two years later, he opened his hands and it was revealed that he had been born holding a relic of the Buddha, which was later enshrined at the temple of Houryuji. Speaking of Houryuuji, I'm sure we'll spend more time on it in a future episode, but here's what you probably should know for context.  Houryuuji was built on the site of Prince Umayado's Ikaruga palace, and is also said to have been directly patronized by Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  Furthermore, it has the oldest extant wooden buildings in the world, let alone in Japan.  And yet, the Shitenouji temple appears to get more air time in the Chronicles, which may be a factor of several different things, but primarily indicating that Shitenouji and its patrons were ascendant at court at the time that everything was being written down, whereas it appears that Houryuuji may have been rebuilding after a fire, and therefore was not as prominent as it would later be.  Either way, I encourage people to visit both to get a better idea of this period. There is less textual evidence—or perhaps there has simply been less scrutiny—for the founding of Shitenouji, and its position is hardly central to the Yamato court.  Nonetheless, it is in a place of prominence, as it was near Naniwa, the port to the Seto Inland Sea and beyond.  This was also an area that had a high number of immigrants from the mainland, which I'll be returning to in a bit. As I mentioned earlier in this episode, Shitenouji follows what we might consider a more traditional design.  Entering through the central gate, one comes upon the five storied pagoda, behind which stands the kondou, or image hall.  All of this is surrounded by a cloistered wall, which encircles both until you get to the north end, where the wall terminates at the koudou, or lecture hall.  The buildings are brightly painted and decorated in red, green, and white—colors that would have likely adorned Asukadera's posts as well, and which we see in many later temples and images.  In fact, the image of a Buddhist temple as brown and plain comes later, likely originating with just the ravages of time and the lack of funding to keep up with the paint, which was originally said to help preserve the wood and prevent damage from insects.  Eventually, some sects would come to prefer the more subdued image brought about by natural wood, creating a new aesthetic that continues to be popular.  Today you can find a variety of different temple buildings from different eras, some of which maintain the bright colors that would have likely been part of any early temple. There have been some excavations around Shitenouji, which appear to confirm that the shape has remained roughly the same over the centuries, from what I can tell.  The buildings themselves have been rebuilt over the years, but maintain a certain characteristic that seems appropriate to the early temple period.  This may be due to the fact that the temple has retained the services of a family of temple builders that continue to operate as a business, even today.  Kongou Gumi claims that it was founded in 578, when craftsmen were brought from Baekje to help build temples in Japan, making it the oldest company in the world, though it is now a subsidiary company of the Takamatsu Construction Group.  They continue to specialize in traditional temple, shrine, and castle construction, preserving ancient techniques, but also employing modern materials, such as concrete and rebar, where appropriate. While they were specific to Shitennouji, they were not exclusive, and in the 16th century they helped rebuild Osaka castle.  They have repeatedly rebuilt Shitennouji and maintained it through the years, even after it has, at times, been completely destroyed by fire or even typhoon. The story of Shitennouji's founding we talked about in the episode on the Soga-Mononobe War, but to quickly recount:  The young Shotoku Taishi crafted figures of the four Heavenly kings and prayed for a Soga victory, promising to build a temple if they won.  The Soga did win, and so he followed through by building this temple, using land taken from the Mononobe during the war. So who were the Four Heavenly Kings?  Why didn't he just pray to the Buddha? The Four Heavenly Kings are gods from India that were transmitted along with Buddhism as Buddhist Deities.  They are: Vaisravana, aka Tamonten, in the north Virudhaka, aka Zouchouten, in the south Dhrtarastra, aka Jikokuten, in the east  And Virupaksa, aka Koumokuten, the west. In general, if you are at a Japanese temple, and you see the name end with “Ten” it may be referring to one of the various Heavenly Kings. The four heavenly kings are devas, and included as four of the 20 or 24 devas who manifest to protect the Dharma.  Given their role in protecting the various cardinal directions, they became popular in East Asian Buddhism, and show up in various Mahayana texts, but they also appear in Theravada traditions as well.  It is unclear exactly when and how they became associated with Buddhism, though it wasn't uncommon for Buddhism to co-opt various gods and deities and turn them into aspects of the Buddha, Boddhisatvas, or, as in this case, protectors of Buddhism.  We see similar things happen in the archipelago as various kami are, on occasion, given Buddhist aspects and accepted as defenders of Buddhism. It appears that they have a particular place in the Konkoumyou Sutra, or Sutra of Golden Light, which is where they appear to have entered East Asian Buddhism.  This sutra may have been translated as early as the 5th century, though the Nihon Shoki uses quotes that appear to come from a translation likely made around the 7th or 8th century, which was likely popular at the time that the Nihon Shoki was being compiled.  Not only that, but later in the 8th century, various Kokubunji, or provincial temples, would be set up under state sponsorship, in part to create spiritual protection for the realm, and these were specifically set up as temples of the Four Heavenly Kings.  So we can see that belief in the efficacy of the Four Heavenly Kings was important around the time that the Chronicles were being compiled. In addition, Shitennouji is heavily influenced by what some call the “Cult” of “Shotoku Taishi”.  Again, by the time that the Nihon Shoki was being compiled, Prince Umayado had already been lifted up on a pedestal and turned into something more than just a Prince—however influential he may have been.  He became known as the Father of Buddhism, and the Father of the Nation, having also played a part—we are told—in the creation of the first ever 17 article constitution.  He was a Soga relative but he was not, importantly, a member of the direct Soga line, which would land on hard times just a few generations later and be on the political outs. Michael Como, in his book on Shotoku Taishi, also points out that Shitennouji was associated with the Abe family and with various lineages with ties specifically to Silla, including groups like the Hata—although the layout of the temple still accords with Baekje temple design, as far as I can tell.  Still, by the 8th century in particular, Shitennouji and similar temples claiming sponsorship or connections to Shotoku Taishi appear to have had connections with lineages descending from or with connections to Silla.  Spoiler alert:  Silla would eventually take over the entire Korean Peninsula, and therefore, by the 8th century, there were no new “Baekje” or “Goguryeo” immigrants—anyone coming over was from Silla.  And Michael Como points out that there seems to have been a bit of a political rift and distinction between Silla descended lineage groups and Baekje descended lineage groups.  Asukadera and the Soga family—and even Shotoku Taishi's temple of Houryuuji—appear to have been firmly attached to the Baekje lineages, whom they had sponsored to come over to help them promote Buddhism, but by the 8th century, Silla-backed groups were more dominant.  He points to a “split” in the Shotoku Taishi worship, with the Silla-backed temples dominating the narrative in the 8th century and beyond. This may also play into the story of the founding of Shitennouji, as there is a similar story in the Samguk Yusa, as Como points out.  In it, the King prays to the Heavenly Kings for victory against the Tang, and that same King is said to have built the Sacheonwang Temple in the Silla capital of Gyeongju.  This temple would become a model for later temples in Silla, and introduced a layout with two pagodas, rather than one.  We see this pattern arrive in the archipelago, influencing temples like Yakushiji, in modern Nara. Unfortunately, this all seems to just muddy the waters.  I think we can probably say that the founding of Shitennouji by a young Shotoku Taishi, while possible, seems a bit sus.  Sure, I guess they could have built a temple on the land taken from the Mononobe—it would have been quite the statement given that the Mononobe had been so anti-Buddhism, at least according to the textual records.  But was it originally dedicated to the Four Heavenly Kings?  Or did that part come later, as the texts on the Four Heavenly Kings grew more popular? I suspect that the temple, which seems laid out in the standard Baekje style, was no doubt one of the early temples, and it may even have been built on Mononobe property.  But the association with Shitennouji—and the legend of Shotoku Taishi—probably came later.  It was in a great position, however, to gain patronage from newly arrived immigrants, as the port of Naniwa would have been one of the more cosmopolitan locations, and after the downfall of Baekje and Goguryeo, most of those people crossing the sea would have identified with Silla. Regardless of the legends behind it, Shitennouji does appear to have a claim to be one of the oldest temples in Japan, and shortly after it was built—or at least they started work on the temple—we are told that Kashikiya Hime told Shotoku Taishi to aggressively promote Buddhism, which seems to have kicked off a temple-building fad.  No doubt the prestige that came from being connected with a temple like Asukadera or Shitennouji had some small part to play in that. Temples would become another source of spiritual, and thus political, power, for various kinship groups, much as shrines and kofun were as well.  In fact, the temple building craze is often seen as the beginning of the end of the Kofun period.  All of the money and resources that were poured into temple building—whether as private projects or as state sponsored projects—would put a huge drain on the labor pool for things like monumental tombs.  In addition, as Buddhist theology took hold, a dedicatory temple was, in many ways, more useful, as it could be a way of building merit for the dead, as opposed to simply building giant tomb mounds.  That doesn't mean it ended immediately, but as I've mentioned before we start to see the tomb sizes shrink.  Nothing would rival the middle kofun era building projects, and there would be a greater focus on building things like temples. I also suspect that this new style of construction may have had other knock on effects as well.  Grand buildings such as those built for temples, and later palaces, were not quite so easy to dismantle and reassemble elsewhere.  These were major construction projects and the materials were now heavier, especially those tiled roofs.  Not that it was “easy” to just build a palace in the older style, but it was clearly something that could be done quickly if necessary, as shown with the construction of various temporary buildings for envoys and the like—or even the decision to move to a new palace part way through a reign.  These new buildings weren't the same, and we can see how, when Asukadera was moved up to Nara—where it is known as Gankouji—they clearly left many of the buildings and materials behind and likely built new buildings in the new capital.  Giant images would also have been difficult to transport, and probably easier to just commission a new one.  Had Asukadera, aka Houkouji, not burned down and been generally neglected by the court, which by then had moved on to Heian-kyo, then perhaps it would have retained some of the buildings, as Houryuuji, did.  Unfortunately, it did burn down, and so today is only a shadow of what it once was—though still worth a visit, in my opinion. And that's where we'll wrap things up for now.  Until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.   

This episode we continue to try to pull apart the figure known as Shotoku Taishi, aka Prince Umayado, aka Prince Kamitsumiya, aka Toyotomimi no Mikoto.  We'll take a look a little more at what we know and talk about just what we might or might not know about the actual figure behind the legend that has been built up. For more, check out the podcast website at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-99 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 99: The Prince of the Upper Palace. This is the second episode focused on the famous Prince known as Prince Shōtoku Taishi.  Last episode we went over the various stories that are told about this Prince in the various histories as well as some of the temple records.  Of course, it is generally agreed that most, if perhaps not all, of the information on Prince Shōtoku Taishi, which is to say, the Crown Prince of Great Virtue, is at best exaggerated, and at worst is completely made up at a later time by people deliberately trying to appropriate his story.  Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult to tell what is pure fiction and what might be some semblance of reality, but we'll give it a try as best we can. I will say that there is a *lot* that has been written about Shōtoku Taishi and his alter egos, Prince Umayado, aka Prince Kamitsumiya, aka Toyotomimi no Mikoto.  A lot more than I have time to truly delve into.  Besides various sources in Japanese, one of, if not the, most extensive look at sources mentioning the Prince is probably by Dr. Hermann Bohner in the 1930s and 1940s—however, his work, which I am told is over a thousand pages in length, is also entirely in German.  I'm not sure anything quite that extensive has been written in English.  Furthermore, other works out there, like Michael Como's own work, “Shōtoku: Ethnicity, Ritual, and Violence in the Japanese Buddhist Tradition”, often speak more to what the stories of Shōtoku Taishi say about developments in Japanese culture over time, focusing on the Cult of Shōtoku and what it said about Japan in general rather than focusing on the individual.  I am not going to have time to read all of the sources and condense them down for you, but I'm not sure that is exactly necessary.  Just be aware that there is a lot of ink that has been spilled over Shōtoku Taishi in one way or another. As for theories on the actual prince, they vary widely.  Some say that there was, indeed, a powerful figure at court known as Prince Umayado or, alternatively, as the Prince of the Upper Chamber, and he may have even been the Crown Prince, in line to inherit the throne had he not tragically passed away before the death of the current sovereign, Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō.  Others suggest that the portrait we have is actually a composite—the work of many different individuals, all wrapped up in the guise of a single, powerful individual who instituted sweeping changes across the archipelago and single-handedly gave birth to the Japanese state.  Of course, there are also those who accept the story as true—or at least as true as the rest of that period of history. For my part, I believe I'm closer to the ideas proposed in 1999 by Ōyama Seichirō, in his book ‘Shōtoku Taishi no Tanjō', who suggested that there likely was an actual Prince Umayado, but that his story was exaggerated by the compilers of the Nihon Shoki and by later groups promoting the Shōtoku cult. By the way, when I mention the Shōtoku “cult” I want to be clear what I mean—cult in this instance is more like a cult of personality.  It encompasses the various ideas that people held about the Prince, true or otherwise.  However, it should be noted that until more recently it is unlikely that anyone would have claimed to have been a part of any kind of “cult” or group with specific, Shōtoku Taishi related beliefs.  Rather, the Prince's story was, to many of them, simply a fact, even as they consciously or unconsciously embellished the story.  In fact, we often blame the compilers of the Nihon Shoki for adding to the Prince's story, but it is just as likely that they were simply going off of other sources that also recorded these same things. Given all of that, who was the real Prince Umayado? We are told that Umayado's name comes because his pregnant mother gave birth to him as she was wandering around during her pregnancy and suddenly delivered him in front of the office of the horse stables—the Umayado.  He is also known as Prince Kamitsumiya, or the Prince of the Upper Palace.  This was because, we are told, before he was made Crown Prince and given the Crown Prince's quarters as his own, his father had installed him in the “Upper Hall” of the South Palace, in his own complex.  The name Toyotomimi no Mikoto is less obvious, but more similar to the types of names we had seen in previous generations of sovereigns, and likely a kind of titular name, combining various accolades and titles together. That last one gets to a tricky bit about Prince Umayado:  Was he actually of Royal birth, and was he the son of a previous sovereign? As noted last episode, we are told that Umayado's father was Tachibana no Toyohi, himself the son of Ame Kunioshi Hiraki Niwa no Ohokimi, aka Kinmei Tennō, and Kitashi Hime, daughter of Soga no Iname.  We've already noted how the Soga family really wormed their way into the royal line.  Theoretically, sovereigns were supposed to come from a queen that was, herself, of royal blood.  The previous exception to this was Iwa no Hime, daughter of Katsuraki no Sotsuhiko and wife to Ohosazaki no Ohokmi, aka Nintoku Tennō.  However, that seems to have stopped being an issue since about the time of Ame Kunioshi's father Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennō.  After all, the first two of his sons to succeed him to the throne were the sons of Menoko, herself a daughter of Owari no Muraji no Kusaka—not exactly a name boasting of royal lineage.  To be fair, the Nihon Shoki only claimed that they were holding the throne for their more properly titled brother, Amekunioshi, so take that as you will. Amekunioshi, married three of his own nieces—daughters of his brother, which may have been an attempt to smooth out some of the kinks in the royal line.  He also married at least two—possibly three—daughters of Soga no Iname, and they produced several sovereigns.  One of these, of course, is Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennō, but there was also Hatsusebe no Wakasazaki, aka Sushun Tennō.  Finally there was Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō, though one could argue that she held her place as much because she had been the consort—or even queen—to her step-brother, Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tennō. It should also be noted, though, that both Hatsusebe no Wakasazaki and Kashikiya Hime came to the throne during a period of political violence.  There was the Soga and Mononobe conflict, a genuine fight for the throne which spilled out into the general public.  This all reads as the results of Soga no Iname—and then, later, Soga no Umako—maneuvering to put the Soga family in power to rule the country.  That they succeeded in getting two Soga relatives on the throne—even if Umako then assassinated Hatsusebe when he proved too difficult to control—would seem to indicate that the Soga gambit had been effective, and they had overcome the traditions that previously had been designed to limit who had direct access to the power of the throne.  Of course, there are questions of just how old and how accurate that tradition was—for all we know, the previous “queens” had simply had their lineages updated to ensure that they were of proper royal birth—but I still think it is telling. But how does this relate to Umayado? Well, as I mentioned, his father was Tachibana no Toyohi.  Just like Kashikiya Hime and Hatsusebe, he was also a son of Ame Kunioshi no Ohokimi and one of his Soga wives.  In fact, it wouldn't be surprising had Toyohi taken the throne, given who else did.  However, I wonder if that ever actually happened.  The Nihon Shoki only places him on the throne briefly—about two years—and during that time, there was still a lot of conflict going on.  The idea that there had been a consensus and that Tachibana no Toyohi was chosen as the next Ohokimi already seems a bit questionable.  Then there is also his supposed misasagi, or tomb.  We are told that he was buried at Shinaga, and this tomb has been identified and is still known today, presumably.  Given the records from then until now, while it is possible that the tomb was mistaken at some point over the intervening centuries, I would propose that its identification is probably fairly reliable, especially as it is also said to be the tomb of Prince Umayado, as well.  However, there is a problem, and that is that the tomb is not a round keyhole shaped tomb as would be expected of a royal tomb up to that time.  Instead, it is a square shaped tomb. Why is this notable?  Because the "imperial” tombs up through Amekunioshi, aka Kinmei Tennō, and his son, Nunakura no Ohokimi, aka Bidatsu Tennō, are all round, keyhole shaped tombs; the zenpō-kōen, or flat font and round-backed kofun.  Even through different dynasties, the shape and size of the kofun seem to hold true.  However, that stops with Tachibana no Toyohi.  His tomb is square shaped, which is much more similar to individuals other than the royal family.  However, complicating matters somewhat, it isn't just his tomb where we see this change.  Suddenly we see a bunch of square tombs that are designated as royal tombs.  These include the tombs of Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Yōmei Tennō; Hasebe no Wakasazaki, aka Sushun Tennō; and Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō.  All of their identified tombs seem to be square tombs, similar to the tomb identified with Soga no Umako, Ishi-butai kofun.  So why the sudden switch? It is not directly stated, but this may have been a part of all of the other changes in court and ritual that were happening.  In succeeding generations we see eight-sided kofun, and even round kofun—and all for verified sovereigns.  So it is entirely possible that it is at Youmei where the tradition of keyhole-shaped royal kofun ended. But I am still rather skeptical about all of this.  I wonder if the shape of Tachibana no Toyohi's kofun indicates it was just the kofun for a powerful member of the Soga lineage, just like Umako's kofun.  However, I must admit, it doesn't directly contradict the sources that say he was Tennō, since the following sovereigns are also recorded as having square-shaped tombs.  Then again, there is a bit of a question on just about all of them as far as how much they reigned and what power they held, vice what power was in the hands of Soga no Umako.  As for the succeeding generations, well, there are other shapes as well.  For instance, there is an octagonal kofun, and an eight sided kofun would actually match up well with a growing belief in Buddhism, where eight is an extremely auspicious number—enough that people in some Asian countries will actually pay more for license plates or phone numbers with multiple 8s in the number, along with other auspicious digits. And there's another factor that might explain why they moved to a less complex kofun shape: I've mentioned in past episodes that the temple building craze of the early 600s really killed off kofun construction.  We see resources that would have gone to venerating important figures, and building their tombs, the likely center of their ritual veneration, instead go to the building of temples.  In many ways, temples became the better and more lasting memorial for any wealthy individual, especially since temples themselves could grow and change with the times, where as a giant mound of earth, cool as it is, was a bit hard to modify, let alone relocate.  I also suspect that the change in various rituals also meant that the previous shape of the kofun, that round keyhole shape, may not have been as important in later periods.  If we assume that shape had something to do with the focus of conducting regular rituals at the site, for which purpose certain families were actually employed in hereditary positions, then moving away from that shape would suggest, to me, that there was a change in the rituals as well.  However, that change was coming much earlier than the temples, should we choose to believe the chronology given to us in the Nihon Shoki.  So it while it explains, in broad strokes, the move away from kofun practice, it doesn't satisfactorily explain everything that we are seeing at this period. And that brings me back to my hesitation to say that Tachibana no Toyohi was ever a sovereign of Yamato.  And the main thing about Tachibana no Toyohi's ascension that gets to me is it all feels rather contrived, and there really isn't much said about him.  I can only think that this was done in order to make sure that Prince Umayado had the necessary pedigree for everything else that people were going to be saying about him.  As awesome as he was, he wasn't going to be nearly so incredible if he didn't have a lineage which put him in line to inherit the throne.  BUT, I could very easily be wrong, especially if some of our sources aren't exactly in order.  We've certainly seen other places where it appears that individuals were either raised up as sovereigns or possibly co-sovereigns, individuals who reigned at the same time, may have had their reigns massaged to conform with the desired narrative.. Which brings up another question:  Was Umayado ever actually named as the Crown Prince?  Was he truly in line to succeed Kashikiya Hime? I'm not sure that is as black and white.  As I've noted before, why would Kashikiya Hime have chosen him over other potential candidates?  Even if his father wasn't sovereign, he was still a royal prince of Soga lineage, but Kashikiya Hime also had her own children, at least according to the Chronicles.  Where were they? I'm not sure, but I am inclined to believe that Prince Umayado may have, indeed, been either the Crown Prince or in a position so close that it didn't warrant a distinction.  That said, it might be interesting to look through some of the early records, such as the Gankōji Garan Engi, and see just how he is referred to, there. There are plenty of the stories about Prince Umayado that I believe we can take as true, even if only in part.  I have no reason not to believe that he was an avid supporter of continental learning, including Buddhism and other teachings.  That was all new and exciting, and with the direction that the Yamato state was tacking at the time it would have been useful and provided the Prince some clout and notoriety.  It is also quite possible that he penned one or more commentaries on various sutras, though how good or insightful it would have been I have no idea, and whether it was his own words or if he perhaps patronized a temple to help write them for him, I couldn't say.  I don't know that there is anything definitive, one way or the other.  I might even go so far as to suggest that he played a role in helping to lay out the seventeen article constitution and championed a version of the continental rank system, but I doubt he just made it up himself out of whole-cloth.  There were no doubt more than a few scribes by this point who had read various works from the continent and were able to help pull the various concepts of good government together.  I doubt he was the one putting pen to paper for all of it, but who knows. Perhaps, though, the most likely case for his existence comes in the form of the temple, Hōryūji, said to have been built on the site of his former estate, and the woven mandala said to have been commissioned by one of his own consorts.  These are compelling to me because they both physically exist, even if in a diminished state.  For Hōryūji we can look at the archaeological evidence, as well as any extant buildings or images.  For the Tenjukoku Shūchō Mandala, though, we only have some of the original fragments, along with some fragments of a later copy, but we also have copies of the inscription that was on the mandala.  It is possible that the transcription we have is somehow not correct, but that would be odd since the object was on display for people to see and remained intact through at least the Kamakura period, one assumes, since that's when they made a copy of it.  Let's examine both of these a little more in depth. Hōryūji temple is said to have been built by Prince Umayado, on his estate, but it was supposedly built for his father, Tachibana no Toyohi.  In fact, Hōryūji was apparently supposed to be *his* temple.  Tachibana no Toyohi, suffering from illness, is said to have vowed to build a temple, but he died before he could complete it.  Prince Umayado's eventual work to build Hōryūji is said to have been an act of filial piety as much as it was one of Buddhist piety, as it was dedicated, originally to Yakushi Nyōrai, a Buddha associated with healing illness, and it was built for his father, the Great King, Tachibana no Toyohi. We see several times the idea of building a temple on a noble family's personal compound.  Soga no Iname is the first to convert his house, or some portion, and Soga no Umako eventually succeeds with Hōkōji, aka Asukadera.  It makes sense that Hōryūji was also built on land donated by an elite member of Society, and everything points to it being Prince Umayado.  In fact, it would be rather odd to build it on land that wasn't already built up in some way.  Even Shitennōji was built, we are told, on a compound that formerly belonged to the Mononobe—a rather large middle finger, or perhaps an inverted V, extended by the Soga to those whom history labelled as the anti-Buddhist faction of the early court.  Nearby Chūgūji, literally the “Middle Palace Temple” was, we are told, built on the site of Prince Umayado's mother's home.  I'm not sure if we can verify that entirely, but the fact that it is known as the “Middle Palace Temple” suggests some connection to an elite's compound and “palace”—the Naka tsu Miya to Umayado's Kami tsu Miya, perhaps.  The two were close and became only closer with time, though they did retain their own characteristics. And so Hōryūji was quite likely built on the site of someone's palace, and if it wasn't the Prince we know as Umayado, then who was it?  At the very least we have some person that may be at least a part of the legion that makes up the legend of Shōtoku Taishi. As for the Tenjukoku Shūchō Mandala, for that we have the inscription from the mandala itself.  We are told that Tachibana no Iratsume asked Kashikiya Hime to commission it for her departed husband, Prince Toyotomimi.  As far as I can tell, this inscription, found in the Jōgū-Shōtoku Ho'o Teisetsu, a biography of Shōtoku Taishi, is considered an accurate transcription of the four hundred or so characters that were on the original curtain. If that is the case, then we have an inscription from shortly after his death attesting to the existence of a Prince Toyotomimi, and it even gives part of his lineage, including mention of Tachibana no Toyohi, whom we are told was, indeed, a sovereign, though we don't know when or for how long.  So that would seem to support the assertions in the Nihon Shoki about Tachibana no Toyohi's status. The biography, at least as it comes down to us, was likely compiled sometime in the 10th or 11th century, which makes a lot of its information suspect, but I generally think we can trust the transcription from the mandala.  Afterall, we have pretty good evidence for the artifact still existing when it was compiled.  The fact that the artifact seems pretty clearly made in the Asuka period—so in the 7th century, not soon after Toyotomimi's death—further adds to the reliability.  That isn't to say they didn't pick and choose what they were going to report in the biography itself, but, for me, there is little reason to doubt this inscription is what was on the actual mandala. On the other hand, we still don't have a lot of information about Tachibana no Toyohi.  He came to the throne, other things largely happened around him, and then he died of illness.  So perhaps Tachibana was a short-lived sovereign after all.  I'm honestly still on the fence about it, but the more I read, the more I come around to the idea, though that still doesn't explain how his son ended up being remembered so well. All in all, I suspect that most of Shōtoku Taishi's story is rooted in truths and facts about this era.  He may, indeed, have been the Crown Prince, or at least a very influential one.   He likely was on top of the craze in Buddhist and Continental learning.  He may have even played some role in helping to govern the country.  Still, how did he come to outshine the others who had almost equal claims on all of this change?  For one thing, there was Kashikiya Hime.  She was smart, capable, and the one actually seated on the throne.  Unfortunately, I suspect that she had two major impediments to taking on the mantle that Shōtoku Taishi donned.  For one thing, she was a woman. Unfortunately, along with continental ideas would come an increase in continental misogyny , though it would take some time to reach the same level, and there would still be female sovereigns ruling alongside male sovereigns for some time.  However, she also was the sovereign, and that likely meant that her reputation, such as it was, was caught up in the push and pull of court politics.  Even within the royal family there were different factions and different people aiming for the throne, and so she may not have had universal support for sainthood.  This may not have been as much of a problem had she, herself, like Prince Umayado, passed away early and young, but she lived and reigned a good long while. And then, besides her, there is the other major mover and shaker of the period, Soga no Umako.  Of just about anyone other than the sovereign, Soga no Umako seems to have been the best positioned to provide the kind of guidance, patronage, and more that was likely making into reality many of the things for which Shōtoku Taishi received credit, including his own temple of Hokoji.  Soga no Umako had an almost bigger problem than Kashikiya Hime, however.  He had led the forces against the Mononobe and their allies, and many of those allies would eventually lick their wounds and come back to power.  Even the Mononobe were still around, if not guiding the government.  Furthermore, listeners who have been reading ahead in the story will likewise already know that it was the Fujiwara family that eventually would control the court for centuries.  In fact, for many students of Japanese history, the Soga are not portrayed as paragons of virtue who helped introduce Buddhism to Japan, but rather as a greedy family that didn't know their place and who went beyond the bounds of what we considered acceptable behavior.  As such, I doubt Soga no Umako was in much of a position to be venerated by large swaths of the population. In the end, it was probably the fact that he died early that allowed Prince Toyotomimi, aka Prince Umayado, to become the venerated figure he is, today.  To quote eminent Gotham lawyer, Harvey Dent:  “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”  Sure enough, Prince Umayado died at a point where likely the public could still imagine all of the good that he could have done.  Meanwhile both Kashikiya Hime and Umako had been through some stuff, and they had done what they needed to gain and maintain power.  It may have been a recipe for their success, but it didn't necessarily make them universally beloved.  I suspect that, in the end, the lack of information about Prince Umayado, along with some key bits of likely true information, allowed people to build him up into what they needed him to be—a culture hero that could embody the ideals that Yamato was adopting and adapting from the continent.  He had the prestige—a royal prince and, perhaps even a Crown Prince.  And he was involved with this new culture that was being imported and updated. Of course, this is largely speculation.  In the end, it is hard to know what are the true facts around this legendary figure.  I think the best we can really say is that there likely was an ur-Shōtoku, an original Prince, who may or may not have been known as either Prince Umayado, Prince Kamitsumiya, or even Prince Toyotomimi—and one or more of those names may even have belonged to different people.  And so we are largely left with a question and with the legend, but in that legend, there is a plethora of information, if not about the actual human being, then about the changes that were happening in the Yamato court and in society as a whole.  Regardless of all of the exact details, the 7th century would be extremely critical in the history of Yamato, setting the path for the future.  One which we will be diving into, episode by episode, as we continue our trek through the histories. But for now, I think I'll leave you here.  For those listening to this when it comes out, I wish you the best in this holiday-filled season, from about November to February, whatever you may be celebrating.  And if you feel like giving, I hope you'll forgive me if I reiterate that I do this out of love of the history, and so we pay for all of the expenses ourselves, so any donations that people like to throw our way are always appreciated.  However, first and foremost, please take care of yourselves and those around you. And so, until next time, then, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  Again, if you do like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need this season to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan. 

It's the last episode of 2023, and our 100th episode!  But despite that, we keep on moving through the period, hitting a bunch of smaller stories from the Nihon Shoki about this period. We talk about Zentoku no Omi, the temple commissioner of Hokoji, as well as the trouble they went through to get the Asukadera Daibutsu in place to begin with.  We have the first instance of the Dazai--as in the Dazaifu of Kyushu--as well as the first instance of the holiday that would eventually become Children's Day, Kodomo no Hi.  There are various immigrants, bringing painting, handmills, and even a new kind of musical dance theater known as gigaku.  And that's just some of what we'll cover. For more, check out our website at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-100 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 100: Sacred Tetris and Other Tidbits First off:  woohoo!  One hundred episodes!  Thank you to everyone who has been listening and following along on this journey so far.  When I started this I had no idea how long I would be able to keep up with it, but I appreciate everyone who has encouraged me along the way.  This all started in September of 2019, and we are now four years in and we have a ways to go.  While I'm thanking people, I'd also like to give a big thank you to my wife, Ellen, who has been helping me behind the scenes.  She's the one who typically helps read through what I'm going to say and helps edit out a lot of things, and provides reminders of things that I sometimes forget.  She really helps to keep me on track, and I always appreciate the time she puts into helping to edit the scripts and the questions she asks. Now, we are still talking about the 6th and early 7th centuries during the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  We've talked about a lot of different aspects of this period—about the conflicts over Nimna on the peninsula, about the rise of the Sui dynasty on the continent, and the importation of various continental goods, including animals, immigrants, and knowledge.  That knowledge included new ideas about governance as well as religious practices such as Buddhism—and possibly other religious practices as well, as many of the stories that we saw in the Age of the Gods may have analogs on the continent and may just as easily have been coming over with the current crop of immigrants, though it is hard to say for certain.  At the heart of these changes are three individuals.  Obviously there is Kashikiya Hime, on the throne through a rather intricate and bloody series of events.  Then there is Soga no Umako, her maternal uncle, who has been helping to keep the Soga family on top.  And of course, the subject of our last couple episodes, Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi.  He, of course, is credited with the very founding of the Japanese state through the 17 article constitution and the promulgation of Buddhism. This episode, I'd like to tackle some of the little things.  Some of the stories that maybe didn't make it into other episodes up to this point.  For this, we'll mostly look at it in a chronological fashion, more or less. As you may recall, Kashikiya Hime came to the throne in about 593, ruling in the palace of Toyoura.  This was around the time that the pagoda was erected at Houkouji temple—and about the time that we are told that Shitennouji temple was erected as well.  Kashikiya Home made Umayado the Crown Prince, despite having a son of her own, as we'd mentioned previously, and then, in 594, she told Umayado and Umako to start to promulgate Buddhism, kicking off a temple building craze that would sweep the nation—or at least the areas ruled by the elites of Yamato. By 596, Houkouji was finished and, in a detail I don't think we touched on when talking about Asukadera back in episode 97, they appointed as commissioner one Zentoku no Omi—or possibly Zentoko, in one reading I found.  This is a curious name, since “Zentoku” comes across as a decidedly Buddhist name, and they really liked to use the character “Zen”, it feels like, at this time.  In fact, it is the same name that the nun, the daughter of Ohotomo no Sadehiko no Muraji, took, though the narrative is very clear about gender in both instances, despite them having the exact same Buddhist names.  This name isn't exactly unique, however, and it is also the name recorded for the Silla ruler, Queen Seondeok, whose name uses the same two characters, so it is possible that at this time it was a popular name—or perhaps people just weren't in the mood to get too creative, yet. However, what is particularly interesting to me, is that the name “Zentoku” is then followed by the kabane of “Omi”.  As you may recall from Episode XX, a kabane is a level of rank, but associated with an entire family or lineage group rather than an individual.  So while there are times where we have seen “personal name” + “kabane” in the past, there is usually a surname somewhere in there.  In this case, we aren't told the surname, but we know it because we are given the name of Zentoku's father: we are told that he was the son of none other than the “Oho-omi”, the Great Omi, aka Soga no Umako.  So, in summary, one of Soga no Umako's sons took the tonsure and became a monk. I bring this little tidbit up because there is something that seems very odd to me and, at the same time, very aristocratic, about taking vows, retiring from the world, and yet still being known by your family's title of rank. Often monks are depicted as outside of the civil rank and status system—though there were certainly ranks and titles within the priesthood.  I wonder if it read as strange to the 8th century readers, looking back on this period.  It certainly seems to illustrate quite clearly how Buddhism at this point was a tool of the elite families, and not a grass-roots movements among the common people. This also further strengthens the idea that Houkouji was the temple of the Soga—and specifically Soga no Umako.  Sure, as a Soga descendant, Prince Umayado may have had some hand in it, but in the end it was the head of the Soga family who was running the show, and so he appoints one of his own sons as the chief commissioner of the temple.  They aren't even trying to hide the connection.  In fact, having one of his sons “retire” and start making merit through Buddhist practice was probably a great PR move, overall. We don't hear much more from Zentoku after this point, and we really know very little about him.  We do know something about the Soga family, and we know that Soga no Umako has at least one other son.  While we've yet to see him in the narrative—children in the Nihon Shoki are often meant to be neither seen nor heard, it would seem—Umako's other son is known to us as Soga no Emishi.  Based on when we believe Soga no Emishi was born, however, he would have been a child, still, when all this was happening, and so Zentoku may have actually been his father's eldest son, taking the reins at Houkouji temple, likely setting him up to claim a role of spiritual leadership in the new religion of Buddhism.  Compare this to what we see later, and also in other places, such as Europe, where it is often the second son that is sent into religious life, while the eldest son—the heir—is kept at hand to succeed the father in case anything happens.  On the other hand, I am unsure if the monks of this time had any sort of celibacy that was expected of them, and I suspect that even as the temple commissioner, the tera no Tsukasa, Zentoku was keeping his hand in.  After all, the Soga family head appears to have been staying near the temple as well, so it isn't like they were packing him off to the high mountains. Moving on, in 601 we are told that Kashikiya Hime was in a temporary palace at a place called Miminashi, when heavy rains came and flooded the palace site.  This seems to be referring to flooding of Toyoura palace, which was, we believe, next to the Asuka river.  I wonder, then, if that wasn't the impetus for, two years later, in 603, moving the palace to Woharida, and leaving the old palace buildings to become a nunnery.  That Woharida palace is not thought to have been very far away—traditionally just a little ways north or possibly across the river. In 604, with the court operating out of the new Woharida palace, we see the institution of more continental style traditions.  It includes the idea of bowing when you entered or left the palace grounds—going so far as to get on your hands and knees for the bow.  Even today, it is customary to bow when entering a room—particularly a traditional room like in a dojo or similar—and it is also customary to bow when passing through a torii gate, entering into a sacred space.  Of course, that is often just a standing bow from the waist, and not a full bow from a seated position. In 605, with more continental culture being imported, we see it affecting fashion.  In fact, in this year we are told that Prince Umayado commanded all the ministers to wear the “hirami”.  The kanji simply translates to “pleats”, but in clothing terms this refers to a pleated skirt or apron.  We see examples of this in courtly clothing going back to at least the Han dynasty, if not earlier, typically tied high above the waist and falling all the way down so that only the tips of the shoes are poking out from underneath.  We have a bit more on this in the historical clothing section of the Sengoku Daimyo website, sengokudaimyo.com.   I wonder if these wrapped skirts aren't some of what we see in the embroidered Tenjukoku mandala of Chuuguuji.  Court women would continue to wear some kind of pleated skirt-like garment, which would become the mo, though for men they would largely abandon the fashion, except for some very specific ritual outfits.  That said, there is still an outfit used for some imperial ceremonies.  It is red, with many continental and what some might consider Taoist symbols, such as dragons, the sun and moon, etc..  That continuation of tradition gives us some idea of what this was and what it may have looked like back in the day.  It is also very neat that we are starting to get specific pieces of potentially identifiable clothing information, even if it is only for the court nobles. The year following that, 606, we get the giant Buddha image being installed at Houkouji, aka Asukadera.  Or at least, we think that is the one they are talking about, as we can't be one hundred percent certain.  However, it is traditionally thought to be one and the same.  The copper and gold image was commissioned a year prior, along with an embroidered image as well, but when they went to install it they ran into a slight problem:  The statue was too large to fit through the doors of the kondo, the golden image hall.  No doubt that caused some embarrassment—it is like ordering furniture that won't fit through the doorway, no matter how you and your friends try to maneuver it around.  They were thinking they would have to cut through the doors of the kondo to create more room, and then fix it afterwards.  Nobody really wanted to do that thought—whether because they thought it would damage the structural integrity of the building or they just didn't want to have to put up with an unsightly scar, it isn't clear.  Finally, before they took such extreme measures, they called on the original artist, Kuratsukuri no Tori.  He is said to be the son of the famous Shiba Tattou, and so his family was quite close with the Soga, and he seems to have had quite the eye for geometry as we are told that he, “by way of skill”, was able to get it through the doors and into the hall.  I don't know if that meant he had to some how turn it on its side and walk it through, or something else, but whatever it was, it worked.  Tori's mad Tetris skills worked, and they were able to install the giant Buddha in the hall without cutting through the doorways. For his efforts, Tori was rewarded, and he was raised up to the rank of Dainin, one of the 12 new ranks of the court.  He was also given 20 cho worth of “water fields”—likely meaning rice paddies.  With the income from those fields, we are told that he invested in a temple of his own:  Kongoji, later known as the nunnery of Sakata in Minabuchi. For all that Buddhism was on the rise, the worship of the kami was still going strong as well.  In 607 we are told that there was an edict that everyone should worship the kami of heaven and earth, and we are told that all of the noble families complied.  I would note that Aston wonders about this entry, as the phrasing looks like something you could have taken right out of continental records, but at the same time, it likely reflects reality to some extent.  It is hard to see the court just completely giving up on the traditional kami worship, which would continue to be an important part of court ritual.  In fact, it is still unclear just how the new religion of Buddhism was viewed, and how much people understood the Buddha to be anything more than just another type of kami. Later in that same year was the mission to the Sui court, which we discussed in Episode 96.  The year after, the mission returned to Yamato with Sui ambassadors, and then, in 609, those ambassadors returned to the Sui court.  These were the missions of that infamous letter, where the Yamato court addressed the Sui Emperor as an equal.  “From the child of heaven in the land where the sun rises to the child of heaven in the land where the sun sets.”  It is still one of my favorite little pieces of history, and I constantly wonder if Yamato didn't understand the difference in scale or if they just didn't care.  Either way, some really powerful vibes coming off that whole thing. That same year that the Sui ambassadors were going back to their court there was another engagement with foreigners.  In this case the official on the island of Tsukushi, aka Kyuushuu, reported to the Yamato court that 2 priests from Baekje, along with 10 other priests  and 75 laypersons had anchored in the harbor of Ashigita, in the land of Higo, which is to say the land of Hi that was farther from Yamato, on the western side of Kyuushuu.  Ashigita, you may recall, came up in Episode 89 in reference to the Baekje monk—and I use that term loosely—Nichira, aka Illa.  There, Nichira was said to descend from the lord of Ashigita, who was said to be Arisateung, a name which appears to be a Korean—possibly Baekje—title.  So now we have a Baekje ship harboring in a land that once was ruled by a family identified, at least in their names or titles, as having come from or at least having ties with Baekje.  This isn't entirely surprising, as it wouldn't have taken all that much effort for people to cross from one side to the other, and particularly during the period before there was a truly strong central government it is easy to see that there may have been lands in the archipelago that had ties to Baekje, just as we believe there were some lands on the peninsula that had ties to Yamato. One more note before get to the heart of the matter is the title of the person who reported all these Baekje goings-on.  Aston translates the title as the Viceroy of Tsukushi, and the kanji read “Dazai”, as in the “Dazaifu”, or government of the “Dazai”.  There is kana that translates the title as Oho-mikoto-Mochi—the Great August Thing Holder, per Aston, who takes this as a translation, rather than a strict transliteration.  This is the first time that this term, “Dazai” has popped up in the history, and it will appear more and more in the future.  We know that, at least later, the Dazaifu was the Yamato court's representative government in Kyuushuu.  The position wasn't new - it goes back to the various military governors sent there in previous reigns - but this is the first time that specific phrasing is used—and unfortunately we don't even know much about who it was referring to.  The position, however, would become an important part of the Yamato governing apparatus, as it provided an extension of the court's power over Kyuushuu, which could otherwise have easily fallen under the sway of others, much as Iwai tried to do when he tried to ally with Silla and take Tsukushi by force.  Given the importance of Kyuushuu as the entrypoint to the archipelago, it was in the Court's best interest to keep it under their control. Getting back to the ship with the Baekje priests on it:  the passengers claimed they were on their way to Wu, or Kure—presumably headed to the Yangzi river region.  Given the number of Buddhist monasteries in the hills around the Yangzi river, it is quite believable, though of course by this time the Wu dynasty was long gone.  What they had not prepared for was the new Sui dynasty, as they said there was a civil war of some kind going on, and so they couldn't land and were subsequently blown off course in a storm, eventually limping along to Ashigita harbor, where they presumably undertook rest and a chance to repair their vessels.  It is unclear to me exactly what civil war they were referring to, and it may have just been a local conflict.  There would be rebellions south of the Yangzi river a few years later, but no indication that it was this, just a bit out of context.  We know that the Sui dynasty suffered—it wouldn't last another decade before being dismantled and replaced by the Tang dynasty in about 618.  There were also ongoing conflicts with Goguryeo and even the area of modern Vietnam, which were draining the Sui's resources and could be related to all of these issues.  If so, though, it is hard to see an exact correlation to the “civil war” mentioned in the text. Given all this, two court nobles:  Naniwa no Kishi no Tokomaro and Fumibito no Tatsu were sent to Kyuushuu to see what had happened, and, once they learned the truth, help send the visitors on their way.  However, ten of the priests asked to stay in Yamato, and they were sent to be housed at the Soga family temple of Houkouji.  As you may recall, 10 monks was the necessary number to hold a proper ordination ceremony, funnily enough. In 610, another couple of monks showed up—this time from Goguryeo.  They were actually sent, we are told, as “tribute”.  We are told that one of them was well read—specifically that he knew the Five Classics—but also that he understood how to prepare various paints and pigments.  A lot of paint and pigments were based on available materials as well as what was known at the time, and so it is understandable, to me, why you might have that as a noted and remarkable skill.  We are also told that he made mills—likely a type of handmill.  These can be easily used for helping to crush and blend medicines, but I suspect it could just as easily be used to crush the various ingredients for different pigments.  A type of handmill, where you roll a wheel in a narrow channel, forward and back, is still in use today throughout Asia. In 611, on the 5th day of the 5th month, the court went out to gather herbs.  They assembled at the pond of Fujiwara—the pond of the wisteria field—and set out at sunrise.  We are told that their clothing matched their official cap colors, which was based on their rank, so that would seem to indicate that they were dressed in their court outfits.  In this case, though, they also had hair ornaments mad of gold, leopard's tails, or birds.  That leopard's tail, assuming the description is accurate, is particularly interesting, as it would have had to have come from the continent. This ritual gathering of herbs would be repeated on the 5th day of the 5th month of both 612 and 614.  If that date seems familiar, you might be thinking of the modern holiday of Tango no Sekku, aka Kodomo no Hi.  That is to say:  Boy's Day or the more gender neutral “Children's Day”.  It is part of a series of celebrations in Japan known today as “Golden Week”, when there are so many holidays crammed together that people get roughly a week off of work, meaning that a lot of travel tends to happen in that period.  While the idea of “Boy's Day” probably doesn't come about until the Kamakura period, Tango no Sekku has long been one of the five seasonal festivals of the court, the Gosekku.  These included New Year's day; the third day of the third month, later to become the Doll Festival, or Girl's Day; the seventh day of the seventh month, during Tanabata; and the 9th day of the 9th month.  As you can see, that is 1/1, 3/3, 5/5, 7/7, and 9/9.  Interestingly, they skipped over 11/11, possibly because that was in the winter time, based on the old calendar, and people were just trying to stay warm. Early traditions of Tango no Sekku include women gathering irises to protect the home.  That could connect to the practice, here, of “picking herbs” by the court, and indeed, many people connect the origins of Tango no Sekku back to this reign specifically because of these references, though there is very little said about what they were doing, other than picking herbs in their fancy outfits. We are given a few more glimpses into the lives of the court in a few other entries.  In 612, for instance, we have a banquet thrown for the high functionaries.  This may have been a semi-regular occasion, but this particular incident was memorable for a couple of poems that were bandied back and forth between Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime.  He toasted her, and she responded with a toast to the sons of Soga. Later that year, they held a more somber event, as Kitashi Hime was re-interred.  She was the sister to Soga no Umako, consort of Nunakura Futodamashiki no Ohokimi, aka Kimmei Tenno, and mother to both Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou, and Kashikiya Hime, Suiko Tennou.  She was re-buried with her husband at his tomb in Hinokuma.  During this period, various nobles made speeches.  Kicking the event off was Abe no Uchi no Omi no Tori, who made offerings to her spirit, including around 15,000 utensils and garments.  Then the royal princes spoke, each according to rank, but we aren't given just what they said.  After that, Nakatomi no Miyatokoro no Muraji no Womaro gave the eulogy of the Oho-omi, presumably speaking on Umako's behalf, though it isn't exactly clear why, though Umako was certainly getting on in years.  Then, Sakahibe no Omi no Marise delivered the written eulogies of the other families. And here we get an interesting glimpse into court life as we see a report that both Nakatomi no Womaro and Sakahibe no Marise apparently delivered their speeches with great aplomb, and the people listening were quite appreciative.  However, they did not look quite so fondly on the speechifying of Abe no Tori, and they said that he was less than skillful.  And consider that—if you find public speaking to be something you dread, imagine if your entire reputation hung on ensuring that every word was executed properly.  A single misstep or a bad day and suddenly you are recorded in the national history as having been just the worst.  In fact, his political career seems to have tanked, as we don't hear much more about him after that. 612 also saw more immigrants bringing more art and culture.  The first was a man from Baekje.  He did not look well—he had white circles under his eyes, we are told, possibly indicating ringworm or some other infection.  It was so bad that the people on the ship with him were thinking about putting him off on an island to fend for himself.  He protested that his looks were not contagious, and no different that the white patches of color you might see on horses or cattle.  Moreover, he had a talent for painting figures and mountains.  He drew figures of the legendary Mt. Sumeru, and of the Bridge of Wu, during the period of the Southern Courts, and the people were so taken by it that they forestalled tossing him overboard.  He was eventually known as Michiko no Takumi, though more colloquially he was known as Shikomaro, which basically was a nickname calling him ugly, because judging people based on appearance was still totally a thing. The other notable immigrant that year was also a man of Baekje, known to us as Mimachi, or perhaps Mimashi or Mimaji.  He claimed to know the music and dancing of the Wu court—or at least some continental dynasty.  He settled in Sakurawi and took on students who were basically forced to learn from him.  As if a piano teacher appeared and all the children went to learn, but now it isn't just your parents and their high expectations, but the very state telling you to do it.  So… no pressure, I'm sure.  Eventually, Manu no Obito no Deshi—whose name literally means “student” or “disciple”—and Imaki no Ayabito no Seibun learned the teachings and passed them down to others.  This would appear to be the masked dances known as Gigaku. If you know about early Japanese music and dance you may have heard of Gagaku, Bugaku, and Noh theater.  Gagaku is the courtly music, with roots in apparently indigenous Japanese music as well as various continental sources, from the Korean peninsula all the way down to Southeast Asia.  Indeed, the musical records we have in Japan are often the only remaining records of what some of the continental music of this time might have sounded like, even though the playing style and flourishes have changed over the centuries, and many scholars have used the repertoire of the Japanese court to help work backwards to try and recreate some of the continental music. The dances that you often see with Gagaku musical accompaniment are known as Bugaku, and most of that was codified in the latter years of the Heian era—about the 12th century.  Then there is the famous masked theater known as Noh, which has its origins in a variety of traditions, going back to at least the 8th century and really brought together around the 14th century.  All of these traditions, however, are preceded by Gigaku, this form of masked dance that came over in the 7th century, and claims its roots in the area of “Wu” rather than “Tang”, implying that it goes back to traditions of the southern courts of the Yangzi river region. Gigaku spread along with the rest of continental culture, along with the spread of Buddhism and other such ideas.  From what we can tell, it was a dominant form of music and dance for the court, and many of the masks that were used are preserved in temple storehouses such as the famous Shosoin at the Todaiji in Nara.  However, as the centuries rolled by, Gigaku was eventually replaced at court by Bugaku style dances, though it continued to be practiced up through at least the 14th century.  Unfortunately, I know of no Gigaku dances that survived into the modern day, and we are left with the elaborate masks, some illustrations of dancers, and a few descriptions of what it was like, but that seems to be it. From what we can tell, Gigaku—also known as Kure-gaku, or Kure-no-utamai, meaning Music or Music and Dances of Wu—is first noted back in the reign of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Kimmei Tennou, but it wasn't until the reign of Kashikiya Hime that we actually see someone coming over and clearly imparting knowledge of the dances and music—Mimashi, mentioned above.  We then see the dances mentioned at various temples, including Houryuuji, Toudaiji, and others.  Of course, as with many such things, Shotoku Taishi is given credit for spreading Gigaku through the Buddhist temples, and the two do seem to have gone hand in hand. We know a little bit about the dances from the masks and various writings.  The masks are not random, and a collection of Gigaku masks will have generally the same set of characters.  These characters appear to have been organized in a traditional order.  A performance would start with a parade and a sutra reading—which I wonder if that was original or if it was added as they grew more connected to the Buddhist temple establishment.  And then there was a lion dance, where a young cub would pacify an adult lion.  Lion dances, in various forms, continue to be found throughout East Asia. Then the characters come into play and there are various stories about, for example, the Duke of Wu, and people from the “Hu” Western Regions—that is to say the non-Han people in the Western part of what is now China and central Eurasia.  Some of these performances appear to be serious, while others may have been humorous interludes, like when a demon assaults the character Rikishi using a man's genitals while calling for the “Woman of Wu”.  That brings to mind the later tradition of ai-kyougen; similarly humorous or lighthearted episodes acted out during Noh plays to help break up the dramatic tension. Many of aspects of Gigaku would go on to influence the later styles of court music and dance.  Bugaku is thought to have some of its origins in masked Gigaku dancers performing to the various styles of what became known as Gagaku music.  There are also examples of some of the characters making their way into other theatrical traditions, such as Sarugaku and, eventually, Noh and even folk theater.  These hints have been used to help artists reconstruct what Gigagku might have been like. One of the key aspects of Gigaku is that for all they were telling stories, other than things like the recitation of the sutras, the action of the story appears to have been told strictly through pantomime in the dances.  This was accompanied by the musicians, who played a variety of instruments during the performance that would provide the musical queues for the dancers-slash-actors.  There was no dialogue, however, but the names of the various characters appear to have been well known, and based on the specifics of the masks one could tell who was who and what was going on. This is similar to how, in the west, there were often stock characters in things like the English Mummers plays or the Comedia dell'arte of the Italian city-states, though in Gigaku those characters would not speak at all, and their story would be conveyed simply through pantomime, music, and masks. There have been attempts to reconstruct Gigaku.  Notably there was an attempt in the 1980s, in coordination with a celebration of the anniversary of Todaiji, in Nara, and it appears that Tenri University may continue that tradition.  There was also another revival by famed Kyougen actor Nomura Mannojo, uncle to another famous Kyougen actor turned movie star, Nomura Mansai.  Mannojo called his style “Shingigaku”, which seems to be translated as either “True Gigaku” or “New Gigagku”, and he took that on tour to various countries.  You can find an example of his performance from the Silk Road Theater at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in Washington, DC back in 2002, as well as elsewhere.  It does appear that he's changed things up just a little bit, however, based on his layout of the dances, but it is an interesting interpretation, nonetheless. We may never truly know what Gigaku looked and sounded like, but it certainly had an impact on theatrical and musical traditions of Japan, and for that alone it perhaps deserves to be mentioned. And I think we'll stop right there, for now.  There is more to get through, so we'll certainly have a part two as we continue to look at events of this rein.  There are stories of gods and omens.  There is contact with an island off the southern coast of Kyuushuu.  There are more trips to the Sui court.  Much of that is coming.  Until then, I'd like to thank you once again.  I can hardly believe we reached one hundred episodes!  And it comes just as we are about to close out the year. As usual, I'll plan for a recap episode over New Year's, and then I'll plan to get back into everything the episode after that, but this closes out the year. I hope everyone has a wonderful new year, however you celebrate and, as always, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

This episode we will finish up with many of the smaller episodes in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  Most of these are mentions of various public works projects, omens, expansion of the realm, and a couple of other stories, some more believable than others. As usual, more information can be found at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-101 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 101: Ponds, Peaches, and Thunder-gods. First off, a big thanks to Red and Ryan for helping to support the site and our show.  If you would like to join them, we'll have more information at the end of the episode, or check out our website at sengokudaimyo.com. When we last left off, we were going through some of the more random events that happened in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou. and we're going to continue with that this episode, touching on some of the things that happened in the latter part of her reign, starting in about 613 and going from there—and some of this is more exciting than others.  I'll try to hit the high points, but some of this will be familiar if you've been listening along. For example, one of the THRILLING things we'll start with (at least if you are a frog) is the building of ponds.  In the winter of 613, we are told that the ponds of Waki no Kami, Unebi, and Wani were constructed.  We've seen the construction of ponds since at least the time of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, the purported “first” sovereign, from around the probable time of Queen Himiko.  The exact nature of these ponds doesn't seem to be known, but one theory is that they are for irrigation of rice paddies in places where the water wasn't consistently sufficient for everyone's needs—a pond would allow for water to be gathered up throughout the year and then released when it was needed for the rice paddies.  More ponds may have indicated the opening of more fields, indicating continued growth.Ponds also had other uses, however, including breeding fish, and they were a habitat for birds, so this would also help encourage hunting and fishing.  Finally, the ponds were public utilities, and part of the way the Court flexed their power as they raised levies for the ponds' construction.  We might also say something about the way they indicated a certain amount of control over the land – but of course, most of these ponds are in the Nara basin and Kawachi regions, and so it doesn't tell us a whole lot more than what we already know about the centralized control there.  They were important enough, however, that by the 8th century the creation of these ponds was still being tracked and attributed to specific rulers. If you're wondering what it might have been like to travel around in this period of Japan, you might be more interested in the fact that in the same line about the ponds, we are also told that a Highway was built from Asuka to Naniwa.  This is believed to be the path of the ancient Takeuchi Kaidou in Kawachi, which some of the literature  claims is the “oldest official road” in Japan.  This road  connects to the Yoko-ohoji in Nara, which links the modern city of Sakai, near Ohosaka, with the city of Katsuraki, and presumably it then connected with other paths down to Asuka.    I suspect that the “official” qualifier is in there is because we have evidence of when it was made, whereas other roads and highways, such as the old highway along the foot of the mountains on the eastern edge of the Nara Basin, are perhaps even more ancient, but are simply mentioned, without evidence of how or when they were created—they may have been more organic footpaths that came to be heavily traveled, or just created with no record of who and when. This new highway was notable for connecting the port at Naniwa to the current capital and to the newly built temples in the Asuka area, as well. These temples were new institutions, but they were also fairly permanent structures, unlike even the palace buildings, which were still expected to be rebuilt each reign.  Of course, they could be moved—and were, in later periods—but it was going to take some doing.  That said, there were other permanent structures and religious sites—heck, many of the kami were associated with mountains, and you couldn't exactly move those, though they did have the ability to build sacred spaces elsewhere and bring the kami to them, so you weren't exactly tied to the physical geography.  And there were the giant kofun, but I'm not sure how often people were going to the kofun to worship the ancient kings and other elites, other than perhaps family members paying their respects.  The building of a highway to the capital alone would probably be an interesting flex, since the next sovereign could move somewhere else entirely.  But the temples were intended to be relatively permanent institutions, as far as I can tell, so even if the capital did move, the fact that there was a road there was probably going to be a big boon to the area. Of course it probably didn't hurt that this area was also a Soga stronghold, and so at least the Soga family would continue to benefit, which may have gone into *some* of the political calculus, there. It was also going to help with envoys to and from the continent.  And that leads us along to the next item of note about Kashikiya-hime's reign: sure enough, in the sixth month of the following year, Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko were sent on a new embassy to the Sui court.  By the way, quick note on these two.  Inugami no Mitatsuki is given the kabane of “kimi”.  If you recall, the sovereign is “Oho-kimi”, or “Great Kimi”, and so “Kimi” is thought to be an important title, possibly referring to a high-ranking family that held sway outside of the immediate lands of Yamato, and Yatabe is given to us as “Miyatsuko”, also generally referring to one of the higher ranks of nobility under the kabane system—though not necessarily the inner court families of the Omi and the Muraji.  It is unclear whether those kabane were in use at the time, but it does indicate that the families were important.  An ancestor of the Inugami first shows up in the reign of Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Kougou, which is interesting as there are some who claim that the stories of that reign really solidified around the time of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say the current reign.  We'll get more into that in a future episode, but for now we can note that the Inugami family doesn't really seem to show up after that until this reign, and from here on out we see them as one of the regular interlocutors with the continent, whether the Sui, Tang, or on the Korean peninsula. The Yatabe are much more enigmatic.  Other than this entry, we don't have a lot.  There is an ancestor, Takemorosumi, mentioned in the reign of Mimaki Iribiko, aka Sujin Tennou, and there is some reasonable thought that they may have been set up for the maintenance of Princess Yata, the wife of Ohosazaki no Mikoto, aka Nintoku Tennou, but I don't see any clear indication one way or the other.  They aren't really mentioned again except as a family during the late 7th century. These two, Inugami no Mitatsuki and the unnamed envoy of the Yatabe family, would return a year later, bringing with them an envoy from Baekje.  Later in the year they would throw the envoy an elaborate feast.  We aren't given much else, but seems like relations were good. Shortly after the feast for the Baekje envoy, however, the monk Hyeja—or Eiji, in the Japanese reading—returned to his home in Goguryeo.  Hyeja had been one of the teachers of none other than Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi himself, and the two are said to have shared a special bond.  Shotoku Taishi eventually became Hyeja's equal, and it is said that they both discussed Buddhist teachings and philosophy together, with Hyeja appreciating Shotoku Taishi's unique insights.  When Prince Umayado eventually passed at an all too early age, the news reached Hyeja on the peninsula and he held a special feast in his student-turned-peer's honor.  They say that he then predicted his own death, one year later, on the anniversary of Shotoku Taishi's own passing. But that was still to come.  For now, you could say that everything was peachy—and so they did… sort of, in the next item of note.  What they actually said was that in the first month of 616, at the beginning of Spring, the Peach and Plum trees bore fruit, which may seem an odd thing to comment on.  However, Peach and Plum tress flowering or fruiting would be something that the Chroniclers commented on for at least the next two reigns, as well as in the reign of Oho-ama, aka Temmu Tennou, in the 7th century. It is possible that they were commenting on how they were fruiting out of season—the peach, or momo, in Japanese, blossoms between late March and mid-April.  This is around the same time as the plum, in this case the Sumomo, rather than the “ume” plum, sometimes called a Japanese apricot.  Momo and Sumomo would blossom towards the start of spring, and so it might be possible for them to blossom around the first month of the New Year, especially if that was a little later than it might be today, but highly unlikely that they would be fruiting.  Assuming they were talking about the blossoms—and some later accounts explicitly call out the flowers instead—it may have indicated a particularly warm winter or early spring season that year.  It is also possible that the Chroniclers were off on the dates at times, and so may have made some mistakes. It is also possible that they were recounting an odd event—having the peach trees and plum trees fruit or blossom at the obviously wrong time would likely have generated some concern, and thus be worthy of noting down as an omen.  It is also possible that this is part of a stock phrase that was used to indicate something else, like the start of Spring or a good or bad omen.  Peaches were thought to keep away evil spirits and it was said that they were the fruit of immortality in the western paradise of the Queen Mother of the West.  Peaches are often common decorations on Buddhist temples, as well—going back to the same stories about warding off evil and longevity. Whatever the reason, the blooming and fruiting of peach and plum trees was particularly important to the Chroniclers for this period—for whatever reason. Beyond the talk of peaches, in 616 there was something else, something fairly simple, but apparently important:  Men from the island of Yaku arrived as immigrants. This is the first mention of Yaku Island, and if you haven't heard of it I wouldn't blame you.  It is an island south of modern Kagoshima, off the southern tip of Kyuushuu, and just west of another famous island, that of Tanegashima.  Yakushima, today, is known for its status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site—so classified for its incredible natural beauty.  It is the home to some truly ancient cedars, with some thought to date back as far as 2300 years ago, well into the Yayoi era.  It is mentioned in the Nihon Shoki as well as Sui dynasty records, and in numerous other travel accounts since. We have evidence of human activity going back at least 17,000 years ago, so before even the Jomon era, though the earliest evidence of habitation on the island is more like 6,000 years ago—about 500 to a thousand years after the famous Akahoya eruption, which devastated Kyushu and which we discussed back in episode 4.  Yakushima would also have been devastated, situated as it is just south of the Kikai caldera, and it was likely devastated by pyroclastic flows along with its neighboring islands.  Since then, it was populated by people that were now, in the 7th century, making contact with the people of Yamato—perhaps indicating that Yamato had even further expanded its reach. Over the course of the year 616 the Chronicles note several groups of immigrants from Yaku Shima.  First was a group of three men who came as immigrants in the third month.  Then seven more arrived two months later.  Two months after that, you had a group of twenty show up.  They were all settled together in a place called Eno'i.  It isn't exactly clear where this is.  Some sources suggest that they came to the Dazaifu in Kyushuu, and so were settled somewhere on Kyuushuu, possibly in the south of the island.  There is also a connection with the name “Enoi” coming out of Mino, in the form of the Enoi family, which the Sendai Kuji Hongi says was an offshoot of the Mononobe family. Wherever they ended up, they stayed there for the rest of their lives. We aren't done with Yaku Island, though.  Four years later, we are told that two men of Yaku were “cast away”—which I suspect means banished—to the island of Izu, Izu-no-shima.  Once again, we are left wondering exactly where that is, though it may refer not to an island, at least not entirely, but to Izu no Kuni, the land of Izu, on the Izu Peninsula.  Aston suggests that perhaps at this time “shima” didn't mean just an island, but any place that was mostly surrounded by water, including a peninsula like Izu.  It could also mean one of the nearby islands, such as Ooshima, the largest of the islands to the east of the Izu peninsula. Nine years later, in the reign of the succeeding sovereign, Yamato sent an envoy, Tanabe no Muraji, to the island of Yaku.  I suspect that this was part of making the island an official part of the country. Records of the island fall off for a bit, but it does get mentioned, along with neighboring Tanegashima, in the reign of Temmu Tennou, in the latter part of the 7th century.  To be fair, the Nihon Shoki only continues until 696, but we continue to see them in the Shoku Nihongi, the continuation of the court historical records.  Sure, Yakushima was probably never going to be a huge story from a political perspective, but it does give us some insight into just how far Yamato's influence reached at this point. Going back to the record, we have another fruit related account.  This time it is about an enormous gourd coming out of Izumo—one as big as a, well… we aren't exactly sure.  The character they use is read “kan”, and today often refers to aluminum cans and the like, but that is a relatively recent meaning, if you'd believe it.  In the 7th and 8th century it was probably something more like “pou” and may have meant an earthenware pot for storing alcohol, like the Greek amphorae, or it may have been in reference to a kind of musical instrument.  Either way, we are talking a pretty good sized gourd.  Not sure if it would take a ribbon in some of today's largest pumpkin contests, but still, impressive for the time. Moving beyond the State Fair category of entries, we come to one of my favorite events.  It takes place, we are told, in 618, when Kawabe no Omi was sent to the land of Aki to build ships.  He went with his crews up into the mountains to fell timber when he met with something extraordinary, which was still being depicted in paintings centuries later, although most people probably haven't heard the story. Now the name Kawabe first shows up as the location of one of the Miyake, or royal granaries and administrative centers set up in the land of Ki, south of Yamato on the peninsula, in 535.  The first record of a person by the name, however, is less than auspicious:  It was the assistant general Kawabe no Nihi, who is panned by the Chroniclers for his actions during the reign of Amekunioshi.  As we discussed in Episode 82, Kawabe snatched defeat from the jaws of victory due to his lack of military expertise. This next mention of a Kawabe family member is coming a good many years later, but the family does seem to have recovered somewhat.  Kawabe no Omi no Nezu would be appointed a general several years later—and that could be the same Kawabe no Omi from this story, as there was only about seven or so years between events.  Furthermore, members of the family would find themselves in the middle of some of the most impactful events of the court, indicating their high status.  Multiple family members would be remembered and memorialized in the histories over the rest of the century, whether for better or for ill.  Which makes it a little interesting to me that the story of this Kawabe family ship builder does not give us a personal name of any kind. Now, later interpretations of this particular story would say that this Kawabe no Omi was out building ships on the orders of Prince Shotoku Taishi himself, though the Nihon Shoki would seem to indicate that he was out there, instead, at the behest of the sovereign herself, Kashikiya Hime.  Of course, given what the Nihon Shoki has to say about Shotoku Taishi's contributions to running the government, it could be either one.  Regardless, he had a job to do.  He searched through the forest and he found suitable trees for the timber he needed:  in all likelihood he was looking for large, straight trees, which would have a good grain and not so many knots to cause problems.  I suspect that older trees were likely preferable for the task.  Having found what he was looking for he marked it and they began to chop down the marked trees. Suddenly a man appeared—a stranger, or perhaps just a local coming to see what all the fuss was about.  He warned Kawabe no Omi and his men that the tree they had marked was a “thunder tree” and it shouldn't be cut.  To this Kawabe no Omi asked: “Shall even the thunder-god disobey the royal commands?”  However, he didn't just barrel on with the task.  Instead, he and his men started by offering mitegura, offerings of cloth.  This was likely done to appease any spirits before the crew got started, and I wonder if this was something exceptional, or perhaps something that people regularly did, especially when you were taking large, older trees.  It isn't clear, but an 8th century crowd no doubt understood the significance.  Once they had finished providing recompense to the kami, they went about their task. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it began to rain.  As the water poured down from the sky, thunder and lightning came crashing down.  Apparently the offering had *not* been accepted, and the kami was now quite angry.  While his men sought shelter, Kawabe no Omi drew out his iron sword and held it aloft, crying out to the angry kami:  “O Kami of Thunder, do not harm these men!  I am the one that you want!”  So saying, sword held aloft in the midst of this unexpected thunderstorm, he stood there, watching the roiling clouds, and waiting.  Ten times the lightning flashed and crashed around them, the thunder rolling each time.  One can only imagine the sight as Kawabe no Omi stood there, wind whipping his hair and clothes as he challenged the storm.  And yet, try as it might, the thunderous lightning did not strike Kawabe no Omi.  Finally, the lightning stopped, and Kawabe no Omi was still unharmed. As the men came out of hiding, they noticed a disturbance.  Above them, there was movement, and the men saw the strangest thing:  Up in the branches of the tree was a small fish.  Near as anyone could reckon, the god had turned visible, taking the form of a fish, and so Kawabe no Omi caught the fish and burnt it.  After that, they were able to safely harvest the rest of the timber and build the ships. While we may have some doubts as to the veracity of the story, or may even wonder if a particularly violent storm hadn't picked up fish from a nearby water source, an event that has been known to happen, it still holds some clues about how the people of the time thought and how they believed the world worked.  Even today, older trees and even rocks are thought to house spirits.  In some cases, shrines are built up, and people will worship the spirit of a particular tree or rock, so it isn't so far fetched to think that they were harvesting ancient trees that were believed by locals to contain some kind of spirit, which, if aroused, could bring serious harm to Kawabe no Omi and his men.  This is probably why they made their offering in the first place, hoping that would be enough to placate the spirit. At the same time, we see them drawing on the power of the sovereign, who isn't even present.  Kawabe no Omi's protection is in that he is following the sovereign's commands, and that alone is his shield.  Heck, he even goes so far as to raise up his sword.  I know we are still an eon from Ben Franklin and his kite, but I'm pretty sure that people had figured out certain things about lightning, beyond just “don't be out in it”, namely “don't wave around pointy metal things in the middle of a storm”. As for the symbolism of the kami turning into a fish, well, who knows just how kami think about these things?  They don't always do things that make sense.  For instance, there is one story where a man prayed for a boat, and the kami gave him one, but put it on top of a nearby mountain.  Maybe they just weren't that accurate, or maybe they didn't quite get how the visible world works, sometimes.  It is also possible that the kami turned itself into a helpless fish on purpose, as a sign that it was giving up, since it clearly had not been able to best Kawabe no Omi, and the burning of the fish may have also had some significance. Whatever the reason, the boats were built and not even the kami could defy the will of the sovereign. Now there were a few other things that happened the following year—more strange and bizarre happenstances.  The first was the on the fourth day of the fourth month, when there came a report of a creature shaped like a man in the Kamo river in Afumi.  Who knows what it was?  Perhaps it was some kind of kappa or other river spirit.  Or perhaps it was some stranger skinny-dipping and he just really put everyone off.  Or it was just a weird log viewed from the wrong angle.  Whatever the reason, the people were put off, and Aston notes that this was probably considered an inauspicious omen. Then, in the 7th month, a fisherman from the land of Settsu caught something in one of the manmade canals, or horie, in the area of modern Osaka.  The creature he caught was part fish and part man—perhaps that same creature that had been seen three months earlier further upriver, like some kind of ancient Yamato mermaid.  What exactly did it mean, though?  Certainly it seems a strange occurrence, but was it considered a good or bad omen?  Or was it just weird and strange? The following year, there was a shape in the sky.  The Chroniclers say it was red, shaped like a rooster tail, and over a rod—about ten feet or so—in length.  Perhaps this was a rogue cloud, being kissed by the red light of the rising or setting sun.  Or perhaps it was something else entirely.  These were the kinds of things that were likely seen as omens, though whether a good or bad omen, who could say?  A fishman in the rivers?  A red glowing light in the sky?  Often it wouldn't be until later that such things would be pieced together. In this case, the omens were likely pretty dire, as in that same year we are told that none other than Prince Umayado—Shotoku Taishi himself—grew ill, and passed away.  The whole of the realm mourned their collective loss.  The Crown Prince of the Upper Palace, heir to the throne of Yamato, was dead.  So yeah, I would say those were some pretty bad omens. Umayado's death would leave a real void.  Where there had once been certainty of succession, the land was back in the chaos of wondering what would happen when Kashikiya Hime finally passed away.  Would they be returned to a state of civil war for the throne?  Who could say?  And there was more.  The continent was also in a state of uncertainty, as only recently, the Sui dynasty had been overthrown, and now the new Tang was in its place.  In addition, a resurgent Silla on the Korean peninsula was getting ever more bold and sure of its own power.  There were many things to be concerned about. But let's not leave it on such a note.  We can cover all of that in future episodes—we really don't have time to go over all of it here.  But there is one other story I'd like to leave you with this episode. You see, a little earlier that year—the same year that Umayado passed away—the Yamato court had finished covering the tomb of Hinokuma with pebbles.  Although the kofun, today, are often overgrown, and seem as much like wooded hills as anything else, back in the day there would have been no mistaking their manmade origins.  The ground was cleared and tamped down into place.  The sides rose in distinct terraces, and the surface was covered in stones.  Around it would be the clay and wood haniwa.  Families were employed to keep the kofun, and likely refreshed them from time to time.  In the case of Hinokuma, recall that earlier in the reign Kitashi Hime, Kashikiya Hime's mother, had been re-interred with her husband.  This was likely further ceremonies for her, perhaps the culmination of years of work on the tomb.  We are also told that earth was piled up onto a hill, and each family erected a wooden pillar.  One official, Yamato no Aya no Sakanoue no Atahe, decided to go all out.  Maybe he didn't get the memo.  Or maybe he thought he would make a name for himself.  Either way, brought in the largest pillar—larger than any other of the family heads that were present. And, well, he did make a name for himself, though perhaps not the name he wanted.  That name was Ohohashira no Atahe, or the Atahe of the Giant Pillar.  Probably not exactly what he was going for, but there you have it.  By the way, if you recognize that name, Sakanoue, then you may have noticed that yes, this is likely an ancestor of the famous Sakanoue no Tamuramaro, a famous warrior of the late Nara and early Heian period, and the second person ever to carry the title of Sei-i Taishogun—but that is still over a century and a half away. For now, in the coming episodes, we'll finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, perhaps touch briefly on what was happening on the continent, and continue on as we make our way through the latter part of the seventh century. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Here we are, almost at the end of the reign of Kashikiya Hime, with a couple of items, today. First is the reform going on with Buddhism, and, in particular, the state's involvement in selecting a "Head" of Buddhism to make sure that the religion is accountable to the State.  Then there are the dealings with the growing power of Silla, amidst the backdrop of a change on the continent from the Sui to the Tang dynasty. For more, check out our podcast website:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-102 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 102: Temples and Tribute Iwakane and Kuranoshita stood on the deck of their ship, looking out over the waves and back towards their Yamato home.  Travel across the sea was always risky, but it was worth it.  Locals at the port on the southern tip of the peninsula were loading all sorts of goods into the hold of their ships, and when the two envoys returned home, they could only imagine how they would be greeted as heroes.  It had been a long journey, but they'd made it across the strait and upheld the interests of the Yamato court, and now they had a deal that could bring some measure of peace.  Not bad for a treacherous trek across the sea.  Next they just had to wait for fair winds and they could start the journey back to the archipelago. Looking out at the ocean, hoping to see some signs of the winds turning back from whence they came, it was then that they spied them—small dots that seemed to disappear and reappear on the horizon.  First just a handful, and then more and more.  As they came more into focus, their hearts no doubt sank.  It was an armada, fitted for war, and it was headed their way. ---- As we finish up the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, I want to deal with several events from about 614 to the year 624.  During this decade a lot happened.  Last episode we dealt with some of the smaller things, but two major things from this period were the further development of the Buddhist clergy—including bringing the institution under state control—and the reported invasions of Silla.  I say “reported”, because only the Japanese sources talk about them, but we'll talk about just why that might be.  Meanwhile, there were plenty of changes happening as the Sui dynasty transitioned into the Tang dynasty, and more. We're actually going to start with the changes to the Buddhist clergy.  This actually happened some time later than the rest of our narrative, but it makes sense to start here and finish up some of the things happening in Yamato, before expanding our view to the wider world. As we've seen, Buddhism officially arrived in Yamato by 538 according to our earliest record, though possibly it had been around in some form in the immigrant communities before then.  By the start of the 7th century, Buddhist temples were being built by some of the noble families of the court, including Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and others.  Originally, the Buddha was worshipped much as any other kami, but as nuns and monks were sent abroad to learn more about the religion, and as foreign monks were consulted on how things should be, they began to develop their own sangha, their own community, in the archipelago.  Those with interest or who took vows to enter the religion studied the sutras and other texts that had been brought over, and with the building of full-scale, continental style temples there would have been little doubt that this was something new and different. The tenets of Buddhism were those of non-materialism.  Adherents were supposed to work on loosening the bonds that kept them tethered to this mortal plane, including concepts of the self.  Monks were expected to be the ultimate examples of these teachings, especially seeing as how they dedicated themselves to learning the Buddhist Law.  Above all, Buddhist monks were expected to rise above base emotions such as anger, hatred, and lust. However, let's remember that these Buddhsit monks were only human, and it is also unclear how many had joined the monkhood entirely of their own volition.  For instance, back in 614, when Soga no Umako fell ill, we are told that a thousand persons entered religion for his sake.  Now besides the fact that the number of individuals is likely way off base—at most we see maybe 1400 monks and nuns across all of the temples only nine years later—this was not an uncommon thing to see in records of the time.  In Baekje, we similarly see large numbers of people taking orders on the behalf of a monarch or other person of importance.  The implication is that by having people enter religion—to take orders as a monk or nun—on your behalf would accrue to that person some measure of good karma.  This was seen as particularly important for the elite because they, of course, couldn't just become monks themselves—after all, if they did, who would be left to rule the country?  And so, they would have people do it for them, kind of like a version of “karma offsets”, where you get to continue to enjoy all the benefits of your worldly position by offsetting it with other people's devotion to religion. But one has to wonder how many people were just waiting around for some special royal or noble person to need some karma before taking orders.  After all, if someone was truly interested in taking orders, no doubt they could find a monastery and ask to join.  More likely, these were individuals who were impressed -slash- strongly encouraged to take orders on behalf of someone else.  This isn't to say that there were no true converts, nor that those who took orders in such a way never came to appreciate the Buddha's teachings.  However, it does, perhaps, make it a little more understandable when we learn that in 623 there was a major scandal in the Buddhist sangha when an ordained Buddhist monk apparently took an axe and struck his paternal grandfather. Murder was, of course, generally frowned upon—unless, of course, you were a member of the aristocracy and able to convict the person of something like rebelling against the court.  However, it was especially frowned upon by Buddhist monks, as it really didn't go well with the whole vibe that the Buddhist religion was trying to establish in the archipelago.  Anyone who entered Buddhism was supposed to be devoting themselves to the Three Treasures, not geriatricide. And we don't know why this monk did it, either.  Maybe he just chanted too many sutras and finally snapped, or maybe his paternal grandfather did something heinous and he thought it was his only solution.  Either way, this event sparked a major investigation of the Buddhist religion as a whole.  The court assembled all of the various monks and nuns and investigated just what had been going on in those temples, anyway.  Where they found wrong-doing, the courts decided to issue punishments. And apparently they found quite a bit of wrong-doing.  It isn't clear exactly what was going on, but there was enough that the Baekje monk Kanroku, or Gwalleuk in modern Korean, issued a memorial to the throne before the punishments were carried out.  In his memorial he detailed the history of Buddhism:  how it came from the West to the Han, and then 300 years after that to Baekje, and then how it had been transmitted to Yamato only 100 years after that—less than a century ago, really.  He noted how young Buddhism was in Yamato, and how the monks and nuns hadn't fully learned the Teachings of the Buddha.  As such, he begged for leniency for all of the monks other than the man who had killed his own grandfather—that was a punishment even Kanroku could not argue against. By the way, if the name Kanroku is familiar, we talked about him back in episode 94.  He was said to have been one of the teachers of Shotoku Taishi, and when he first arrived in Yamato we are told that he brought numerous books on various sciences with him, helping to kickstart a number of studies in Yamato.  He was clearly well respected by the court. And so the court heard this petition, and Kashikiya Hime granted Kanroku's request for leniency.  The monks and nuns were spared, except for the one, but that was not the end of the court's involvement.  Ten days later, they issued another ruling.  The court set up two official positions:  The Soujou and the Soudzu.  These two positions were created to oversee the monks and nuns.  Kanroku was made Soujou, or High Priest, and Kurabe no Tokuseki was appointed as Soudzu.  We are also told of another position, possibly one that already existed, as a member of the Adzumi no Muraji family was appointed as Houzu, the Head of the Law. These positions would help tie the practice of Buddhism to the court.  The temples were no longer simply autonomous units that could operate on their own.  Neither were they solely bound to the wealthy families that patronized them and helped pay for their upkeep.  The court positions provided a means of state accountability and oversight concerning the activities of Buddhism in the country.  After all, Buddhism, at this time, was largely seen as serving the state and the state elites.  While Buddhist doctrine might encourage the salvation of all sentient beings, to many of those sponsoring and setting up these temples, it was still a very transactional relationship.  The power of Buddhism was not simply in the siren's call of possibly throwing off the shackles of the material world, but also in the belief that Buddhist gods and Boddhisatvas could actively provide protection—both tangible and intangible—to the state and to the members of the court.  It is unlikely that farmers, living in their pit houses and working in the rice paddies, were thinking so much about going to the temple and what the Buddhist Law meant for them.  The nature of religion at the time was still one where the elites controlled the mysteries, and thus used that to justify their rarified positions. The idea of the position of High Priest may have been transmitted from the Buddhist traditions of the Yangzi river region and the southern courts.  Originally, in Yamato, it seems to have been intended as the chief priest of the country, as there was only one official sect of Buddhism.  This would change in later years as the position—and the Buddhist temples' relationship with the government—changed over time. Kanroku's time in this position seems to have been limited.  Less than a year later, in the first month of 624, a new priest arrived from Goguryeo, named Ekan, or Hyegwan in modern Korean, and he was made Sojo, or high priest.  Does this mean that Kanroku retired from the position?  Or perhaps he passed away.  Unfortunately, we aren't quite sure. Tradition holds that both Kanroku and his successor, Ekan, both were installed at Houkouji, aka Gangouji or Asukadera, the temple of Soga no Umako, demonstrating the power and influence that Soga no Umako's temple had at the time.  Ekan is also said to have been the founding patriarch of the Japanese Sanron school of Buddhism.  The Sanron sect comes from the Sanlun school of the mainland, also known as East Asian Madhyamaka, and was based on three texts—the “Sanron”—said to have been translated by Kumarajiva in the 4th and early 5th centuries. That both of these High Priests were installed at Houkouji definitely says something at the time.  It is possible that their dominion was simply over Houkouji, but an earlier entry suggests that was not the case, as in the ninth month of 623, some five months after the whole axe-monk incident, the Court ordered an inspection of temples of monks and nuns.  We are told that they made an accurate record of the circumstances of the building of the temples, and also the circumstances under which the various ordained individuals had embraced—forcefully or otherwise—the Buddhist religion.  They recorded information down to the year, month, and day that they took orders.  Based on that record we are told that there were forty-six temples in 623, and 815 monks and 569 nuns, for a total of one thousand three hundred and eighty five persons altogether.  That doesn't count the individuals working the rice land and otherwise helping provide for the upkeep of the temples themselves. As far as I'm aware, we don't have this actual record of the temple inspection, other than its summary here in the Nihon Shoki, but assuming it is true, it tells us some rather incredible things.  First, if we assume that Asukadera and Shitennouji were really the first two permanent temples to be built in Yamato, then all of this- the building of 46 temples, and the ordination of so many people- happened in the span of about thirty years.  That's an average of three temples being built every two years, and it probably wasn't that steady a pace.  It is entirely possible, of course, that many of the temples mentioned were still under construction.  After all, we saw how long it took to build Houkouji temple, or Asukadera, which we discussed back in episode 97.  Regardless, it goes back to what we mentioned about the temple building boom that took off, which also removed much of the labor force that would have otherwise been put to work building things like massive kofun. Also, assuming an even distribution, we are looking at an average of thirty monks or nuns per temple.  It was likely not quite so even, and with temples like Asukadera, or even Toyouradera, having many more monks and nuns  given their importance.  Furthermore, when Soga no Umako grew ill and supposedly had a thousand persons enter religion—which, as we've mentioned, likely wasn't quite that many—I suspect that many of those would have gone to Soga temples, such as Houkouji. By the way, on that one thousand people:  I would note that it is possible that some people only entered Buddhist orders temporarily, for a time, and that is why the numbers aren't larger.  Still, I think that Occam's razor suggests the simpler answer is that the numbers were simply exaggerated for effect by the Chroniclers, assuming that it even happened in the first place. So that was the story of Yamato expanding its state administration over the spiritual realm.  However, there was plenty of expansion they were doing in the physical realm as well.  They had expanded control to the island of Tsukushi, modern Kyushu, and were even dealing with the inhabitants of Yakushima, but they knew there was a much larger world out there. And so we see that in 613, two new ambassadors were sent to the Sui court.  They were Inugami no Kimi no Mitasuki and Yatabe no Miyatsuko.  We don't know much about the embassy that went though we know that they came back through Baekje the following year, bringing a Baekje envoy with them, because why not?  Baekje records talk about the Wa—that is the people of the Japanese archipelago—traversing their country on their way to the Sui court at various times, so this is all within the realm of what has been pretty standard, so far. The following year, we see that Silla sent a Buddha image to the Yamato court.  As per usual, our ever so faithful Chroniclers note that this is an item of “tribute” from Silla, as though they were some kind of vassal state of Yamato.  Which brings me to a point I've made before and I'll probably make again:  All history is political. The writing of history is an inherently political act, in that it attempts to capture some form of truth as the authors of history believe it to be.  What they choose to include—and what they choose to ignore—is all a choice. This should not be confused with facts: what actually happened and was observed.  But even the facts of the past  are all experienced through human senses and interpreted by human brains.  We can often only see them through what others have written or created, and what physical evidence remains, today, whether that is archaeological evidence, or even things like DNA or linguistic clues, passed down through the generations.  Keep this in mind the next time you hear someone talk about “historical revisionism”.  The stories we tell ourselves change as we better understand the world and the past from which we came.  To get upset about people providing a new vision of that past assumes that our previous understanding was somehow complete.  We might not agree with someone's take on it, but as long as we can agree on the facts, it isn't as if they are changing what actually happened, just providing a different understanding.  This of course gets much more difficult and convoluted when we realize that what we think of as facts might instead be suppositions, inferred from how we believe the world works. I mention this because looking across our various records we can see just how incomplete our understanding is of this time in Silla-Yamato relations.  We have to “pick sides” as it were, if we want to tell a story, or we could just throw our hands up in the air and say “who knows?”So let's talk about just what is missing from both the Nihon Shoki and the Samguk Sagi, two of our better historical sources from this time.  Clearly the Nihon Shoki has a pro-Yamato and pro-royal lineage bias, such that it is going to elevate the status of Yamato and the sovereign, almost completely ignoring any other powerful polities that may have once existed in the archipelago and placing Yamato on equal footing with the Sui dynasty, and above the countries of Silla and their ally, Baekje.  It is not exactly nuanced in its depiction. On the other side we have the Samguk Sagi.  Here we have a huge period in the 6th and 7th centuries with little to no mention of Wa or the Japanese archipelago.  This is especially true in the Silla annals, which only mention their interactions with Baekje, for the most part, and leave talk of Wa to the earlier years, before Silla grew into one of the three most powerful kingdoms on the peninsula.  Where we do find mention is in the Baekje annals, but even that is often sparse. This is likely for several reasons.  First off is the fact that the Samguk Sagi was written in the 12th century, over four hundred years after the Nihon Shoki was published.  This was the Goryeo period on the Korean peninsula, and so one might expect to see a greater focus on the former Goryeo, known to us as Goguryeo.  However, its author was Kim Busik, and the Kim family traced their roots to the royal lineage of Silla.  So he likely was plenty incentivized to prop up the Silla kingdom. Furthermore, it seems that the Samguk Sagi was pulled together from a variety of sources, often with second or thirdhand accounts.  For instance, they writers appear to have used Sui and Tang records to reconstruct what happened at various periods, especially in Baekje.   The “Record of Baekje” that the Nihon Shoki often cites appears to have no longer been extant for Kim Busik to peruse.  And so it is hard to tell what was left out for political reasons and what simply wasn't mentioned at all.  However, there is a note in the late 7th century, where the Silla kingdom complains about the constant raids and invasions by the Wa—raids and invasions that are otherwise not mentioned—that makes me think that perhaps there is something more to the records of Yamato and Baekje then might first appear.  It would be easy, perhaps, to dismiss what we see in the Nihon Shoki, but we are now only a century from when it was compiled.  So while the Chroniclers may have been biased in the way they recorded things, there is likely something there, even if they give themselves a larger role in the production. Alright, so enough caveats:  What does the Nihon Shoki have to say about all of this? We previously talked about the relationship between Yamato and the continent in Episodes 94 and 96, including prior attempts by Yamato to re-establish Nimna, which had been controlled by Silla since at least the 6th century, and Yamato's early contact with the Sui court.  And as mentioned above Inugami no Mitasuki and Yatabe were sent back from the Sui, returning with an envoy from Baekje in 615.  Then, in 616, a year after that, Silla sent a Buddha image as tribute.  In typical pro-Buddhist fashion, it is said that the image sent out rays of light and worked miracles.  Aston claims this was the gold image eventually installed at Houkouji—aka Asukadera. There is a bit of a respite in the record, like a show that took a season off during the pandemic.  We don't really have much mention of Silla or Baekje for about four to five years, just as it looked like we were starting to get regular communication.   That isn't to say the record is entirely blank, we just don't have records of regular contact with Silla and Baekje.  There is one record, which Aston dates to 618, though that may be a year off based on other sources, where a Goguryeo envoy arrives with gifts: flutes, cross-bows, and even catapults, we are told, 10 in all.  They also brought a camel, which must have been quite the sight, though I wonder how well it was doing after that voyage.  Finally, they brought some local products and two captives that had been taken during fighting with the Sui. This mention of Goguryeo fighting the Sui dynasty is rather significant, and it is part of the reason that many believe the Sui dynasty would fall in or around that same year.  Besides spending money on all sorts of public works projects—things like the Grand Canal, that would definitely be a wonder, but was also insanely expensive—the Sui dynasty was also fighting campaigns on their northern and southern borders, as well as facing raids by the Tujue, a group of eastern Turkic people.    The Sui had been pushing against Goguryeo, with whom they shared a border, and for the most part, Goguryeo had been pushing back.  At the same time, Goguryeo had some ambitious neighbors of their own on the peninsula—their sometime ally Silla being chief among them—so they had to also ensure that they weren't attacked from the rear as they were marshaling troops against the Sui. Fortunately for them, the Sui dynasty would eventually collapse, being replaced by the Tang.  Unfortunately, the Tang dynasty was not necessarily going to give up the push that the Sui had started. We'll probably need to do an entire episode on the Tang dynasty and Tang culture, as it would have a huge impact on all of East Asian culture, but for now, that can wait.  The death of the last Sui emperor set up a power struggle on the continent.  Li Yuan, Duke of Tang, took advantage of this and had himself proclaimed as the new Tang emperor, but he wasn't the only one contending for power.  Though he ruled from the capital at Chang'an, modern Xi'an, there were plenty of others trying to set themselves up as warlords and emperors in their own right, and Li Yuan would spend the entirety of his reign trying to quell these various threats and re-unify the empire under his rule.  Needless to say, there was a lot going on over there. As that was happening, around 621, Silla sent an ambassador to Yamato named, at least in Aston's translation, Imime, with the rank of “Nama”—a rank in the lower half of the Silla system.  Imime brought a diplomatic gift—that is to say “tribute” in the words of the Nihon Shoki—and a memorial for the Yamato court.  Apparently they hadn't brought memorials before, and this was the first time.  Memorials here are formal letters, typically referring to the type of letter from a subordinate to a superior.  I doubt that Silla was actually making themselves out to be a vassal to Yamato any more than Baekje, who is recorded as submitting numerous memorials, did the same.  However, the way diplomacy works, it would be understandable if the letter to a foreign ruler was presented in a flattering light.  Also, let's not forget that it was entirely possible that there was a bit of interpretation going on from one language, into the diplomatic language of Sinitic characters, and then into the native language of the court. So I think we can say that this is when Silla and Yamato started formal, written diplomatic correspondence.   These exchanges continued the following year.  Silla sent more envoys, and this time they brought a golden Buddha image, a golden pagoda, relics, and a large Buddhist baptismal flag, along with twelve smaller ones.  This was the Buddha image placed in the Hata temple at Kadono—which is to say, Hachiwoka Temple, known today as Kouryuuji, in modern Kyouto.  Other relics went to Shitennouji.  In addition, they brought the monks Esai and Ekou, as well as the physicians Ejitsu and Fukuin, bringing continental or “Tang” learning.  AT the same time, the envoys suggested that Yamato should send for the students that they had sent abroad to the Sui court, previously, as they had finished their studies.  They then launched into praise for the Tang court. And here we can say it would have likely been the Tang court.  As we discussed, the Sui dynasty had collapsed and a new dynasty, the Tang, had stood up in its place.  One wonders, then, about the students who had lived through those tumultuous times, and there may have been other reasons to reach out to the Tang court and restart their relationship.  It is also interesting that Silla appears to have close ties to the Tang—something that they would certainly work to strengthen in later years.  Silla's location on the other side of Goguryeo made them an ideal strategic ally to help put pressure on Goguryeo and force them to protect multiple fronts at the same time.  Besides the advice on bringing back students from the Sui—now Tang—court, I'd also like to take a moment and point out the gifts and the temples that were mentioned.  Shitennouji and Kouryuuji are both temples associated with Shotoku Taishi, but are also thought to have been closely related to individuals of Silla ethnicity in Yamato.  That they received the tribute coming from Silla is interesting. It looks like things were going well, but then, later in that same year, things took a turn.  We are told that Silla invaded Nimna, making Nimna fully a dependency of Silla. As we had discussed, before, Silla had long since taken Nimna and the other small polities around it.  It may be that they had retained some notional independence, as many of the kingdoms of this time were not necessarily fully established as we might think of a state, today.  However, any “invasion” was likely seen by Silla as simply quelling an internal dispute, assuming it happened at all.  What actually happened wasn't as important to us, however, as was Yamato's response. We are told that Kashikiya Hime considered an invasion, but Tanaka no Omi suggested caution, suggesting that someone be sent to the peninsula to figure out just what was going on.  Nakatomi no Muraji no Kuni, on the other hand, pressed for war.  He continued to beat that old drum claiming that Nimna originally belonged to Yamato, and that Silla shouldn't be allowed to have it.  Tanaka no Omi countered that it was better that Silla have it than Baekje, claiming that Baekje, Yamato's on-again off-again ally on the peninsula, could not be trusted to hold it—something of a strange stance.  Ultimately, Kashikiya Hime listened to Tanaka no Omi's advice, and she sent Kishi no Iwakane to Silla and Kishi no Kuranoshita to Nimna to see how things were going.  When they arrived at the peninsula, they were greeted by a single, brightly decorated ship.  When they asked whose ship it was, they were told it belonged to Silla, at which point they called into question why there wasn't a ship from Nimna.  And so the Silla sailors sent someone to bring out another ship, claiming that was the ship from Nimna.  The Nihon Shoki claims that this tradition of Silla greeting Yamato envoys with two boats dates from this time. To say I'm a bit skeptical is an understatement.  It sounds like Silla was just trying to appease the Yamato envoys so that they would deliver their message and go back home.  Perhaps they were putting on a show of Nimna's independence—who knows.  The Lord of Silla—an interesting flex by the Chroniclers, who have otherwise referred to the ruler of Silla as a “king”—sent eight high ministers, or Daibu, to provide Iwakane and Kuranoshita an update on the status of Nimna.  In response, the Yamato envoys apparently insisted that Nimna belonged to them and, at least according to the Nihon Shoki, Silla agreed.  Here I think we have to take the Chronicles with a bit of salt, and I really wish that we had better records for Silla, but unfortunately the sources we have from that side are silent about any interaction. Iwakane and Kuranoshita then began to plan the return trip with envoys from Silla along with more diplomatic gifts from Silla and Nimna.  With their work completed, they began the trek back to the islands.  Even if Silla was simply putting on a show for the ambassadors, they must have felt pretty good about themselves.  They had apparently settled the matter and were now on their way back to seal the deal.  All they had to do now was wait for a favorable wind so they could cross. And so they were probably taken aback when they looked out across the waters and saw boatloads of Yamato troops heading their way.  The Silla envoys saw this and immediately noped back to the capital at Gyeongju and left a lower level flunky to handle the diplomatic gifts, which Yamato probably already had loaded on board the ship.  Iwakane and Kuranoshita resigned themselves to the fact that the agreement they had brokered was now in tatters—they had just talked about peace and suddenly an invading army shows up.  So they shoved off and headed back to the archipelago. Apparently, while Iwakane and Kuranoshita were away, the hawkish faction of the Yamato Court had swayed Soga no Umako to their side, and he had pushed for the invasion.  Specifically, the Chronicles blamed the houses of Sakahibe no Omi and Adzumi no Muraji.  Apparently these two families remembered getting quite a pay out from Silla last time, when they took armies across the strait to help re-establish Nimna, but got basically paid to leave, and so they were hoping to do the same thing again. And so Sakahibe no Omi no Womaro and Nakatomi no Muraji no Kuni were made generals of a force that included a host of names of some of the prominent families as assistant generals.  Given all of the generals and assistant generals, it must have been a sizeable force, and the Chronicles say that it was ten thousand strong, though I don't know that we can trust any of the numbers, exactly. They made landfall and headed to Nimna, to prepare their attack and when the King of Silla heard they were there, Silla tendered their submission, and the generals sent back a memorial to Kashikiya Hime to proclaim their victory.  We aren't told whether or not Sakahibe no Omi or Adzumi no Muraji made any money on this venture, but they seem to have made out alright for themselves. Now, as I mentioned earlier, there isn't any really good corroborating evidence for all of this.  There is a note in 623 that Baekje sent an army to raid Silla's Neungno District, and there is the later 7th century note where Silla complains about the constant raids by the Wa, mostly referring to Yamato and the archipelago. There is one other thing about this period, however:  many scholars believe that this is the period where many of the stories of Okinaga no Tarashi Hime really became popular, and took the form that we mostly know them as, today.  As you may recall, Okinaga no Tarashi Hime is more commonly known as Jinguu Kougou or even Jinguu Tennou.  She was the wife to the sovereign known as Chuai Tennou and the mother to Homuda Wake, aka Oujin Tennou, someone who features prominently in the lineage of the current dynasty of Yamato sovereigns. We talked about Tarashi Hime and her much hyped “conquest” of the Korean peninsula back in Episode 40.  Many scholars treat Tarashi Hime as a fictional, legendary figure, possibly created specifically to mirror the reign of Kashikiya Hime, in the 7th century.  There are some who believe her story is actually based on raids and invasions by Yamato in the 7th century, especially given the scale and apparent control that she displays over the archipelago.  It is possible that in her day, assuming she did exist, that there was a much larger concern with subduing the Kumaso, which was probably more of an ethnic conflict between different cultures, with Wa forces eventually prevailing.  There was certainly commerce with the peninsula, so raids weren't out of the question.  But the scale of those raids may not have been quite as depicted. Again, though, it is hard to say.  The peninsular records are largely silent.  The Wa are depicted as almost more of a minor nuisance and they are more likely to give pride of place to Baekje forces in any allied assault, so it is really difficult to determine just what happened, when.  Regardless, we aren't finished with the peninsula.  There is still a lot more conflict yet to be seen. But, we are finished with this episode—and almost finished with this reign.  Next episode we'll cover the end of Kashikiya Hime's reign, when some of the cutthroat politics of the Yamato court will come to the fore.  The end of one reign and the beginning of another has always been a bumpy ride—has the enforcement of more continental style governance changed that at all?  We'll see. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Apologies for any degradation of the sound quality.  This was recorded while we were traveling, and the room setup was not ideal, so if sounds like I'm in a cave, you know why ;) This episode we head over to the continent to kick off the Tang dynasty.  The Tang dynasty was extremely influential on Yamato and later Japan, as well as the rest of East Asia.  And so we'll take a look at how it got its start and how it expanded along the silk road, while at the same time talking about the literally cutthroat politics of the period.  Especially in the royal house.  Nobody fights like family. For more information, check out the podcast webpage:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-104   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 104: A Bloody Start to a Golden Age It was early in the morning on the fourth day of the sixth month of the ninth year of Wu De.    Brothers Li Jiancheng, Crown Prince, and his younger brother, Li Yuanji, were more than a bit annoyed--Their brother had apparently slandered them to their father, the Emperor, claiming that they had had illicit relationships with his concubines.  Although the accusations were false, they still had to come to the palace to clear their names.  So they left the crown prince's residence at the Eastern Palace and were traveling on horseback with a retinue of men through the private, forested royal park north of the city towards the Xuanwu Gate—the northern gate to the palace and to the great city of Chang'an. As they approached Linhu Hall, they noticed something was afoot: there were soldiers in the park, headed their way. It was immediately apparent that the accusations had been a ruse, and their brother meant for more than just to tarnish their honor.  As they fled eastward, back towards the Eastern palace, their brother, Li Shimin, came galloping towards them and called out to them.  Li Yuanji tried to draw his bow, but couldn't get to it in time, and Li Shimin shot and killed Li Jiancheng, their older brother and the crown prince. Li Yuanji himself fell from his horse as he dodged arrows from the attacking troops, but Li Shimin also became entangled in the brush of the park and had to dismount.  Li Yuanji ran up to his brother and tried to strangle him with his bow string, but soon he was chased off by reinforcements.  Li Yuanji fled on foot to Wude Hall, where he was finally caught and struck down with arrows.  Li Shimin's forces struck off the heads of the two murdered princes, and took them to the Xuanwu gate, where opposing forces were still fighting.  Seeing the heads of the two princes, it was clear that Li Shimin's ambush was victorious, and the princes' forces quickly dispersed. Three days later, the victorious Li Shimin was instated as the new crown prince.  Two months later, his father, Li Yuan, known to history as emperor Tang Gaozu, abdicated in favor of his son, who came to power as Emperor Taizong.  This was the start of the Zhenguan era, which would come to be seen as a golden age in the history of the various Chinese empires. --------------- Alright, so as may be apparent, we are deviating a bit from our discussion of Yamato to look at some of the events on the continent.  This is because the rise of the Tang dynasty would have an incredible impact on the Japanese archipelago.  For one, it was the alliance between the Tang and Silla that would eventually mean the removal of Yamato and its allies from the Korean peninsula.  In addition, however, the Tang dynasty's access to the silk road and its grandiose government would become an exemplar for Yamato and many other polities who wished to demonstrate their political and cultural sophistication.  Many of the laws and even court dress would mimic that of the Tang court—with a local flare, of course.  In addition, the Tang dynasty brought a relative stability to the continent that would last for over two hundred years.  Of course, none of that was known at the outset, and like many previous kingdoms, the Tang dynasty was born out of bloodshed. We've mentioned several times how the Sui Dynasty was growing increasingly unpopular in the late 6th and early 7th centuries.  Wars continued to cost money and lives, as did the giant public works projects of the periods - though the Grand Canal would be one of the greatest constructions of any age, uniting the Yangzi and Yellow River basins in myriad ways, powering the regions' economies for centuries to come. Into this Sui period came a man of the Li family named Yuan.  We mentioned him back in episode 102, but I figured he could do with a little more backstory.  Li Yuan's family originated in the frontier regions.  Official biographies had connected him to the founder of the Western Liang dynasty, and his family had served in various roles as the different northern kingdoms rose and fell.  The Li family had been providing military service since the time of Yuan's great-grandfather, and Li Yuan himself had been serving since the early 600s.  He was made a general and placed in charge of the Dongguang pass  in the Taihang mountains.  There, he largely stayed out of the limelight.  At one point, he was summoned to the palace and rather than going he feigned illness, instead. You see, around this time there was a prophecy flying around that someone with the surname of Li would try to take the throne from Sui Emperor, Emperor Yang, so it may have been in Li Yuan's best interest to avoid the court and anything that could draw Emperor Yang's suspicions.  He continued to do everything in his power to make himself seem unthreatening, even as rebellions were breaking out across the Empire. In 614, the Sui army was defeated by Goguryeo, and the Sui court was plagued by numerous uprisings.  Li Yuan may have sat it out if it weren't for his son, Li Shimin.  Like many youthful individuals, Li Shimin was less than invested in the current administration.  He and several of his close acquaintances began to scheme behind his father's back, with plans to join the other uprisings and hope to take a piece of the pie.  Eventually, they blackmailed Li Yuan into marching on the capital of Daxingcheng in 617, threatening to expose several illicit relationships from his time at the court—relationships that would have surely put him at odds with the Emperor.  At the same time, Emperor Yang had fled to the southern capital along the banks of the Yangzi River, but his son and heir, Yang You, was still in the capital.  Li Yuan marched on imperial city of Daxingcheng, near the ancient capital of Chang'an, claiming that he was coming to protect the young heir. Taking control of the capital city put Li Yuan at odds with imperial forces, who did not necessarily accept Li Yuan's altruistic claims.  Li Yuan and his sons, including Li Shimin and Li Jiangcheng, were drawn into fighting.  Even Li Yuan's daughter, Pingyang, the wife of general Chai Shao, contributed to the war effort.  She personally raised an army and led it into battle, becoming the first female general of what would be known as the Tang dynasty. In 618, Emperor Yang of Sui was assassinated by another general, Yuwen Huaji, and the throne passed to his son, Yang You, known as Emperor Gong of Sui.  However, Li Yuan pressured the newly made Emperor Gong to yield the throne to him.  Since Li Yuan had inherited the title “Duke of Tang” from his paternal line, he used that as the name of his new dynasty, and became known as Tang Gaozu—the High Founder of Tang. It wasn't enough to simply take the throne, though.  There were still many other warlords looking to take his place.  After all, unification had only come about some thirty or forty years prior.  Up to that point, there had been numerous, often competing kingdoms, especially in the north.  It was quite possible that the Sui dynasty was just a fluke, and most people no doubt expected the empire to fall once more into chaos. Still, although he definitely had to back it up with military might, often led by his sons and close confidants, Li Yuan went about the process of enacting his sovereignty.  This included various state rituals, as well as a reform of the administration.  For one thing, they renamed the capital.  Daxingcheng had been built nearby the ancient capital of Chang'an, and so they renamed Daxingcheng to the ancient name of Chang'an. In addition, he sought out various supernatural portents.  He also enjoyed the support of various Daoists, who believed that the founder of Daoism, Laozi, was from the Li family.  There was a belief at the time that a messianic ruler from the Li family would bring about the Daoist millennium.  And to better understand that, it may be useful to understand a little bit about Daoism. Daoism, first and foremost, is one of the more well known religions to come out of China, and often is found side by side what would seem to be its polar opposite, Confucianism.  However, the two have more in common than one might at first assume. The believed founder of Daoism is known as Laozi, though some later sources, including the Qin dynasty “Records of the Grand Historian”, by Sima Chen, would claim for him the name Li Er.  Laozi was said to have been a scholar who abandoned the world, and as he was leaving the empire for parts unknown, an astute guard recognized him and requested that before he left that he write down his accumulated wisdom before he would let the old sage leave.  That became the work known as the Dao De Jing, or the Classic of the Way and Virtue. The opening of the Dao De Jing is rather famous: Dao ke Dao, feichang Dao. Or, according to one translation:  The Dao that can be known is not the eternal Dao. However, no English translation truly does the original justice. Traditionally, Laozi is said to have been a contemporary of Confucius, and some of the earliest writings on him, in the Warring States period writings of Zhuangzi, often show Confucius in awe of Laozi.  That said, most tend to agree that Laozi himself likely never existed, and that the Dao De Jing was assembled over the years from various poems and sayings that fit with the general theme of formlessness and a general concept of following the Way, a rather ill defined concept of natural order, one which humans are constantly pushing against, often to our detriment. Truth is that both Confucius and Laozi—or whomever compiled the Dao De Jing—wrote about a thing called the “Dao” or “Way”.  Confucius was often talking about the “Way of Heaven”, describing an ordered universe where balance was kept by everyone remaining in their proper place, creating a series of rules around strict, hierarchical relationships, such as those between a father and son, or the ruler and subject.  According to Confucian thought, as long as things on Earth were properly ordered, that order would be reflected in the Heavens, and all of creation would be ordered as well. In Daoism, it is much less about attempting to order the universe, but rather about giving in to your natural place in the universe.  This is a much simplified version of both religions, but in general, where Confucianism tended to see serving at court as a virtue, Daoism tended to reject official life.  For many court officials, they would embrace Confucian ideals in their official lives, but often seek out Daoist pleasures in their free time. Religious Daoism, where it became more than simply a philosophical ideal, appears to have coalesced around the Han dynasty.  There are Daoist temples, though in this instance it is often intertwined with many other Sinitic philosophies and beliefs.  Thus things like the Queen Mother of the West and the Peaches of Immortality could be included in Daoist practice.  Things like the Yijing, the Book of Changes, and various divination methods could also be included. In many cases, “Daoist” seems to be used less to refer to a strict adherent to the philosophy of the supposed Laozi, and more as a general catchall for various folk beliefs.  Thus many people see the images of the Queen Mother of the West on Han Dynasty mirrors imported to Japan as evidence of a Daoist influence on the archipelago, while others note the lack of the further panoply of religious accoutrements that we would expect if it was truly a “Daoist” influence, and not just a few folk beliefs that made their way across the straits. However, by the time that Li Yuan was coming to the throne there was a thriving Daoist community in the Sui and burgeoning Tang dynasties, and if they believed that Li Yuan was an incarnation of Laozi—or at least a messianic descendant—who was he to dissuade them of such a notion? Li Yuan reached back into the past in other ways as well.  For one, he would reinstitute the Northern Wei “equal-field” system of state granted land, along with a system of prefectures and districts to help administer it.  This was largely an effort to help fill up the coffers, which had been emptied by the Sui and constant warfare, while also emphasizing state ownership of land, with individuals being mere tenants.  It also helped bring back into cultivation lands that had long lain fallow, often due to the constant fighting of the previous centuries. In 621, Li Yuan ordered the minting of new copper coins to help stabilize the currency.  Later Sui currency had been devalued by numerous forgeries as well as official debasement—mixing in less valuable metals to make the coins, while attempting to maintain the same denominations as before.  These new coins were meant to restore faith in the currency, but shortages would continue to plague the dynasty throughout its history, leading to the use of cloth as a common medium of exchange and tax payment, something that was also common on the archipelago, along with other goods, in lieu of rice or money. By 624, Li Yuan also announced a new legal code based on the old Han era code, although this was quickly expanded, since the needs of the code from the 3rd century Now initially, for all of their claims to the entire geographic area of the Sui dynasty, the newly established Tang dynasty really only had effective control over a small are of Guanzhou—the area around Chang'an itself.  Li Yuan hadn't been the only one to rise up, and just because he had declared himself the new emperor didn't mean that the other warlords were just giving up.  It wasn't like they had reached the end of a football match and everyone was now just going to go home. And so he and his sons found themselves campaigning for at least the next five years, and that was against the active threats.  Plenty of local elites, especially along the Yellow River basin, simply opted to hole up in their fortified settlements.  After all, they had no guarantees that this new Tang dynasty would last longer than any of the others in the past several centuries.  Often these local elites came under nominal vassalage of the Tang—and probably any other warlord that showed up—but in reality, based on how we see the Tang administration at work, it seems they were primarily left to their own devices, at least early on.  After all, Li Yuan and his sons had plenty of active threats to worry about. And it was definitely his sons who bore the brunt of the work.  Li Jiancheng, the eldest son, who would eventually be named Crown Prince, and Li Shimin each took charge of various troops against  the threats to the new Tang empire.  And they were, for the most part, successful.  They eventually brought a majority of the former Sui territory under their control, such that by 623 internal resistance had begun to wane, and by 624 the situation was largely under control. At least internally.  To the north and west there was another threat:  The khaganate of the Göktürks. Now for many people, if you hear “Turks” you might immediately think of the Ottomans in the region of modern Turkiye.  However, that is not where the Turkish people originated from.  In fact, the first mention of Turkic people appears to be out of the Altai mountains, in modern Mongolia, from around 545.  They appear to have been a nomadic group, as were many of the people of the steppes of central Eurasia.  By 551, only a short time after they were first documented by outside groups, they had established the Göktürk, or Celestial Turk, Khaganate, based in the Mongolian plateau.  From there they expanded in the 6th century, at one point spanning from the Byzantine and Sassanid Persian empires in the west all the way to the kingdoms and empires of the Yellow River basin in the east. Many of the ethnic Han kingdoms that clashed with the Göktürks instituted practices of basically paying them off to prevent raids and invasions of their territory.  Shortly after the founding of the Sui dynasty, the Turkic Khaganate split in two, after the death of the khagan, and so the Sui and Tang were actually dealing with what we know as the Eastern Turkic Khaganate.  They were known to the ethnic Han people as the Thuk-kyat people, a term that today is often transcribed as Tujue, due to the shift in Sinic pronunciation over time.  “Tujue” is often how you'll see it rendered in sources referencing Chinese documents. The Eastern Turkic Khaganate remained an issue for the Sui and Tang dynasties.  Initially, when the uprisings against the Sui began, the Göktürks actually pulled back for a bit, hoping to allow the internal conflicts to weaken their eastern neighbors, but as they saw the direction things were taking, with the Tang dynasty solidifying their power, they began to launch invasions and harass the border, forcing the Tang dynasty to send troops.  Initially Li Yuan attempted to by off the Eastern Turks, as previous dynasties had done, but while they were happy to take his money, the invasions did not stop. Eventually, things got so bad—and the internal conflicts were in a stable enough state—that Li Yuan, decided to send a force against them.  A fairly straightforward decision, supposedly, except, well… Throughout all of this conflict, Li Jiancheng and Li Shimin had been building up their own influence.  Li Jiancheng, as the eldest son of Li Yuan, was the Crown Prince, but Li Shimin had built up his own power and influence, to the point that Li Jiancheng and his other brother, Li Yuanji, were starting to look at how they could take care of him before he got so powerful and popular that Li Yuan was tempted to make him Crown Prince instead of Jiancheng.  At one point, Li Yuanji proposed inviting Li Shimin over and just having him killed, but Li Jiancheng balked at such direct and obvious fratricide. Instead, Li Jiancheng reportedly pushed his younger brother into positions that would possibly get him killed, but Li Shimin continued to succeed, thwarting his brother's plans and growing his own fame and power in the process. Finally, Li Jiancheng decided to take a different approach, and he suggested to his father that the army to defend the empire against the Turks should be led by none other than Li Yuanji.  This would mean moving a large portion of the army out from under Li Shimin's command to his brother, Li Yuanji, who would also accrue much of the fame and respect if he proved successful.  This was a huge blow to Li Shimin, who had heard rumors that his brothers were out to get him. Before setting out on such a campaign, it would have been expected that Li Shimin and his other brothers turn out to wish Li Yuanji success in his campaign.  That would have put Li Shimin in an extremely vulnerable position, where he could be arrested or even killed, without the usual protection of his own forces.  And so Li Shimin decided to be proactive. Before the campaign could set out, Li Shimin submitted accusations against Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji that they were having illicit relations with the concubines of their father, the emperor.  This got Li Yuan's attention, and he called both of his sons back to the palace to investigate what was going on.  This is what led to that fateful incident known as the Xuanwu Gate Incident.  Unbeknownst to Li Yuan or his other sons, Li Shimin had forces loyal to him take over the Xuanwu gate the night before Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji were to have their audience.  Ideally, at least from Li Shimin's position, they would have both been assassinated at Xuanwu gate, but as I noted at the start of the episode, things did not go exactly to plan.   There were several moments where a single stray arrow could have completely changed the course of things, but in the end, Li Shimin was triumphant. As the fighting was going on, Li Yuan heard the commotion.  Apparently he had been out in a boat on the lake in the palace enclosure—and yes, you heard that right, the palace included a lake, or at least a very large pond, such that the emperor could partake in a lazy morning upon the water.  When he heard the commotion, he guessed that the tensions between his sons must be at the heart of it, and even surmised that Li Shimin was likely behind it.  He got to shore and surrounded himself with courtiers, including known comrades and acquaintances of his son, Li Shimin. Eventually, a representative of Li Shimin arrived, and he told the court that Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji had risen up in rebellion, but that Li Shimin had had them both put to death.  With Li Shimin's troops literally at the gates of the palace, and Li Jiancheng and Li Yuanji not exactly able to defend themselves, the accusation stood.  Several days later, no doubt under pressure from Li Shimin, Emperor Tang Gaozu, aka Li Yuan, officially made Li Shimin the Crown Prince.  Two months later, he abdicated in favor of Li Shimin, who came to power as Tang Taizong in 626 CE.  Li Yuan himself took on the title of Retired Emperor, and continued to live life in the palace, but with a much reduced impact on the political affairs of the empire. Li Shimin himself took the reins of power immediately, and set about cementing his rule in several different ways.  First off, to offset his particularly unfilial method of coming to the throne, Li Shimin engaged in performative Confucian virtue signaling.  He played the part of the dutiful son, at least in public, providing for his retired father and attempting to act the part of the sage ruler.  This was somewhat impeded by the cold relationship he and his father appear to have maintained after that point—apparently killing your siblings and forcing your father to abdicate are not exactly the kinds of bonding experiences that bring a father and son closer together.  Still, that was mostly kept in the confines of the private areas of the palace.  Publicly, he gathered accomplished military and civilian officials, and made sure to seek out their opinion.  The era of emperor Tang Taizong is known as the Zhenguan era, lasting from roughly 627 to 649, and it was considered to be synonymous with good governance by later historians and philosophers.  Granted, most of the examples of good governance only lasted long enough for Li Shimin to establish himself in his position as emperor.  Once he had solidified his power, and felt secure in his position, his rule changed to a more traditional and authoritarian model. Regarding the threat of invasion from the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, Li Shimin met the Turks at the Wei River, where he accused them of invading Tang territory and demanded restitution.  The Turks were impressed enough by his forces that they agreed to settle, offering thousands of horses and other goods, but Li Shimin declined their attempts to make it good.  Eventually, Li Shimin supported some of the more disaffected members of the Turkic Khaganate in a coup, and by 630 the Eastern Turkic Khaganate and their gateway to the Silk Road was under Tang dynasty control.  The Turks granted Li Shimin the title of Heavenly Khagan, placing him over both the Tang dynasty and the Eastern Turkic Khaganate. He then went about resettling surrendered Eastern Turks while sending agents to foment rebellions and civil wars in the Western Turkic Khaganate, which controlled the area from Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, west of Dunhuang, all the way to Sassanid Persia.  Dunhuang is an oasis city at the western end of the Gansu corridor, and the Jade Gate was considered to be the entry way to the Western Regions. As Emperor Taizong, Li Shimin placed a puppet Khagan on the throne of the Western Turkic Khaganate in 642, and then sent numerous campaigns against the Western Turks in a series of wars against those who hadn't simply given in to his will—first against the kingdom of Gaochang, a city cut from the rock of a giant plateau, and then on to the cities Karashr—known today by the Chinese name of Yanqi—and on to Kuqa.  The campaigns would outlive Emperor Taizong himself, and the khaganate was completely annexed by 657, giving the Tang dynasty complete mastery over at least one part of the silk road out to Sassanid Persia and the west. This would be huge, not only for the Tang dynasty, but for all of the cultures on the far eastern end of that silk road.  There would be an increase in material and cultural items that traversed the routes.  Chinese court dress even came to incorporate Turkic and Sogdian dress and clothing styles, which would eventually make their way to the Japanese archipelago, where they would take the tailored, round-necked collar designs for their own, eventually changing them, by the late Heian era, into their own distinctive garments. It also opened a route to India for those Buddhist scholars who wished to go and study at the source, such as it was.  As for Emperor Taizong, by the 630s, with his title as Heavenly Khagan, Li Shimin seems to have stopped worrying about performative Confucian virtues.  He took more direct control, and more often would quarrel with his ministers on various issues.  In 637 he also reworked the Tang legal code, further refining the law. At the same time, there were family matters he also had to attend to.  It seems like father, like son—while Li Shimin's eldest son, Li Chengqian was the Crown Prince, Shimin appeared to favor another son, Li Tai.  As such, these two brothers became bitter rivals.  Li Chengqian started to worry about his position as Crown Prince, and he consulted with some of his close advisors and confidants.  Their solution was not to take his brother out of the picture, but rather to take his own father out of the picture.  And so Li Chengqian reportedly entertained the idea of overthrowing his father, Emperor Taizong, at least as a thought experiment. And really, at this point, I have some suspicions that Li Shimin might very well have been a bit of an absentee father, because does Chengqian even know whom he is talking about trying to coup? Sure enough, Li Shimin learned about his sons extracurricular activities in 643 and he was less than happy with all of this.  Li Chengqian's defense, appears to have been that they only discussed it, they never went through with anything.  As such, some of Chengqian's conspirators were put to death, but Chengqian himself was simply reduced in rank to commoner status, stripped of his titles.  When he died a few years later, though, Li Shimin had him buried as a Duke, and a later emperor would even posthumously restore his rank as an imperial prince. Of course, the question came up as to just what to do about the Crown Prince.  Li Tai seemed the obvious choice, as he had clearly impressed his father with his apparent talent and skill.  However, it was pointed out that Li Tai's competition with his brother is what had led to Chengqian's fear and thoughts of rebellion in the first place.  He hadn't exactly been the model of filial virtue. In fact, if he hadn't been scheming, none of this would have taken place.  And so it was decided to pass him over and to create Li Zhi, a younger brother, as Crown Prince.  Li Tai himself was demoted, though only down to a minor princely state, and exiled from Chang'an, making it extremely difficult for him to influence politics.  Records of the time suggest this was an extremely difficult decision by his father, but one that he considered necessary for the responsible administration of government. All of this was taking place in the early 640s, but it wasn't the only thing that Li Shimin had on his mind.  With the Turkic threat being handled in the west, the emperor let his ambitions get the better of him, and he turned his eyes towards Goguryeo, to his northeast.  Previously, Emperor Yang of Sui had failed in his campaigns against Goguryeo, and that was one of the things that had led to the popular uprisings and rebellion that had taken down the dynasty.  Now, Emperor Taizong seemed determined to succeed where the prior dynasty failed. And so the Tang dynasty allied with the kingdom of Silla, hoping to force Goguryeo into a war on two fronts.  Silla was already expanding on the Korean peninsula, and a natural ally for the Tang dynasty.  Furthermore, they were far enough away that they weren't an immediate threat if they decided to go back on their part of the deal. Unfortunately for the Tang, these campaigns in 645 were not exactly a cake walk, and they handed Li Shimin his first defeat since the attempts to unify everyone under the Tang dynasty.  Not exactly a great look.  Relations with Goguryeo were normalized for a brief time, but then Emperor Taizong decided to give it another try.  They started gathering ships and men for another invasion, no doubt having played out why they had lost the previous go round and hoping that it would be better in round two. The invasions, however, would come to naught.  As it was being prepared, Tang Taizong grew ill.  He called off the invasion, and then, in 649, he passed away.  His youngest son, the Crown Prince Li Zhi, came to the throne as Emperor Gaozong.  The reign of him and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, would have an enormous impact on the rest of the 7th century. Through all of this fighting, bloodshed, and politics, this set the stage for the future of the Tang dynasty, which would once again place the area of modern China in the center of what many considered to be the civilized world.  Besides being a center for Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist religion, Chang'an became an extremely cosmopolitan city, with Sogdian and Turkic traders visiting the markets and establishing themselves in the city.  Many foreign families would adapt over time, integrating into the culture of their new home. These foreigners brought other ideas with them as well.  Zoroastrianism, a Persian religion, may have come eastward much earlier, but in the 6th and 7th centuries, both Manichaeism and Christianity—at least an eastern version of Christianity—had made inroads into the capital of Chang'an.  Manichaeism would have its ups and downs, especially in conflict with Buddhism.  Christianity, on the other hand, was not necessarily the Christianity of Rome, but typically connected with the Syriac church that existed in the Persian empire, where it was a decidedly minority religion.  Later proponents of Rome and the Latin rite would connect it with the supposed heresies of Nestorius, referring to the Church of the East as Nestorian Christianity, but this is not a term they would have used for themselves.  These religions kept some of their traditions, but also incorporated some aspects of the culture of their new home, such as the use of rice in place of bread in some rituals. This was an exciting time, and the court at Chang'an was fascinated with various customs of the Western Regions.  Music, clothing, and even pasttimes were influenced by contact with the western lands.  This would, in time, be passed on even to the archipelago.  For instance, the pipa was an instrument that had origins in the Western regions.  It is found in the area of modern China in at least the Northern Wei dynasty, but no doubt it grew more popular over time.  A version of this same instrument traveled west to Persia, where it became the oud, and further on to Europe, where it became the famous lute.  In the archipelago, the pipa became the Biwa, and while we can never be one hundred percent certain about early music, we have instructions from the Tang dynasty on music for the pipa, and Tang dynasty and early music, along with music from Goguryeo, came over to the Japanese courts in the form of gagaku, traditional Japanese court music, in the early 8th century. Moving forward in our story about the Japanese archipelago, we are going to see more and more about the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang dynasty, and just what they would bring back.  At the same time, we will also see the reaction of the court to the alliance between the Tang and Yamato's largest competitor on the Korean peninsula, Silla.  That alliance, which outlived emperor Taizong and even the king of Silla, would dramatically shift the balance of power on the peninsula and in all of northeast Asia. But we need to get there, first.  For now, let's move our gaze back across the waters to the archipelago, where Prince Tamura was about to take the throne, later becoming known as Jomei Tennou.  Of course, he was dealing with his own politics, especially regarding the Soga house and the powerful hold they had over government.  Next episode we will get back to just what was happening over there. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we look at the reign of Tamura, aka Jomei Tenno. For references and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-105   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 105: Onsen and Uprisings The general paced back and forth behind the walls of the fortress.  Glancing around, he couldn't help but notice how empty it now seemed.  The palisades were holding, but most of the soldiers had gone, disappearing in the night.  Outside the walls of the fortress, he could hear the Emishi laughing and singing.  They were in good spirits—and why wouldn't they be?  The great army of Yamato sent to chastise them had been routed, and they had besieged them in their fortress, built in these still wild lands of northeastern Honshu, on the edge of an area known to many as Michi no Oku, roughly: the end of the road. And for the general, it looked like this might be the end of the road for him.  His options were limited, and he was clearly outnumbered.  It was beginning to look like his troops had the right idea.  Of course, it meant leaving his wife and other women to fend for themselves, but fear can do a lot to motivate someone.  The general eyed the walls and the trees beyond.  If he could slip past the besieging forces in the darkness, perhaps he could escape.  It wouldn't be the most honorable way out of this situation, but it would at least leave him with his head.  And so, as night fell, he decided to make his move… Greetings everyone, and welcome back!  Before I get into it, a quick shout out an thank you to YamiRaven for supporting us on Patreon, and thanks to Johnny for a supporting us on Ko-Fi.com.  If you'd like to join them, and help us keep this thing going, we'll have more info at the end of the episode. Speaking of: This episode we are going to be talking about events during the reign of Prince Tamura, also known as Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hiro-nuka, or by the name given to him by the 8th century chroniclers: Jomei Tennou.  As we discussed back in episode 103, Prince Tamura came to power in an interesting turn of fate.  The grandson of Nunakura Futodamashiki, aka Bidatsu Tenno, his father, Prince Hikobito no Ohoye was killed during the tumultuous period following Nunakura's death.  After several short-lived reigns, it was Kashikiya Hime, wife to Nunakura, who took the throne, known to us as Suiko Tennou. Kashikiya Hime had named an heir, Crown Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, but he died before she did and by the time that Kashikiya Hime passed away, there was nobody clearly set up to take the throne, though two candidates did stand out.  There was Prince Yamashiro no Ohoye, the son of Crown Prince Umayado, whom a strict lineal succession might seem to indicate was next up to inherit, but Yamato inheritance tradition was not so cut and dried.  Soga no Emishi, the son of Soga no Umako, the powerful Oho-omi who helped run the government during Kashikiya Hime's reign, campaigned to put Prince Tamura on the throne, rather than Yamashiro no Ohoye, despite—or perhaps because of—the fact that Yamashiro no Ohoye was actually a close relative to Emishi. Now Prince Tamura was on the throne and Soga no Emishi was the Oho-omi, taking his father's place. And yet, despite the chaotic start to the reign in 629, the majority of it was almost tame and nondescript.  Don't get me wrong, Tamura, as I'll keep referring to him, was on the throne for a respectable thirteen years, and during that time there were certainly events that move our narrative forward in many ways.  However, much of the years of his reign are filled with discussions of things like rain storms and celestial phenomena.  In fact, the only thing that apparently happened in all of 634 was that they saw a comet in the sky.  The year before that, in 633, the only entry was the return of envoys from the Tang.  For two years, then, there is hardly a mention of politics and anything else going on.  And yet, this is a period that would set the stage for what was coming next. Shortly after Tamura was appointed sovereign, he appointed his consort, Princess Takara, as his queen.  Takara was, herself, a great-great grand-daughter of Nunakura Futodamashiki, a granddaughter of Prince Hikobito and daughter of Prince Chinu—presumably niece to Tamura, then, which is basically par for the course.  She was also a royal descendant on her mother's side, tracing back to Nunakura's father, Ame Kuniyoshi, aka Kinmei Tennou.  In fact, her mother, Kibitsu Hime, is said to have been buried in her own kofun at the head of Ame Kuniyoshi's kofun—and today it is the site of the 7th century saruishi figures that I mentioned in the talk about traveling around Asuka. Takara would give birth to three children of note.  The first was her eldest son, Prince Katsuraki, who would, spoiler alert, later be known as Crown Prince Naka no Ohoye.  He was around three years old when his father took the throne.  He had a sister by Takara, named Hashibito, and a brother, whose name you may have heard me mention previously:  Oho-ama. Yes, Naka no Ohoye and Oho-ama are the future sovereigns Tenji and Temmu, but for now they are still relatively young.  In fact, Oho-ama wouldn't be born until several years into his father's reign, in 631. Some of the early events of the reign were carryover from Kashikiya Hime's time on the throne.  In 629, for instance, Tanabe no Muraji went to Yakushima, returning the following year, and with people coming to Yamato from Yakushima the year after that. There were also a fair number of foreign embassies, including an Embassy from Goguryeo and Baekje.  These may have been missions of condolences and congratulations—typical international diplomacy at the time when a neighboring ruler passed away and a new one ascended the throne, it would seem.  They arrived in the third month of 630 and departed in the 9th month of that same year—a 6 month visit, all told. We also have the first actual account of ambassadors sent off to the Tang dynasty: Inugami no Mitasuki and Yakushi no E'nichi, each of Dainin rank.  These are some of the first true kentoushi, or Ambassadors to the Tang court, that were sent, but over time their influence would be felt across Yamato and the archipelago. These ambassadors—or at least Mitasuki—would return in 632 with a Tang ambassador, Gao Biaoren, along with student-priests Ryou'un and Soumin, as well as Suguri no Torikahi.  Perhaps most tellingly, they would arrive with Silla escort envoys, which would seem to indicate that passage to the Tang court was not done without Silla's assistance.  As you may recall, Silla had entered into a nominal alliance with the Tang against Goguryeo.  The Tang Ambassadors eventually reached Naniwa, where they were met with boats decked out with drums, flutes, and flags, and where they exchanged formal greetings before being escorted into the official residence.  The Nihon Shoki takes pains to note the different individuals involved in the duties, from the initial greeting, guiding them to the residence, and then preparing them in the residence, along with a welcome drink of sake brewed on temple rice land. And then, three months later, they depart once more.  Nothing else is said of their visit. Meanwhile, in the time between when Mitasuki went to the Tang court and when he returned with Gao Biaoren and company, a few things had happened.  For one we get a note about Tamura moving to a new palace complex known as Okamoto no miya, supposedly at the foot of Asuka hill, hence the name, which means “foot of the hill”.  This would not have been much of a change from Kashikiya Hime's palace, still within the sacred area defined by the Soga temple of Asukadera as well as various other temples being stood up in that area as well.  A move was to be expected, though in this case it is interesting that he didn't go very far. There is also mention, still in 630, of the repairing the official residences in Naniwa where ambassadors from the continent would be quartered during their trips to Yamato 631 opens with something of a treat – so it would seem, anyway.  We are told that in the third month of Tamura's third year on the throne, Prince Pung—named Pungjang in the Chronicles—was sent to the Yamato court by his father, King Wicha of Baekje.  On the one hand, the Korean sources do agree that Prince Pung was, indeed, sent to Yamato, where he would live as a guest and diplomatic hostage.  We've talked about this practice in the past, which seems to have strengthened bonds between nations, although we rarely hear of Yamato returning the favor by sending hostages to the continent.  It may have also helped keep a potential heir out of harm's way in case of a coup or other such politics.  Several times, heirs returned to Baekje to be enthroned with Yamato assistance, if the Chronicles are to be believed. Except that this entry is probably not quite right.  You see, Wicha wouldn't even come to the throne until 641—he wasn't even made Crown Prince until 632—so why would he send his son as a diplomatic hostage in 631?  Johnathan Best, translating the Baekje records of the Samguk Sagi, suggests that perhaps the Chroniclers were off by a factor of 10 or 12 years.  You see, as we mentioned earlier, the East Asian calendrical system was based on a series of ten stems and twelve branches.  The stems represented the elemental forces, and the branches were identified with the twelve signs of the zodiac.  Incrementing each one each year led to a series of 60 years before it started repeating, and based on the way that the records for this reign are dated, it looks like the records the Chroniclers were drawing from used this system for their dates.  However, if you misread—or even miswrite—one of these characters it can change your date by ten or even twelve years.  It would make much more sense for Prince Pung to have arrived twelve years later, in 643.  Similarly, we find other records, particularly having to do with Baekje, which may be a bit jumbled, possibly indicating they came from a similar source that either had things in the wrong chronological order or was simply vague or poorly scribed so that the Chroniclers had to figure out exactly what was happening when—which they may have made mistakes with, from time to time. So Prince Pung arriving as a hostage is probably misplaced, and likely didn't happen during Tamura's reign.  Which means that other than people from Yakushima showing up in 631 the only other major event of the year was Tamura going to the hot springs of Arima, in Settsu, where he stayed for about three months. Now I know I've mentioned hot springs, or onsen, before in the narrative.  After all, the volcanic islands that make up the Japanese archipelago are full of them, and it isn't like they were suddenly discovered during this reign, but it does look like this might be the first formal mention of them in the Nihon Shoki—which gives Arima, in the mountains north of Kobe, some serious bona fides to be considered the oldest known hot spring town in Japan. And that would be a cool side note in most reigns, but for Tamura it seems to have been a habit.  He apparently went for a dip at least three times in his reign—the second time, in 638, he apparently went to the “Arima no Miya”, or the Arima Palace, which suggests that he had something built specifically for his visits.  And then, in 639, he headed to the hot springs in Iyo. The country of Iyo is better known today as Ehime prefecture, on the western edge of the island of Shikoku.  The largest city in Ehime is Matsuyama, home to the famous Dougou Onsen, which also lays a claim to being the oldest operating hot springs in the archipelago.  Dougou Onsen is not only the traditional place in Iyo where Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, took the waters, as they might say in the west, but in the Iyo Fudoki it is said that its fame goes back even further.  As we mentioned back in Chapter 18, it is said that the legendary figures Ohonamuchi and Sukuna Bikona met there, back in ancient times.  In more recent times, relatively speaking, Dougou Onsen was the inspiration behind the fantastical bathhouse created by Hayao Miyazaki in the Studio Ghibli film, Spirited Away. For all that these visits to the hot springs are somewhat interesting, they don't exactly tell us a lot about what was happening with government, and in fact tend to make it seem almost as though Tamura was skipping out, at least in the fall to early winter.  And to be honest, can you blame him?  Winter is one of the best times to go take advantage of the volcanic springs. Many of the other records appear to be natural phenomena, mostly having to do with the heavens: rain, storms, lightning, and more.  Some of the more intriguing are comets—stars with “long tails” that appeared in the skies.  There are also mentions of eclipse and what may have been a meteor—a star in 636 “floated east to west, with a noise like thunder.”  The Priest Soumin, from the Tang, said it was the sound of the Celestial Dog, a creature from the ancient Han or possibly pre-Qin text, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, a fantastical account of mythical geography and various animals, including the nine tailed fox and the celestial dog, whose bark was said to be like Thunder.  This book was considered to be a true account up through the Tang dynasty. One could probably track the celestial phenomena and see if there is any correlation with known sightings, but it is also just as likely that some of it was taken from continental records and inserted into the Chronicles as appropriate. Besides such phenomena, there were accounts of more missions, especially from Baekje.  Yamato was still using the cap rank system attributed to Prince Umayado during Kashikiya Hime's reign, and some of the envoys were given cap rank, or granted a promotion—a gesture that was likely pure diplomacy, as the rank wouldn't necessarily convey any special rights back in their home country. There are a few more things of note.  First, in 636, we are told that all those who had affairs with the uneme at court were put on trial and punished—which likely means they were put to death.  The uneme, as you may recall, were women sent to serve at the court, and as such they were apparently off-limits, at least while they were serving.  That clearly didn't stop people from having some late night escapades, though. The main reason it likely comes up, though, is that we are told that one of the accused was a man named Miwa no Kimi no Osazaki, and that he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat because the examination—by which I'm sure they meant torture—was too much to bear.  And here I have to wonder how similar Yamato's sense of justice was to that of their neighbor, the Tang dynasty.  In the case of the latter, there was often a suspicion that any person accused of a crime must be guilty of at least something—after all, why would they have been accused if they didn't do something to upset the peace, even if it was just that they didn't get along with their neighbors.  It was considered de rigeur to submit suspected criminals to torturous ordeals with the idea that this would elicit a confession.  Unfortunately, this idea that harsh and torturous examinations can be used to uncover the truth often still persists, despite evidence that, under enough duress, most people will say anything.   In this case, it drove Osazaki to take his own life. Later in that same year, the Okamoto palace caught fire and burned down, and so Tamura moved to a new palace, called the Tanaka palace, or the Palace in the Middle of the Rice Fields.  We also have a little more court action, as Prince Ohomata, a son of Nunakura Futodamashiki by one of his consorts, reached out to Soga no Emishi—called in this record the Toyoura no Oho-omi, likely because his mansion was in or near Toyoura, in Asuka. Prince Ohomata suggested to Soga no Emishi that the ministers had not been attending court properly.  He suggested that they should be there by roughly 5 or 6 AM—an hour before daybreak—and they should stay until 10 or 11 AM.  Specifically he mentioned the hour of the hare and the hour of the serpent, as each ancient hour was actually two, with twelve hours making up the day, each named for one of the twelve signs of the Asian zodiac. To enforce all of this, Ohomata also recommended having a bell rung that would let people know that it was time to start or end work.  This was all common practice in the continental courts of the day, and it wasn't like they were asking for a modern 40 hour work week, even:  the court ministers would literally be serving for maybe 5 to 6 hours at court, with the rest of the time to handle their own affairs.  Still, Soga no Emishi apparently didn't think much of the idea and so was not inclined to support it. All of this is kind of an odd mention.  First, Ohomata is an obscure Prince—he's only mentioned three times in the Chronicles, and once just in a list of Nunakura's children.  Second, the idea doesn't go anywhere.  Third, they don't call Soga no Emishi by the name they used in both the previous or the next reign, but use Toyora no Ohoomi, for whatever reason.  It just sticks out as odd, and I wonder if it was added to show that Soga no Emishi was resistant to change and new ideas. At the same time, it does give us a clue that Soga no Emishi was still running things.  His name may not have been on a lot, but then again, neither was Tamura's, so we can only infer what was actually going on during this period.  It's  almost a lacuna in the history. There were a few other events worth noting, however, one of which took more than a bit of the Chroniclers' ink, and this was a rebellion by the Emishi people. First off, because it can be confusing:  There is no apparent link between Soga no Emishi and the Emishi people that I'm aware of.  Emishi, of course, is the name given to the people living outside of the Yamato cultural sphere in the northeast, from modern Ibaraki prefecture north.  They were apparently expected to pay tribute at court, and are clearly treated differently from other outside groups, like Baekje and Silla.  Some of them were likely members of the groups that had lived in the region since the Jomon period, who never fully adopted the Yayoi and later Kofun lifeways, and they may be related to the Ainu people who still live in modern Hokkaido, though there is also evidence that some of the Emishi may have been ethnic Wa people who had gone to live outside the Yamato court's reach—though that is more evident in later centuries than in the current narrative. I would also note that “Emishi” is an exonym—that is a name given by outsiders, in this case, by the Wa people of Yamato.  In fact, other than what we can see in the archaeological record, what we know of the Emishi comes from Yamato sources, which are almost entirely biased.  We don't really have any good telling of their story from their own perspective.  For instance,did they feel oppressed by Yamato in general, and not think they should have to keep bringing tribute?  Or was there a more specific event that occurred, much like the conflicts we see later between the Wajin, the ethnic Japanese, and the Ainu up in Hokkaido? It is unclear. To subdue the Emishi, and bring them back under Yamato hegemony, the court appointed Kamitsukeno no Kimi no Katana, a courtier of Dainin cap rank, as general. Spoiler alert: he's the general in the story at the beginning of this episode.  Based on his name, it would seem he was from the family in charge of Kamitsukenu, later shortened to Kozuke Province in modern Gunma prefecture, north of Tokyo.  As such, he would have been well positioned to know something of the Emishi on his border.  That said, he apparently didn't know them so well that it gave him an advantage.  His forces were routed and they retreated back to their fortress, where they were besieged by the Emishi. Now when I say “fortress” please don't picture some grand castle, like Himeji, Azuchi, or Matsumoto.  In fact, don't really picture a castle at all.  More likely than not, this was simply an area enclosed by a wall—possibly some earthworks and maybe a moat, but perhaps just a quickly erected palisade structure.  True castle structures wouldn't come until later.  For those familiar with American history, this may have been something like the fort at Jamestown or even the quickly assembled and ill-fated Fort Necessity—though perhaps a little larger if it was capable of housing the forces and the noncombatants that had accompanied them. And so, when some of Katana's soldiers decided they didn't really want to be there any longer they apparently just up and left.  Presumably they found a time when nobody was looking and just yeeted themselves over the walls and did their best to hide from the surrounding Emishi forces.  Pretty soon just about all of the able-bodied soldiers had taken this approach, and Katana was thinking about joining them.  In fact, he was getting ready to when his own wife noticed what he was doing. That's right, his wife was there with him.  Whether she was a combatant or simply part of the train it isn't entirely clear, but she wasn't going to have her husband run off and abandon his post.  She poured out sake for him to drink and as he did so, she took his sword and girded it to herself.  She then went and found all of the bows and handed them out to all of the other women and people who had been left behind when the soldiers deserted, and they started pulling the bowstrings back and making a sound like they were being shot. Upon seeing this, Katana roused himself, grabbed a weapon himself, and advanced out of the fortress. The besieging Emishi were not sure what to make of this.  They could hear the twang of bows, and it sounded as though there was quite a force, so as general Katana stepped out of the fortress they pulled back, thinking that there was a much bigger force than he actually had.  As they did that, some of Katana's own forces, who had escaped, but not too far, started to gain hope.  They regrouped and attacked the Emishi with fresh energy, eventually defeating them. Of course, Katana's wife remains nameless throughout this whole episode, even though she was the one who helped turn the tide—first by turning her husband, but then by organizing the others to make it seem like they had a lot more people than they did. After this fascinating story, the Chronicles getback to the normal records of storms, of fruit trees blossoming, of hot springs, and tribute.  It wasn't until two years later, in 639, that we get something interesting that we might easily overlook.  This was the start of a new temple on the banks of the Kudara River, known to us as Kudara dera, or Kudara Temple. Kudara Temple is definitely a bit of an enigma.  It is mentioned quite heavily in later records, and yet it would eventually disappear without a trace, or so it seemed.  It wasn't until modern times that archaeologists identified a temple that we believe is Kudara dera.  We are told that it had a nine-story pagoda, which may reflect ideas from Tang or Silla practice—somewhat ironic given that “Kudara” is a name used to refer to Baekje.  In this case, the name seems to have come from the Kudara River, on whose banks the temple was built.  From the 80s through the 2000s there were a series of excavations at the site of Kibi Pond north of Asuka, closer to the center of Sakurai.  Here a temple was found, which we believe to be the site of Kudara dera.  The pond itself was dug at a later point in time, on the site of the temple, which was likely moved.  Today, there is a small Kudara temple to the northwest of the old site, but it isn't nearly as grand as it once was. By all accounts, the construction of Kudara temple took years, in contrast to the building of royal palaces, which went up relatively quickly.  This is because the palaces, for all of their size, were still being made using largely local construction methods.  Posts were placed directly into the ground and the roofs were thatched.  Being made of wood, these buildings went up relatively quickly, which was good seeing as how every reign the sovereign and court would move to a new palace.  Of course, I also wonder if the tradition of moving didn't come from the fact that the palace would likely have started rotting away on its own after a while.  Then again, even in a single reign you might change palaces multiple times, as Tamura did. In contrast, we have temple construction from the mainland.  Here, rocks were set down, and the posts were placed on those, which gave a firm foundation and prevented water from easily getting in and ruining the base of the pillar.  Packed earth and stone construction were used in places, along with heavy tile roofs, for which thousands of rooftiles had to be constructed.  Centuries of architectural knowledge were used to design and create structures that were meant to outlast any patrons who helped to build them. Add on to that the nine story pagoda.  If you consider that the beautiful and imposing tenshukaku, or main keep, of Himeji castle, built in the early 17th century, is six stories and rises over 46 meters, or about 152 feet, this pagoda may have been about the same height or even a bit higher, assuming that relative proportions were similar to those in other pagodas from the time, such as that of Yakushiji.  It must have been a towering beacon at the time, and the temple is considered one of the four great temples of the Asuka era, at least by some. That this temple was commissioned by Tamura and not by Soga no Emishi is something that may indicate some unspoken tensions at the time.   Tamura's previous palaces were in Asuka, near Asuka temple, the chief temple of the Soga family, and situated in a Soga stronghold.  Kudara temple was built significantly outside of this area, though still within walking distance, so not so far as to be a complete move—it isn't like he moved it up to lake Biwa or anything, wink wink. In 640, Tamura returned from his trip to the hot springs in Iyo—again, modern Ehime prefecture—and came back to a new palace at Umayazaka, but just six months later he moved into the Kudara palace, which was presumably nearby Kudara temple, effectively moving the court out of—or at least to the periphery of—Soga controlled territory. Unfortunately, his stay at Kudara palace would only last about a year, as he passed away there in the 10th month of 641.  He was roughly 48 years old.  His son, and heir apparent, Prince Hirakasuwake, aka Naka no Oe, pronounced the funeral elegy. And just like that, the throne was vacant again.  There was an heir apparent, but Naka no Oe was only 16 years old, and so his mother, Takara, would take the throne, presumably until he was ready.  She would be known as Ame Toyo Takara Ikashi-hi Tarashi Hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her reign was anything but quiet.  To give some context: if we had a little over 50 or so events recorded during the 13 years that Tamura was on the throne, while we have over 60 events recorded in just the first year of Takara's reign.   So, you know, there's that. But I'm going to have to ask you to wait a little bit for us to dig into that.  For one thing, the politics are going to start getting hot and heavy, as anyone who may recognize the name “Naka no Oe” likely knows.  As this young prince was coming into his own he was going to come face to face with the power of the Soga family.  All that, starting next episode. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for her work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Filling in the rest of Takara's reign with the stories of the various envoys at court, the Baekje princes living in Yamato, and the story of a 7th century millenial cult. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-107   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 107: Winds Across the Straits Villagers gathered near the center of their community.  In contrast to the clean, walled up compounds of the local elites, with their raised floor buildings, the buildings here were much simpler, often sitting directly on the ground, or dug down into the earth in the pit dwelling style that had been used for centuries.  Mostly what anyone would notice were the thatched roofs, which had been used for centuries to keep out the rain and snow.   A tall watchtower was currently unmanned as everyone had gathered around, curious at the news coming from the east. A wandering mystic had come to town, and she was spreading words of hope across the country of Yamashiro.  Over the past few years there had been droughts, famine, earthquakes, and more.  People had tried everything in conjunction with the advice of their local hafuri, or priests. They had petitioned the local kami of the rivers and lakes, they had tried imported practices like sacrificing horses, and at a nearby village they had changed the location of the marketplace to see if that would work. Even when the rains had come, the damage had been done.  Food was scarce, and many of those who had survived were hardly in the best of situations.  Life in the village, working the land, was quite different from the life of the elites.  The wealthy had servants and slaves to tend to their needs, and they had access to stores of grain and other food in times of trouble.  They also had charge of the mononofu—the warriors who worked for them and were often an implicit—if not explicit—threat of violence for anyone who didn't pay their expected taxes.  This is perhaps what made the mystic's message so alluring.  She told them about the teachings of a man from the River Fuji, in the East, named Ohofu Be no Ohoshi:  he claimed to have discovered a new kami, the god of Tokoyo, the Everlasting world.  It was said that those who worshipped this god, who appeared in the land in the form of a caterpillar that thrived on orange tree leaves, would earn great things in this new world, when it came.  The poor would become rich and the old would become young again, when the promises of Tokoyo came to fruition. But it wasn't as easy as just saying some words.  True devotees would need to prove themselves, casting out the valuables of their house and setting out any food on the side of the road.  They would then yell out: “The new riches have come!” Then they were to worship these insects that were the kami's incarnation.  They would put them in a pure place and worship them with song and dance.  Many had already started doing this, the mystic said.  Indeed, the people of Yamashiro had heard rumors of some of these new practices, but only now were learning about why they had arisen.  It was a lot to ask, to give up their valuables and the little food they had — but then again, in this dew drop world, what was there to lose, for those already working themselves to the bone?  Was this any more incredible than asking the hafuri to pray to the kami, or even relying on that new religion in Yamato, where they prayed to giant bronze and gold statues to bring about prosperity and happiness.  Besides, if so many others had joined up already, perhaps there was something to these fantastic stories. And thus, village by village, a new religion began to take hold of the countryside, eventually making its way to the capital of Yamato, itself.     Greetings, listeners!  While the thing we covered last episode -- the Isshi Incident of 645, which is to say the assassination of Soga no Iruka in front of Her Majesty Takara, aka Kougyoku Tenno -- certainly dominates the narrative in the popular imagination for this particular point in Japanese history, there was a lot more going on over these last few years, both over on the continent in the archipelago.  And so this episode we are going to cover some of that:  From the missions from Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla, which were likely driven by conflict on the peninsula, to the Baekje Princes who resided in the Yamato court as political hostages as well as esteemed guests.  And to finish it off we'll talk about the popular 7th century millennial cult that sprang up in Yamashiro around the worship of the God of Tokoyo, the Everlasting World.  All in the reign of the Empress known to history as Kougyoku Tennou…. At least for now. Michael Como, in his book on Shoutoku Taishi, makes particular note of some of the overarching themes across the straits and how that affected what was happening—or at least what gets remembered—in Yamato.  As we discussed back in episode 98, Como makes the point that the early, opposing Buddhist factions that placed Shotoku Taishi on a pedestal were largely connected with one or more continental factions.  While the Soga were heavily connected with Baekje, other family groups, like the Hata, were more closely tied with Silla, at least according to later accounts. And on top of that, the area around Koshi and Tsunaga had ties with Goguryeo.  As the Tang dynasty and Goguryeo were in contention on their own borders, no doubt both of them and their allies were looking to nearby nations for either support or at least neutrality.  One can also see how peninsular enmities might also make their way across the strait to the archipelago with families of various ethnic backgrounds no doubt carrying on some of the continental prejudices with them even into a new land. A lot of the accounts for this reign that aren't dealing with the weather and natural disasters—topics of particular concern from the 642 to 643—are dealing with the continent. It started out in 642, with Baekje envoys arriving in the first month of that year, apparently to deliver their condolences on the death of the sovereign.  They were accompanied by Yamato's envoy to Baekje, Azumi no Yamashiro no Muraji no Hirafu, who left them at Tsukushi to rush back to Yamato via post-horse, while the Baekje envoys took their time via the normal, ship-borne route. And right off the bat we have a few things of note.  The first is this idea of post-horses.  The various circuits around the archipelago had reportedly been set up some time back, even before horses were a thing.   While a single horse would have been rather fast overland, the mention of post-horse system implies a method of travel more akin to the short-lived pony express in the American west, where various post stations were set up across the major highways so that officials could quickly traverse them, riding horseback from one station to the next, where a fresh horse would be waiting for them.  This way the horses themselves could be properly fed and rested, since no single horse could cover all of the ground in a straight up gallop, just as no person could.  Instead, this is something like a relay race, where the envoy Hirafu became the baton passed from horse to horse.  The Pony Express used stations set up at intervals of approximately 5 to 20 miles, so that the horses could be changed out frequently.  Of course, changing horses would also take some time—I've found some sources citing average speeds of only about 10 miles per hour for the Pony Express, but that beats by far the four miles per hour for a fast walker, not to mention the ability to keep going for much longer than just 8 hours a day.  Of course, he would have had to take a boat for at least some of the journey, likely crossing from Kyuushuu over to Honshuu near Shimonoseki or something similar, at which point he could have caught another horse from there.  The resonates with something that goes back to pre-Qin Dynasty times, when kingdoms on the continent would set up not just courier stations with horses, but systems of canal boats, and inns for people to stay overnight on long journeys.  Still, it must have been a grueling experience. That such a means of conveyance could take Hirafu from Kyushu to Yamato, though, implies that Yamato's reach was fairly solid all the way out to the Dazai near modern Fukuoka, at least.  It is unclear how these post stations were set up in regards to the local Miyake, or royal granaries, another government project we've talked about, but either way it demonstrates a certain degree of control over the region. And so Hirafu was able to make it back to the court in time for the ceremonies associated with the mourning of Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, and the ascension of Her Majesty, Takara no Ohokimi.  He likewise was able to inform the court of Baekje's condolence envoys' imminent arrival and give the court a head's up on the situation in Baekje, where he said that the country was “greatly disturbed”.  When the Baekje envoys themselves arrived, Azumi no Hirafu, Kusakabe no Iwakane, and Yamato no Aya no Agata were sent to ask them about their news. From what we know in the Samguk Sagi, King Wicha of Baekje had just come to the throne.  The previous king, King Mu, died in the third month of 641, so it hadn't even been a year since his death.  Furthermore, we are told that his wife, the mother of King Wicha, had also passed away.  The Baekje envoys asked for the return of prince Saeseong, possibly the younger brother of Prince P'ung, saying he had behaved badly and they wanted to convey him back to the King, but Takara refused.  Presumably, based on context, this was one of the hostages that Yamato held from Baekje, but why they wouldn't turn them over to the Baekje envoys isn't explained.  I suspect it had something to do with the politics of King Wicha coming to the throne, which seems like it may have not been accepted by everyone, as evidenced by his tour of the realm, mentioned in the Samguk Sagi, which was likely a political move to demonstrate his authority over the realm. This colors a lot of what we are going to talk about, so let's try to get some of it straight off the bat.  Unfortunately, as we talked about in Episode 105, some of the Baekje related dates are questionable, and that means that there is a lot here that I'm going to give you where we may have to back track a bit and see if we can put it in the right order.  I'm going to try to give you the information in largely chronological order according to the Nihon Shoki, but then I'll also try and place it where we think it might actually go, so apologies if this feels disjointed. Also, let me take a moment to talk a little bit more about the Baekje royal family, which will become rather important to our narrative.  For one, there is King Wicha, son of King Mu.  Mu passed away in 640 and Wicha came to the throne.  Wicha already had several children of his own, one of whom, Prince Pung, or Prince Pungjang, will feature heavily in both the Japanese and Korean sources, though as we mentioned in episode 105, the dates around Prince Pung's arrival, which the Nihon Shoki has about 630, doesn't match up with what we know.  We are fairly confident that Prince Pung returned to Baekje in 661, which accords with the Nihon Shoki, Samguk Sagi, and Tang records.  However, Best makes a good case that he didn't actually come over to the archipelago until much later—probably 643. He wasn't the only royal prince of Baekje in Yamato, however.  We are told of two others:  Saeseong and Gyoki.  Saeseong is mentioned as being a bit of a troublemaker, and requested to come home, but Yamato refuses to let him go.  Gyoki is said to have caused trouble and been banished with some 40 others out to sea.  I have a suspicion that much of this is misplaced in the Chronicle.  Saesong may have been there first or perhaps came over with Prince Pung—I've seen him mentioned as the younger brother to Prince Pung, but I also wonder if he wasn't the younger brother to King Wicha.  Gyoki, meanwhile, despite what we initially hear about him, is invited to Yamato shortly after that entry and treated like a real celebrity.  It is unclear to me if he is a younger brother to Wicha or an elder brother to Prince Pungjang, but either way, he seems to have been a royal prince that wasn't quite in line for the throne. I suspect that in reality the mission that is listed as coming in 641 was actually much later—possibly in the 650s.  That would explain some of it, including the gossip that the Senior Counselor, Chijeok, died in the 11th month of the previous year, Aston writes off most of this as an unreliable narrative by servants.  Jonathan Best, in his translation of the Samguk Sagi, is a bit more generous and suggests that, much as with Prince Pung-jang, whom the Nihon Shoki records arriving in the 630s but who couldn't reasonably have arrived until the 640s, there was probably a dating issue.  The scribes were using records with the branch and stem system of dates, and so it could easily have been off by a factor of ten or twelve years, at least.  We know, for instance, that there is a record of Senior Counselor Chijeok in the Nihon Shoki in the 7th month of 642, though it says he died in 641.  Furthermore, we have his name on a fragmentary inscription, likely dating to 654, noting him as a patron of a Buddhist monastery.  So it would seem that word of his death was exaggerated or parts of this are coming from later accounts, and the scribes simply made a mistake.  Hence my suggestion that this entire entry might be misplaced.  If so, it would make more sense for Yamato to be asking about the fates of people that they knew, and hence hearing the fates of Chijeok and Gyoki, who had both visited Yamato and would have been known to the court.   Regardless, it likely was the case, as recorded in the Nihon Shoki, that the envoys' ship was anchored in Naniwa harbor and the envoys were put up at the official government residence there, in modern Ohosaka.  This may indicate that the mission mentioning Chijeok and Gyoki got conflated with other entries about the actual envoys of condolence and congratulations. Then, 19 days later, on the 22nd day of the 2nd month, another group of envoys showed up.  This time it was Goguryeo.  As mentioned, Goguryeo had a few things going on, but they still knew how to make an entrance.  For example, the Chronicles mention that high ministers were sent to the district office in Naniwa to inspect the gold and silver that Goguryeo had sent with their envoys, along with other things from their country.  This may have been them trying to get Yamato on their side. That said, Goguryeo had been going through a lot themselves, we are told.  First off, based on the Samguk Sagi accounts, Goguryeo had sent envoys to the Tang in 640.  In 641, the Tang court returned the favor, and in so doing their envoy, the Director of the Bureau of Operations in their Ministry of War, Chen Dade, used it as a chance to spy out the border region.  At every walled town he would offer the local officials gifts of silk, and ask to be allowed to see the scenic spots.  They let him roam freely, so by the time he went back he had an intimate account and understanding of Goguryeo's defenses along the Tang-Goguryeo border.  Goguryeo seems to have been completely unaware of this touristic espionage, but then again, they may have been distracted dealing with their own internal problems. And so the Nihon Shoki reports that the envoys delivered news of this to the court: How the younger prince of Goguryeo died in the 6th month of 641.  Then, in the 9th month, the Prime Minister murdered the king, along with some 180 people.  He then put the son of the younger prince on the throne as king. In the Samguk Sagi, these events appear to happen a year later.  Yon Gaesomun killed King Keonmu in the 10th month of 642 and put Prince Chang, aka Pojang, on the throne.  The Samguk Sagi says he was the younger brother of King Keonmu, the son of King Taeyang—who was the younger brother of King Yeongnyu, so that may be where the Nihon Shoki gets that he was the “son of the younger prince”.  Still, the gist is correct, even if it seems to be off by a year or so.  From here, Goguryeo would be at war with the Tang dynasty for much of the next thirty years, all under the reign of King Pojang.  They were able to fend the Tang off for a while, but the Tang would eventually ally with Silla, and though Baekje seems to have supported Goguryeo in general, Baekje itself was also caught between the Tang and Silla.  They no doubt hoped for Yamato's aid, but while the archipelago may have had warriors, they were still a good ways from the continent, and would likely need to avoid confrontation with Silla, who now controlled all the way to the Nakdong river basin.  Not that they wouldn't try.  Insert dramatic sound effects alluding to a later episode. All that prognosticating aside, at this point, at least from the envoys' point of view, all of the future was unwritten.  Both Goguryeo and Baekje guests were entertained at the Naniwa district office, and envoys were named to Goguryeo, Baekje, Silla, and to the no longer extant Nimna—the latter seems to have been, at this point, a not-so-polite fiction between Silla and Yamato that Nimna was still at least semi-independent. It was at this time that Gyoki was also brought to Yamato and lodged in the house of Azumi no Hirafu, the previous envoy to Baekje.  Gyoki likely knew Hirafu from his time at the Baekje court.  This was probably the actual arrival of Gyoki, I suspect. A week or so later, the Silla envoys of congratulations and condolence arrived: congratulations on Takara's ascension and then a group of envoys expressing condolence for her husband's death.  They left after less than two weeks—apparently they simply delivered their message and left, unless there was some other reason having to do with the Baekje and Goguryeo envoys being there at the same time.  No mention is made in the Nihon Shoki of exactly why they turned around so quickly. Meanwhile, Gyoki was living it up.  He's referenced as the Chief Envoy from Baekje at this point—probably the highest ranking individual from the court present.  On the 8th day of the fourth month he attended an audience with Her Majesty, Takara, and then two days later he was partying with Soga no Emishi out at his mansion in Unebi.  Soga no Emishi had good conversations and presented a good horse and twenty bars of iron, but curiously the hostage crown prince, Sesaeng, was not invited to any of this. Given that we know what the Chroniclers think of Soga no Emishi, I'm wondering if there isn't a little bit of that same feeling towards Gyoki.  After all, we were previously told he and some 40 others were exiled, so perhaps this is just leading up to that? Gyoki and his companions were later invited to witness an “archery hunt” in front of the Yosami Miyake in Kawachi.  This is glossed as “Uma-yumi” or “Horse-Bow”, leading one to wonder if this was similar to yabusame, the traditional horsed archery, performed at various shrines each year.  Or perhaps it was one of the other archery games from horseback, many of them much less savory, often using a live animal as the target, usually staked or confined to an area, and the archers circle around and shoot at them. By the 5th month of 642 – a little over three months after Baekje had first arrived with envoys of condolences, we are told that a shipp of Baekje envoys anchored together along with the ship of the Kishi family.  This is likely Naniwa no Kishi, as Naniwa no Kishi no Kuhina had been assigned as envoy to Baekje.  The envoys delivered their goods and Kuhina reported on their mission. Once again, the dates look to be slightly off.  Had Kuhina really traveled to Baekje and back in just three months?  It is possible, but not typically how things were done at the time.  Ships often had to take their time, navigating the Seto Inland Sea and then checking in at modern Fukuoka before following the island chains out to Tsushima.  At that point they could sail around Tsushima, or cross at a narrow part of the island, known today as Kofunakoshi.  We know that this was used from at least the 9th century as a place where ships coming to and from the islands would stop, often transmitting their goods to a local ship on the other side, with a crew that presumably better knew the waters and was under the command of the appropriate government.  In addition, as the ships reached various checkpoints they would stop for a while, and often another ship would be sent ahead to prepare the way for an official delegation.  Since they didn't have phones, something like this would have been required to inform the next post to be ready to receive the visitors. More likely, this would have been Kuhina finally ready to depart to take on his mission with Baekje. Shortly after this, we are told that one of Gyoki's companions died, and then his own child died—we aren't told if it was from disease or something else.  It did provide an opportunity to see some of the cultural differences between Baekje and Yamato at the time, as Gyoki and his wife refused to attend the ceremonies for their late son.  The Chroniclers explained that, in Baekje and Silla, when someone dies, the parents, siblings, and spouse were not supposed to look on them again. For what it's worth, I could find no relationship between this and any contemporary Korean practice.  This may have been something in Baekje and Silla that eventually went away.  Then again, it is possible there was something else going on, and it was misinterpreted by the Wa.  Given that the Chroniclers are dismissive of the practice, it is entirely possible that this was just slanderous rumor, too.  The Chroniclers make a point of saying that the people of Baekje and Silla who practice these kinds of death rites are without feeling, and thus no better than animals.  So, yeah, clearly the Chroniclers were presenting just the facts, right? Gyoki's child was buried in Ishikawa in Kawachi, and Gyoki moved his family to a house in Ohowi, in Kudara—which is to say the area of Kawachi named for Baekje. Two months after he lost his son, on the 22nd day of the 7th month, Senior Counsellor Chicheok and colleagues were entertained at the Yamato court.  This is that same Senior Counsellor previously thought to be dead.  Again, Aston simply treats it as gossip, while I tend to wonder if the records aren't out of order—unless Chijeok was some kind of Baekje Benjamin Button.  Entertainment at the Yamato court apparently included havingvarious people wrestle for their entertainment. Even Prince Gyoki himself entered the contest.  When the banquet was finished they went to pay their respect's at Gyoki's compound, likely stopping by and having a bit of a nightcap. Two weeks later the Baekje envoys tried to leave, but the storms kicked up.  One of the ships was wrecked on the shore.  Fortunately, it seems like those on the boat survived and they were placed on another boat a couple weeks later.  A day after that, the Goguryeo envoys left for their own country. The Baekje envoys finally made it back, we are told, 11 days later, on the 26th day of the 8th month.  Not bad given the journey they had to undertake, and actually a bit hard to believe.  In contrast, the Silla envoys, who left in the 3rd month, apparently only made it as far as the island of Iki, between Kyushu and Tsushima, by the 10th month of 642.  Perhaps they were just going at a more leisurely pace, but it does make it hard to trust that all the records were rearranged in precisely the correct order. As for this period, outside of the Silla envoys, the entire episode, starting on the 2nd day of the 2nd month of 642, finally concluded—mostly—over six months later.  It occupies most of that part of Chronicle, with the exception of the accounts of the weather, drought, and famine. After all of these people had returned to the peninsula, the Nihon Shoki focuses on a few local things from the archipelago.  Soga no Emishi was ordered to raise a levy in Afumi and Koshi to build a temple, the court levied various provinces to make ships—we aren't told why but previously this was often something done in preparation for war—and then Takara ordered Soga no Emishi to build a new palace with levies on various provinces and workmen from Toutoumi and Aki.  That was all in the 9th month, at the end of which, we are told that several thousand Emishi from the Koshi region, where Soga no Emishi had been ordered to levy workers for a temple earlier in the month, submitted to Yamato and were entertained at court. Soga no Emishi himself entertained them at his house and asked them about their welfare. This is all a bit confusing, but let's try to understand some of what might be going on.  First, you may recall in the previous reign there was a mention with General Katana who went to the east to subdue an uprising of Emishi there, so it is possible that this is a continuation of that.  At the same time, these Emishi, we are told, are from the land of Koshi. It is likely that this is evidence of Yamato's increased presence in the northern region of the island of Honshi, which stretched along the northern edge of the Chubu, or middle Honshu, region, including the Noto peninsula and eastward to Tohoku, or the Northeast region.  This had been an important area for various resources, including the source of jade magatama, since at least the early days of the Yayoi period, judging from artifacts discovered at various sites.  It is also a region connected to the current dynasty, in that Wohodo no Ohokimi, aka Keitai Tennou, generally seen as the progenitor of the current line of sovereigns, is said to have come from that region. Furthermore, this region is closely connected to various overseas trade routes.  While the most common route we hear about, at least at this point in the chronicles, is the Seto Inland Sea route, there was also a route along the Japan Sea side of Honshu, which included the areas of Izumo and the port of Tsunuga—modern day Tsuruga—which includes the Kehi shrine, purportedly for a kami who came over from the peninsula.  At least one Goguryeo mission explicitly used this route—whether intentionally or otherwise—to get to Yamato, crossing over to Afumi, aka Lake Biwa, and then taking the rivers south to Naniwa. Michael Como suggests that there is enough evidence to suggest a fairly heavy Goguryeo influence in the region.  He also suggests that the Soga had a good deal of interactions and influences themselves with Goguryeo, pointing out that Shotoku Taishi's teacher had supposedly been a monk from Goguryeo, and that the plan for Asukadera, the Soga temple, with three golden halls around a central pagoda, is extremely similar to temple plans found in Goguryeo and not in Silla and Baekje. I do feel it is worth pointing out that it is very possible that this was not Asukadera's original layout, and it is hard to say how much of the stories surrounding Shotoku Taishi we can trust. Still, Koshi was an area that had a long history of trade with the continent, and the ease of the waterways from Yamato to the Japan Sea would have made it at least strategically useful to the growing state. There is another aspect here, but it is a bit more tenuous.  There are some that suggest that Soga no Emishi's own name, or at least the name as it is handed down to us today, comes from his dealings with the Emishi people.  Here we see him intimately involved in Koshi, in the Emishi coming to submit, and him then hosting them in his own house.  So even if his name is coincidental, there does appear to be some connection there. And we are still in the first year of Takara's reign.  It was in this twelfth month that Okinaga no Yamana no Kimi finally pronounced a eulogy for the entire royal line.  As you may recall, Takara's husband, Tamura, aka Jomei Tennou, had been a member of the Okinaga royal line, so this was likely part of the ceremonies around his death and burial. There is more here about the placement of palaces, which we touched on a lot in the last episode.  There is also a lot about storms, weather, and peach blossoms blooming. Then on the thirteenth day of the third month of 643, the second year of Takara's reign, there was a terrible fire in Naniwa.  The official guest quarters for Baekje burned down, and the houses of the common people also caught fire. This is also around the time that Best suggests that Prince Pungjang, son of King Wicha of Baekje, may have actually arrived, as we discussed earlier.  That actually could be tied to events a month later, when the Dazai in Tsukushi—the government outpost on Kyushu—sent a mounted messenger to Her Majesty, Takara, to let her know that Gyoki's younger brother, the son of the King of Baekje, had arrived.  The Baekje ships, which had arrived in the area of modern Fukuoka around the 21st day of the 4th month finally arrived in Naniwa two months later.  Presumably the Baekje envoys' official guest quarters had been repaired or rebuilt at this point, and several high ministers went to inspect the tribute.  They couldn't help but notice that the tribute this time was less—fewer items and of lower quality that previously.  The Envoys promised that they would make up the shortfall. Around all of this, the drama between the Soga, Prince Naka no Oe, and others was playing out, with Iruka attacking and eventually killing Yamashiro no Oe, all of which was discussed in the last episode.  Meanwhile we get a small line about Prince Pung keeping four hives of bees on Mt. Miwa, but apparently they didn't grow large enough to multiply, so that doesn't seem to have taken off. We'll return to Prince Pungjang later.  For now, we have seen much of the disturbances that were caused and eventually led up to the Isshi Incident in 645, and 644 is full of many long entries about everything that happened, but I don't want to worry about that—we covered most of that last episode.  What I do want to concern ourselves with is the story I started the episode with – the curious tale of a man named Ohofube no Ohoshi, who started up his own millennial cult. Now there has been quite a bit of speculation around this episode, especially given that all we really have is a single entry, dated to the 7th month of 644, and here I'll quote Aston's translation:  “A man of the neighbourhood of the River Fuji in the East Country named Ohofu Be no Oho urged his fellow-villagers to worship an insect, saying: "This is the God of the Everlasting World. Those who worship this God will have long life and riches." At length the wizards and witches, pretending an inspiration of the Gods, said:--"Those who worship the God of the Everlasting World will, if poor, become rich, and, if old, will become young again." So they more and more persuaded the people to cast out the valuables of their houses, and to set out by the roadside sake, vegetables, and the six domestic animals. They also made them cry out: "The new riches have come!" Both in the country and in the metropolis people took the insect of the Everlasting World and, placing it in a pure place, with song and dance invoked happiness. They threw away their treasures, but to no purpose whatever. The loss and waste was extreme. Hereupon Kahakatsu, Kadono no Hada no Miyakko, was wroth that the people should be so much deluded, and slew Ohofu Be no Oho. The wizards and witches were intimidated, and ceased to persuade people to this worship. The men of that time made a song, saying: Udzumasa Has executed The God of the Everlasting World Who we were told Was the very God of Gods. This insect is usually bred on orange trees, and sometimes on the Hosoki. It is over four inches in length, and about as thick as a thumb. It is of a grass-green colour with black spots, and in appearance entirely resembles the silkworm.” This is remarkable in several ways.  For one, we get a glimpse of how a popular cult might get started.  Since it is at this same time the cult of Shotoku Taishi is taking hold in some temples, it is interesting to draw parallels between the two.  Como points this out in his book on Shotoku Taishi, and notes several other things.  For one is the discussion of this “ever-lasting world”, or Tokoyo.  We've heard of Tokoyo before – the  term is found in the Chronicles in the section around the Age of the Gods.  Sukuna Bikona himself leaps off to Tokoyo from a blade of grass in one story, much like an insect himself. Tokoyo is a bit mysterious.  It isn't the land of the dead, where Izanami goes to live when she dies in childbirth.  Neither is it the Great Plain of Heaven, Takama no hara, where Amaterasu dwells.  We have the gods of the Heavens and gods of the Earth, but no gods of Tokoyo.  Indeed, Tokoyo is mentioned, but not well described.  By all accounts it would appear to be a place that spirits go after death to an unchanging world, rather than coming back to this one. This fits in with various other continental ideas starting to come over at the time, especially as part of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition, which included a search for effective ways to reach enlightenment.  There had been feelings for some time that humans were already in the latter days of the law, or Mappo: the concept that the further we get from the time of the Buddha, the more morality would decline and the harder it would be for people to break the chains of materialism and desire that hold them to this plane of existence.  As such, some sects and teachers taught simpler and more expedient methods, in an effort to save all of the sentient beings.  Things like an abbreviated mantra that would help you get into a paradise where you could eventually attain enlightenment certainly had its adherents, especially amongst those who might not have the time or inclination to join the monastery themselves.  The idea of a Pure Land, or Joudo, took off early, This Pure Land, is most commonly connected with Amida Butsu, the Amithaba Buddha.  Sutras referencing Amida and the Pure Land were translated by Kumarajiva as early as the 5th century, and may have been part of the larger corpus of scrolls brought over to the archipelago.  According to the sutra, they say that if you honestly chant Amida Butsu's name just once—often through the phrase “Namu Amida Butsu”—then rather than being reborn again into the world on your death, you would instead be reincarnated in a Pure Land, where you could focus entirely on your own enlightenment for however long it would take, removing yourself from the pain and suffering of this world.  This practice was taught by the Sanron school as well as by the Hossou school in the 7th and 8th centuries, along with other practices.  It would continue to be taught, especially developing in the Tendai sect. Of course chanting “Namu Amida Butsu” was something you could do while working the fields, or doing any other number of profane, yet necessary tasks.  So you can see why this was an attractive idea to many people, even if they didn't have the ability to start a temple or study the scriptures or become monks or nuns themselves, at least in this life. Pure Land belief and practices continued to grow and develop in various Buddhists sects, but really took off as an independent practice in Japan in the Kamakura Period, appealing to warriors and commoners alike with its seemingly simple mantra. Shotoku Taishi himself is closely connected to the Pure Land concept, as Como points out.  He and his teacher, Eija, are both said to have attained the Pure Land upon their deaths.  The famous embroidery, commissioned after Shotoku Taishi's death, known as the Tenjukoku Mandala, presumably also describes a country of Heavenly Long Life.  “Tenjukoku” does not have an immediate connection to any particular continental sect or philosophy, but it does seem to be at least a cognate for some of these other ideas such as the Joudo Pure Land OR the Tokoyo of Ohofube no Ohoshi. Whether Ohoshi was, in fact, influenced by other continental ideas is unclear.  We're not even sure if his was the first use of the concept of “Tokoyo” or if that was an idea already planted in the public consciousness by that time—though if so, I would think it would be a bit more widespread.  One could understand, however, how people who had been through famines, floods, earthquakes, disease, and more might find the idea of an eternal ever-after where they could be rich and young again quite inviting.  Enough people found it so that they apparently were willing to give up everything they owned and place it out on the streets.  Even if this wasn't just a scheme to go and scoop up all the goods and skip town, one can see how this may have been viewed as disruptive and unhealthy for the community, at least by those comfortably seated in power, whose workforce was being pulled away from their labors to this new belief system. The ones who were spreading this good news, while called wizards and witches by Aston, use characters that one could just as easily ascribe to Shinto priests and sacred Miko.  Since Shinto wasn't fully formed as we know it today, I think it might be better to say various ritualists and diviners.  Whether they were true believers or simply “pretending” to be inspired, as the Nihon Shoki says, who can say for certain.  What makes one vision more objectively “true” than another, beyond your own belief and faith? And it should be remembered that bringing in new spiritual ideas wasn't, well, new.  That's how Buddhism got started, and likely was one of the ways that Yamato itself expanded its own influence.  How many other quote-unquote “cults” like this existed, and how many were absorbed into the establishment and how many were cast aside? In this case, it would seem that Ohoshi's main problem was likely that he was attracting the wrong sorts of people, which is to say he was appealing to commoners.  In the Warring States period, we would see a not dissimilar dynamic with the independent Joudo Shinshu, a sect of Pure Land Buddhism, supporting commoners in what became known as the ikkou ikki.  They formed communities that helped each other, but at the same time bucked the yoke of the local daimyo and others.  This would bring about violent retribution from warlords like Oda Nobunaga, who wasn't having any of it. Similarly, as the Tokoyo sect spread into Yamashiro and down into the capital region, Kadono no Hata no Miyatsuko no Kawakatsu decided to take matters into his own hands.  Ostensibly, he was upset that people would be so deluded, and under that pretext, he had Ohoshi killed and his followers intimidated.  Cutting the head off the snake, as it were, caused the body to wither, and apparently the Tokoyo cult was not so everlasting after all. And here's where we bring things back around.  You may recall Hata no Kawakatsu, or at least his family.  The progenitor of the Hata family was called Uzumasa, and even today their name is affixed to an area of Kyoto, which was built in the old Hata territory.  Hence the poem about Uzumasa executing the God of the Everlasting World. That area, from Lake Biwa down to Naniwa, is on that corridor from Yamato to Koshi.  The Hata themselves are connected with the continent—especially with Silla.   The Hata temple of Kouryuuji even has a Silla image said to have been obtained by Shotoku Taishi and given to them.  Along with Shitennoji, it is one of several Silla-influenced temples that helped promote the cult of Shotoku Taishi.  It is, of course, possible that we are reading way too much into this.  Some of these things could just be coincidence, but then again, why was it written down and why did the Chroniclers feel that it was important to spend ink on the process?  That's the real question here.   And what more was going on that never got written down, or at least not clearly?  It is likely that we will never truly know the answer to all of these questions.  Unless some ancient documents are found from the period that miraculously survived, with significantly different stories, it would be hard to say much more, but that doesn't mean we can't wonder. But that's all we'll do for now.  At this point, I think we've covered these years from 642 to 645 as best we could, and it is probably time to move on.  I'm not going to prognosticate on next episode just yet, other than to say that we will eventually need to talk about the Taika Reforms—the Great Change.  But that may take a little more time to research so that we can do it properly, but we'll see. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This is Part 2 of our special Gishiwajinden Tour from Gaya to Tsushima, Iki, Matsuro, Ito, and Na--aka Gimhae and Busan to Tsushima, Iki, Karatsu, Itoshima, and Fukuoka.  This time we talk about the island of Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea.  While itself a difficult place to make a living, it has long been the border--a place for foreign ambassadors, invadors, and pirates alike. For photos and more, check out our blogpost:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/tsushima Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour Stop 2: Tsushima. As I mentioned last episode, we are taking a break right now from the workings of the Chronicles while I prep a bit more research on the Taika reform.  As we do so, I'm taking you through a recent trip we took trying to follow the ancient sea routes from Gaya, on the Korean peninsula, across the islands to Na, in modern Fukuoka.  This may have been first described in the Wei Chronicles, the Weizhi, but it was the pathway that many visitors to the archipelago took up through the famous Mongol invasion, and even later missions from the Joseon kingdom on the Korean peninsula. Last episode, we talked about our start at Gimhae and Pusan.  Gimhae is the old Geumgwan Gaya, as far as we can tell, and had close connections with the archipelago as evidenced by the common items of material culture found on both sides of the strait.  From the coast of the Korean peninsula, ships would then sail for the island of Tsushima, the nearest of the islands between the mainland and the Japanese archipelago.  Today, ships still sail from Korea to Japan, but most leave out of the port of Pusan.  This includes regular cruise ships as well as specialty cruises and ferries.  For those who want, there are some popular trips between Pusan and Fukuoka or Pusan all the way to Osaka, through the Seto Inland Sea.  For us, however, we were looking at the shortest ferries, those to Tsushima.  Tsushima is a large island situated in the strait between Korea and Japan.  Technically it is actually three islands, as channels were dug in the 20th century to allow ships stationed around the island to quickly pass through rather than going all the way around. Tsushima is the closest Japanese island to Korea, actually closer to Korea than to the rest of Japan, which makes it a fun day trip from Pusan, so they get a lot of Korean tourists.  There are two ports that the ferries run to, generally speaking.  In the north is Hitakatsu, which is mainly a port for people coming from Korea.  Further south is Izuhara, which is the old castle town, where the So family once administered the island and relations with the continent, and where you can get a ferry to Iki from. Unfortunately for us, as I mentioned last episode, it turned out that the kami of the waves thwarted us in our plans to sail from Busan to Tsushima.  And so we ended up flying into Tsushima Airport, instead, which actually required us to take an international flight over to Fukuoka and then a short domestic flight back to Tsushima.  On the one hand, this was a lot of time out of our way, but on the other they were nice short flights with a break in the Fukuoka airport, which has great restaurants in the domestic terminal.  Furthermore, since we came into the centrally-located Tsushima airport, this route also gave us relatively easy access to local rental car agencies, which was helpful because although there is a bus service that runs up and down the islands, if you really want to explore Tsushima it is best to have a car.  Note that also means having an International Driver's Permit, at least in most cases, unless you have a valid Japanese drivers' license. As for why you need a car:  There is a bus route from north to south, but for many of the places you will likely want to go will take a bit more to get to.  If you speak Japanese and have a phone there are several taxi companies you can call, and you can try a taxi app, though make sure it works on the island.  In the end, having a car is extremely convenient. Tsushima is also quite mountainous, without a lot of flat land, and there are numerous bays and inlets in which ships can hide and shelter from bad weather—or worse.  Tsushima is renowned for its natural beauty.  Flora and fauna are shared with continent and the archipelago.  There are local subspecies of otter and deer found on the islands, but also the Yamaneko, or Mountain Cat, a subspecies of the Eurasian leopard cat that   is only found in Japan on Tsushima and on Iriomote, in the southern Okinawan island chain.  They also have their own breed of horse, as well, related to the ancient horses bred there since at least the 8th century. Tsushima is clearly an important part of Japan, and the early stories of the creation of the archipelago often include Tsushima as one of the original eight islands mentioned in the creation story.  That suggests it has been considered an ancient part of the archipelago since at least the 8th century, and likely much earlier. Humans likely first came to Tsushima on their crossing from what is now the Korean peninsula over to the archipelago at the end of the Pleistocene era, when sea levels were much lower.  However, we don't have clear evidence of humans until later, and this is likely because the terrain made it difficult to cultivate the land, and most of the activity was  focused on making a livelihood out of the ocean. Currently we have clear evidence of humans on the island from at least the Jomon period, including remnants such as shellmounds, though we don't have any clear sign of habitation.  It is possible that fishermen and others came to the islands during certain seasons, setting up fish camps and the like, and then departed, but it could be that there were more permanent settlements and we just haven't found them yet.  Most of the Jomon sites appear to be on the northern part of Tsushima, what is now the “upper island”, though, again, lack of evidence should not be taken as evidence of lack, and there could be more we just haven't found yet.  After all, sites like Izuhara, which was quite populated in later periods, may have disturbed any underlying layers that we could otherwise hope to find there, and perhaps we will one day stumble on something more that will change our understanding.  Things change a bit in the Yayoi period, and we see clear evidence of settlements, pit buildings, graves, and grave goods at various sites up through the Kofun period.   Unsurprisingly, the assembly of goods found include both archipelagic and continental material, which fits with its position in between the various cultures. Understandably, most of these archeological sites were investigated and then either covered back up for preservation or replaced by construction – so in many cases there isn't anything to see now, besides the artifacts in the museum.  But some of the earliest clear evidence that you can still go see today are the several kofun, ancient tumuli, scattered around the island at different points.  Most of the kofun on the island appear to be similar, and overall fairly small.  These are not the most impressive kofun—not the giant mounds found in places like Nara, Osaka, Kibi, or even up in Izumo.  However, to students of the era they are still very cool to see as monuments of that ancient time.  One example of this that we visited was the Niso-kofungun, or the Niso Kofun group.  The Niso Kofungun is not like what you might expect in the Nara basin or the Osaka area.  First, you drive out to the end of the road in a small fishing community, and from there go on a small hike to see the kofun themselves.  Today the mounds are mostly hidden from view by trees, though there are signs put up to mark each one.  Some of them have a more well defined shape than others, too, with at least one demonstrating what appears to be a long, thin keyhole shape, taking advantage of the local terrain.  Most of these were pit style burials, where slabs of local sedimentary rock were used to form rectangular coffins in the ground, in which the individuals were presumably buried.  On one of the keyhole shaped mounds there was also what appears to be a secondary burial at the neck of the keyhole, where the round and trapezoidal sections meet.  However, we don't know who or even what was buried there in some instances, as most of the bones are no longer extant. Besides the distinctively keyhole shaped tomb, two more kofun in the Niso group caught my attention.  One, which is thought to have been a round tomb, had what appeared to be a small stone chamber, perhaps the last of the kofun in this group to be built, as that is generally a feature of later period kofun.  There was also one that was higher up on the hill, which may also have been a keyhole shaped tomb.  That one struck me, as it would likely have been particularly visible from sea before the current overgrown forest  appeared.  There are also plenty of other kofun to go searching for, though some might be a little more impressive than others.  In the next episode, when we talk about the island of Iki, we'll explore that ancient kingdom's much larger collection of kofun. After the mention of Tsushima in the Weizhi in the third century, there is a later story, from about the 6th century, involving Tsushima in the transmission of Buddhism.  This story isn't in the Nihon Shoki and was actually written down much later, so take that as you will.  According to this account, the Baekje envoys who transmitted the first Buddha image to Japan stopped for a while on Tsushima before proceeding on to the Yamato court.  While they were there, the monks who were looking after the image built a small building in which to conduct their daily rituals, effectively building the first Buddhist place of worship in the archipelago.  A temple was later said to have been built on that spot, and in the mid-15th century it was named Bairinji. While the narrative is highly suspect, there is some evidence that the area around Bairinji was indeed an important point on the island.  Prior to the digging of the two channels to connect the east and west coasts, the area near Bairinji, known as Kofunakoshi, or the small boat portage, was the narrowest part of Tsushima, right near the middle, where Aso Bay and Mitsuura Bay almost meet.  We know that at least in the 9th century this is where envoys would disembark  from one ship which had brought them from the archipelago, and embark onto another which would take them to the continent, and vice versa. Likewise, their goods would be carried across the narrow strip of land. This was like a natural barrier and an ideal location for an official checkpoint, and in later years Bairinji temple served as this administrative point, providing the necessary paperwork for crews coming to and from Japan, including the various Joseon dynasty missions in the Edo period. Why this system of portage and changing ships, instead of just sailing around?  Such a system was practical for several reasons.  For one, it was relatively easy to find Tsushima from the mainland.  Experienced ships could sail there, transfer cargo to ships experienced with the archipelago and the Seto Inland Sea, and then return swiftly to Korea.  Furthermore, this system gave Yamato and Japan forewarning, particularly of incoming diplomatic missions.  No chance mistaking ships for an invasion or pirates of some kind, as word could be sent ahead and everything could be arranged in preparation for the incoming mission.  These are details that are often frustratingly left out of many of the early accounts, but there must have been some logistics to take care of things like this. Whether or not Bairinji's history actually goes back to 538, it does have claim to some rather ancient artifacts, including a 9th century Buddha image from the Unified, or Later, Silla period as well as 579 chapters of the Dai Hannya Haramitta Kyo, or the Greater Perfection of Wisdom Sutra, from a 14th century copy.  These were actually stolen from the temple in 2014, but later recovered.  Other statues were stolen two years previously from other temples on Tsushima, which speaks to some of the tensions that still exist between Korea and Japan.  Claims were made that the statues had originally been stolen by Japanese pirates, or wakou, from Korea and brought to Japan, so the modern-day thieves were simply righting an old wrong.  However, Korean courts eventually found that the items should be returned to Japan, though there were those who disagreed with the ruling.  This is an example of the ongoing tensions that can sometimes make study of inter-strait history a bit complex. More concrete than the possible location of a theoretical early worship structure are the earthworks of Kaneda fortress.  This is a mid-7th century fort, created by Yamato to defend itself from a presumed continental invasion.  We even have mention of it in the Nihon Shoki.  It appears to have been repaired in the late 7th century, and then continued to be used until some time in the 8th century, when it was abandoned, seeing as how the invasion had never materialized, and no doubt maintaining the defenses on top of a mountain all the way out on Tsushima would have been a costly endeavor. Over time the name “Kaneda” was forgotten, though the stone and earthworks on the mountain gave the site the name “Shiroyama”, or Castle Mountain, at least by the 15th century.  In the Edo period, scholars set out trying to find the Kaneda fortress mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, and at one point identified this with an area known as Kanedahara, or Kaneda Fields, in the modern Sasu district, on the southwest coast of Tsushima.  However, a scholar named Suyama Don'ou identified the current mountaintop site, which has generally been accepted as accurate.  The earthworks do appear to show the kind of Baekje-style fortifications that Yamato built at this time, which took advantage of the natural features of the terrain.  These fortresses, or castles, were more like fortified positions—long walls that could give troops a secure place to entrench themselves.  They would not have had the impressive donjon, or tenshukaku, that is the most notable feature of of later Japanese and even European castles. Most of the Baekje style castles in Japan are primarily earthworks—for example the Demon's castle in modern Okayama.  Kaneda is unique, though, with about 2.8 kilometers of stone walls, most of which are reportedly in quite good condition.  There were three main gates and remains of various buildings have been determined from post-holes uncovered on the site.  There is a name for the top of the mountain, Houtateguma, suggesting that there may have once been some kind of beacon tower placed there with a light that could presumably be used to signal to others, but no remains have been found. The defensive nature of the position is also attested to in modern times.  During the early 20th century, the Japanese military placed batteries on the fortress, and an auxiliary fort nearby.  These constructions damaged some of the ancient walls, but this still demonstrates Tsushima's place at the edge of Japan and the continent, even into modern times. For all that it is impressive, I have to say that we regrettably did not make it to the fortress, as it is a hike to see everything, and our time was limited.  If you do go, be prepared for some trekking, as this really is a fortress on a mountain, and you need to park and take the Kaneda fortress trail up.   Moving on from the 8th century, we have evidence of Tsushima in written records throughout the next several centuries, but there isn't a lot clearly remaining on the island from that period—at least not extant buildings.  In the records we can see that there were clearly things going on, and quite often it wasn't great for the island.  For instance, there was the Toi Invasion in the 11th century, when pirates—possibly Tungusic speaking Jurchen from the area of Manchuria—invaded without warning, killing and taking people away as slaves.  It was horrific, but relatively short-lived, as it seems that the invaders weren't intent on staying. Perhaps a more lasting impression was made by the invasions of the Mongols in the 13th century.  This is an event that has been hugely impactful on Japan and Japanese history.  The first invasion in 1274, the Mongols used their vassal state of Goryeo to build a fleet of ships and attempted to cross the strait to invade Japan.  The typical narrative talks about how they came ashore at Hakata Bay, in modern Fukuoka, and the Kamakura government called up soldiers from across the country to their defense.  Not only that, but monks and priests prayed for divine intervention to protect Japan.  According to the most common narrative, a kamikaze, or divine wind, arose in the form of a typhoon that blew into Hakata Bay and sank much of the Mongol fleet. That event would have ripple effects throughout Japanese society.  On the one hand, the Mongols brought new weapons in the form of explosives, and we see changes in the arms of the samurai as their swords got noticeably beefier, presumably to do better against similarly armored foes.  The government also fortified Hakata Bay, which saw another attack in 1281, which similarly failed. Though neither attempted invasion succeeded, both were extremely costly.  Samurai who fought for their country expected to get rewarded afterwards, and not just with high praise.  Typically when samurai fought they would be richly rewarded by their lord with gifts taken from the losing side, to include land and property.  In the case of the Mongols, however, there was no land or property to give out.  This left the Kamakura government in a bit of a pickle, and the discontent fomented by lack of payment is often cited as one of the key contributors to bringing down the Kamakura government and leading to the start of the Muromachi period in the 14th century. The invasions didn't just appear at Hakata though.  In 1274,  after the Mongol fleet first left Goryeo on the Korean Peninsula, they landed first at Tsushima and then Iki, following the traditional trade routes and killing and pillaging as they went.  In Tsushima, the Mongol armies arrived in the south, landing at Komoda beach near Sasuura.  Lookouts saw them coming and the So clan hastily gathered up a defense, but it was no use.  The Mongol army established a beachhead and proceeded to spend the next week securing the island. From there they moved on to Iki, the next island in the chain, and on our journey.  Countless men and women were killed or taken prisoner, and when the Mongols retreated after the storm, they brought numerous prisoners back with them.  Although the Mongols had been defeated, they were not finished with their plans to annex Japan into their growing empire.  They launched another invasion in 1281, this time with reinforcements drawn from the area of the Yangtze river, where they had defeated the ethnic Han Song dynasty two years prior.  Again, they landed at Tsushima, but met fierce resistance—the government had been preparing for this fight ever since the last one.  Unfortunately, Tsushima again fell under Mongol control, but not without putting up a fight.  When the Mongols were again defeated, they left the island once again, this time never to return. If you want to read up more on the events of the Mongol Invasion, I would recommend Dr. Thomas Conlan's book, “No Need for Divine Intervention”.  It goes into much more detail than I can here. These traumatic events have been seared into the memories of Tsushima and the nearby island of Iki. Even though both islands have long since rebuilt, memories of the invasion are embedded in the landscape of both islands, and it is easy to find associated historical sites or even take a dedicated tour.   In 2020, the events of the invasion of Tsushima were fictionalized into a game that you may have heard of called Ghost of Tsushima.  I won't get into a review of the game—I haven't played it myself—but many of the locations in the game were drawn on actual locations in Tsushima.  Most, like Kaneda Castle, are fictionalized to a large extent, but it did bring awareness to the island, and attracted a large fan base.  Indeed, when we picked up our rental car, the helpful staff offered us a map with Ghost of Tsushima game locations in case we wanted to see them for ourselves. As I noted, many of the places mentioned in the game are highly fictionalized, as are many of the individuals and groups—after all, the goal is to play through and actually defeat the enemies, and just getting slaughtered by Mongols and waiting for them to leave wouldn't exactly make for great gameplay.  Shrines offer “charms” to the user and so finding and visiting all of the shrines in the in-game world becomes a player goal. And so when fans of the game learned that the torii gate of Watatsumi Shrine, one of the real-life iconic shrines in Tsushima, was destroyed by a typhoon in September of 2020, about a month after the game was released, they came to its aid and raised over 27 million yen to help restore the torii gates.  A tremendous outpouring from the community. And while you cannot visit all of the locations in the game, you can visit Watazumi Shrine, with its restored torii gates that extend into the water. Watatsumi Shrine itself has some interesting, if somewhat confusing, history.  It is one of two shrines on Tsushima that claim to be the shrine listed in the 10th-century Engi Shiki as “Watatsumi Shrine”.  This is believed to have been the shrine to the God of the Sea, whose palace Hiko Hoho-demi traveled down to in order to find his brother's fishhook—a story noted in the Nihon Shoki and which we covered in episode 23.  Notwithstanding that most of that story claims it was happening on the eastern side of Kyushu, there is a local belief that Tsushima is actually the place where that story originated. The popular shrine that had its torii repaired is popularly known as Watatsumi Shrine, today.  The other one is known as Kaijin  Shrine, literally translating to the Shrine of the Sea God, and it is also known as Tsushima no kuni no Ichinomiya; That is to say the first, or primary, shrine of Tsushima.  Some of the confusion may come as it appears that Kaijin shrine was, indeed, the more important of the two for some time.  It was known as the main Hachiman shrine in Tsushima, and may have been connected with a local temple as well.  It carries important historical records that help to chart some of the powerful families of Tsushima, and also claims ownership of an ancient Buddhist image from Silla that was later stolen.  In the 19th century it was identified as the Watatsumi Shrine mentioned in the Engi Shiki, and made Toyotama Hime and Hikohohodemi the primary deities worshipped at the shrine, replacing the previous worship of Hachiman. Shrines and temples can be fascinating to study, but can also be somewhat tricky to understand, historically.  Given their religious nature, the founding stories of such institutions can sometimes be rather fantastical, and since they typically aren't written down until much later, it is hard to tell what part of the story is original and what part has been influenced by later stories, like those in the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki. Another interesting example of a somewhat unclear history is that of the Buddhist temple, Kokubun-ji.  Kokubunji are provincial temples, originally set up inthe decree of 741 that had them erected across the archipelago, one in each province at the time, in an attempt to protect the country from harm,  Knowing the location of a Kokubunji can therefore often tell you something about where the Nara era provincial administration sat, as it would likely have been nearby.  In many cases, these were probably connected to the local elite, as well. This is not quite as simple with Tsushima Kokubun-ji.  While it was originally designated in the decree of 741,  a later decree in 745 stated that the expenses for these temples would come directly out of tax revenues in the provinces, and at that time Tsushima was excluded.  Moreover, the Kokubunji on nearby Iki island was funded by taxes from Hizen province.  So it isn't until 855 that we have clear evidence of an early provincial temple for Tsushima, in this case known as a Tobunji, or Island Temple, rather than a Kokubunji. The location of that early temple is unknown, and it burned down only two years later when Tsushima was attacked by forces from Kyushu.   It is unclear what happened to it in the following centures, but by the 14th or 15th century it was apparently situated in Izuhara town, near the site of what would become Kaneishi Castle.  It was later rebuilt in its current location, on the other side of Izuhara town.  It burned down in the Edo period—all except the gate, which was built in 1807.  This gate is at least locally famous for its age and history.  It was also the site of the guesthouses for the 1811 diplomatic mission from Joseon—the dynasty that followed Koryeo. Those missions are another rather famous part of the history of Tsushima, which, as we've seen, has long been a gateway between the archipelago and the peninsula.  In the Edo period, there were numerous diplomatic missions from the Joseon dynasty to the Tokugawa shogunate, and these grand affairs are often touted in the history of Tsushima, with many locations specifically calling out the island's deep involvement in cross-strait relations.  Relations which, to really understand, we need to probably start with a look at the famous (or perhaps even infamous) Sou clan. The Sou clan became particularly influential in Tsushima in the 13th century.  The local officials, the Abiru clan, who had long been in charge of the island, were declared to be in rebellion against the Dazaifu, and so Koremune Shigehisa was sent to quell them.  In return, he was made Jito, or land steward, under the Shoni clan, who were the Shugo of Chikuzen and Hizen, including the island of Tsushima.  The Sou clan, descendents of the Koremune, ruled Tsushima ever since, first as vassals of the Shoni , but eventually they ran things outright. Thus, Sou Sukekuni was in charge when the Mongols invaded in 1274.  Despite having only 80 or so mounted warriors under his charge, he attempted to defend the island, dying in battle.  Nonetheless, when the Mongols retreated, the Sou family retained their position.  Later, they supported the Ashikaga in their bid to become shogun, and were eventually named the Shugo of Tsushima, a title they kept until the Meiji period. As we've mentioned, despite its size, Tsushima is not the most hospitable of locations.  It is mountainous, with many bays and inlets, making both cross-land travel and agriculture relatively difficult.  And thus the Sou clan came to rely on trade with the continent for their wealth and support.  Although, “trade” might be a bit negotiable. Remember how the early Japanese regularly raided the coast of the peninsula?  It was frequent enough that a term arose—the Wakou, the Japanese invaders, or Japanese pirates.  In fact, the term “wakou” became so synonymous with piracy that almost any pirate group could be labeled as “wakou”, whether Japanese or not.  Some of them that we know about were downright cosmopolitan, with very diverse crews from a variety of different cultures. Given its position, the rough terrain, and myriad bays that could easily hide ships and other such things, Tsushima made a great base for fishermen-slash-pirates to launch from.  Particularly in harsh times, desperate individuals from Tsushima and other islands might take their chances to go and raid the mainland.  In the early 15th century, the new Joseon dynasty had had enough.  They sent an expeditionary force to Tsushima to put an end to the wakou. The expedition came in 1419.  The year before, the head of the Sou clan, Sou Sadashige, had died.  His son, Sou Sadamori, took his place, but had not yet come of age, leaving actual power in the hands of Souda Saemontarou, leader of the Wakou pirates. Eventually the Joseon forces were defeated by the forces of Tsushima, including the wakou.  The Joseon court considered sending another punitive expedition, but it never materialized.  What did eventually happen, though, was, oddly, closer ties between the peninsula and Tsushima.  Sou Sadamori, who grew up in that tumultuous time, worked to repair relationships with the Joseon court, concluding a treaty that that allowed the Sou clan to basically monopolize trade with the Korean peninsula.  Treaty ports on the peninsula began to attract permanent settlements of Japanese merchants, and these “wakan”, or Japanese districts, came nominally under the jurisdiction of the Sou of Tsushima. The Sou clan maintained their place as the intermediaries with the Joseon state through the 16th century.  Messages sent from the Japanese court to Joseon would be sent to the Sou, who would deliver them to the Joseon court, and in turn handle all replies from the peninsula back to the Japanese mainland.  And this over time led them to develop some, shall we say, special techniques to make sure these exchanges were as fruitful as possible.  You see, the treaties with the Joseon court only allowed fifty ships a year from Tsushima to trade with the peninsula.  But since all of the documents flowed through the Sou, they had plenty of time to study the seals of both courts—those of the Joseon kingdom and those of Japan – and have fake seals created for their own ends.  In part through the use of these fake seals, the Sou clan were able to pretend their ships were coming from other people—real or fake—and thus get around the 50 ship per year limit.  They also used them in other ways to try and maintain their position between the two countries. All of this came to a head when the Taikou, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, began to dream of continental conquest.  Hideyoshi, at this point the undeniable ruler of all of Japan, had a bit of an ego—not exactly undeserved, mind you.  His letter to the Joseon king Seongjo, demanding submission, was quite inflammatory, and the Sou clan realized immediately that it would be taken as an insult.  Not only could it jeopardize relations with the continent, it could also jeopardize their own unique status.  Which is why they decided to modify it using what in modern computer hacker terms might be called a man-in-the-middle attack – which, with their fake seal game, they had plenty of experience with. The Sou were able to modify the language in each missive to make the language more acceptable to either side.  They also dragged their feet in the whole matter, delaying things for at least two years   But Hideyoshi's mind was set on conquest.  Specifically, he had ambitions of displacing the Ming dynasty itself, and he demanded that the Joseon court submit and allow the Japanese forces through to face the Ming dynasty.  The Joseon refused to grant his request, and eventually Hideyoshi had enough.  He threatened an invasion of Korea if the Joseon dynasty didn't capitulate to his requests. Throughout this process, the Sou attempted to smooth things over as best they could.  However, even they couldn't forge the words presented by a face-to-face envoy, nor could they put off Hideyoshi's anger forever.  And thus Tsushima became one of the launching off points for the Japanese invasions of Korea in 1592 and again in 1597.  Tsushima, along with nearby Iki, would have various castles built to help supply the invading forces.  One such castle was the Shimizuyama-jo, overlooking the town of Izuhara.  Some of the walls and earthworks can still be seen up on the mountain overlooking the town, and  there are trails up from the site of Kaneishi castle, down below.  Both of these invasions ultimately failed, though not without a huge loss of life and destruction on the peninsula—a loss that is still felt, even today. The second and final invasion ended in 1598.  Both sides were exhausted and the Japanese were losing ground, but the true catalyst, unbeknownst to those on the continent, was the death of Hideyoshi.  The Council of Regents, a group of five daimyo appointed to rule until Hideyoshi's son, Hideyori, came of age kept Hideyoshi's death a secret to maintain morale until they could withdraw from the continent. With the war over, the Sou clan took the lead in peace negotiations with the Joseon court, partly in an attempt to reestablish their position and their trade.  In 1607, after Tokugawa had established himself and his family as the new shogunal line, the Sou continued to fake documents to the Joseon court, and then to fake documents right back to the newly established bakufu so that their previous forgeries wouldn't be uncovered.  This got them in a tight spot.  In the early 1600s, one Yanagawa Shigeoki had a grudge to settle with Sou Yoshinari, and so he went and told the Bakufu about the diplomatic forgeries that the Sou had committed, going back years.  Yoshinari was summoned to Edo, where he was made to answer the allegations by Shigeoki.  Sure enough, it was proven that the Sou had, indeed, been forging seals and letters, but after examination, Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third Tokugawa Shogun, decided that they had not caused any great harm—in fact, some of their meddling had actually helped, since they knew the diplomatic situation with the Joseon court better than just about anyone else, and they clearly were incentivized to see positive relations between Japan and Korea.  As such, despite the fact that he was right, Yanagawa Shigeoki was exiled, while the Sou clan was given a slap on the wrist and allowed to continue operating as the intermediaries with the Joseon court. There was one caveat, however:  The Sou clan would no longer be unsupervised.  Educated monks from the most prestigious Zen temples in Kyoto, accredited as experts in diplomacy, would be dispatched to Tsushima to oversee the creation of diplomatic documents and other such matters, bringing the Sou clan's forgeries to a halt. Despite that, the Sou clan continued to facilitate relations with the peninsula, including some twelve diplomatic missions from Korea: the Joseon Tsuushinshi.  The first was in 1607, to Tokugawa Hidetada, and these were lavish affairs, even more elaborate than the annual daimyo pilgrimages for the sankin-kotai, or alternate attendance at Edo.  The embassies brought almost 500 people, including acrobats and other forms of entertainment.  Combined with their foreign dress and styles, it was a real event for people whenever they went. Today, these Tsuushinshi are a big draw for Korean tourists, and just about anywhere you go—though especially around Izuhara town—you will find signs in Japanese, Korean, and English about locations specifically associated with these missions. And in years past, they've even reenacted some of the processions and ceremonies. Speaking of Izuhara, this was the castle town from which the Sou administered Tsushima.  Banshoin temple was the Sou family temple, and contains the graves of many members of the Sou family.  In 1528, the Sou built a fortified residence in front of Banshoin, and eventually that grew into the castle from which they ruled Tsushima.  Today, only the garden and some of the stone walls remain.  The yagura atop the main gate has been rebuilt, but mostly it is in ruins.  The Tsushima Museum sits on the site as well.  Nearby there is also a special museum specifically dedicated to the Tsuushinshi missions. Izuhara town itself is an interesting place.  Much of what you see harkens back to the Edo period.  Much like Edo itself, the densely packed wood and paper houses were a constant fire hazard, and there were several times where the entire town burned to the ground.  As such they began to institute firebreaks in the form of stone walls which were placed around the town to help prevent fire from too quickly spreading from one house to the next.  This is something that was instituted elsewhere, including Edo, but I've never seen so many extant firewalls before, and pretty soon after you start looking for them, you will see them everywhere. The area closest to the harbor was an area mostly for merchants and similar working class people, and even today this can be seen in some of the older buildings and property layouts.  There are also a fair number of izakaya and various other establishments in the area.  Further inland you can find the old samurai district, across from the Hachiman shrine.  The houses and the gates in that area are just a little bit nicer.  While many modern buildings have gone up in the town, you can still find traces of the older buildings back from the days of the Sou clan and the Korean envoys. Today, Izuhara is perhaps the largest town on Tsushima, but that isn't saying much—the population of the entire island is around 31,000 people, only slightly larger than that of nearby Iki, which is only about one fifth the size of Tsushuma in land area.  From Izuhara, you can catch a ferry to Iki or all the way to Hakata, in Fukuoka.  You can also always take a plane as well. Before leaving Tsushima, I'd like to mention one more thing—the leopard cat of Tsushima, the Yamaneko.  This has become something of a symbol in Tsushima, but unfortunately it is critically endangered, at least on the island itself.  It is all but gone from the southern part of Tsushima—human encroachment on its habitat has been part of the issue, but so has the introduction of domesticated cats.  The yamaneko itself is about the size of a typical housecat, and might be mistaken for one, though it has a very distinctive spotted appearance.  Domesticated cats have been shown to outcompete their wild cousins, while also passing on harmful diseases, which also affect the population.  Just about everywhere you go you'll see signs and evidence of this special cat. There is also a breeding program in the north if you want to see them for yourself. Even the small Tsushima Airport is named Yamaneko Airport, and the single baggage claim features a whole diorama of little plush leopard cats wearing traditional clothing and waving hello to new arrivals. If you like rugged coastlines, fascinating scenery, and the odd bit of history thrown in, might I suggest taking a look at Tsushima, the border island between Japan and Korea. We only had a few days, but it was a truly wonderful experience.  Next up we caught the ferry to Iki island, the site of the ancient Iki-koku, possibly represented by the Yayoi era Harunotsuji site.  Of all the places I've been so far, this is second only to Yoshinogari in the work and reconstruction they've done.  They've even discovered what they believe to be an ancient dock or boat launch.  But we'll cover that next week, as we continue on our self-guided Gishiwajinden tour. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Moving on with our third part of the Gishiwajinden Tour, we head to the old area of Matsuro, which, for us, means modern Karatsu.  Here we have some of the oldest rice paddies in all of Japan, but Karatsu is so much more.  It was part of Matsura, where the Matsura family (aka league, factions, or pirates, depending on how you saw it) arose.  It is also a short hop from Nagoya, which briefly became the capital of Japan; Nagaoka-kyo gets a mention in the histories, but Nagoya rarely merits it, since it was just the Taiko and every actually important person minus the Tenno. For more photos and others such things, check out: https://www.sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/matsuro-koku/   Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Gishiwajinden Tour, Part Four:  Matsuro-koku So far on this tour through the locations listed in the Weizhi's Wa Record, the Gishiwajinden, following the route to Queen Himiko of Wa, we've hit the area of Gaya, or Gara; Tsushima—or Tuma-koku; Iki, aka Iki-koku; and now we are arriving at Karatsu, thought to be the location of Maturo-koku. Now before we go any further, let's talk about the name.  After all, up to this point in the account, the names haven't been too far off.  Well, Tsushima was recorded as something like Tuma in the Chinese record, which seems reasonable, and “Iki” was actually recorded as something like “I-dai”, though we are pretty sure that was a transcription error based on other evidence. But Karatsu and Maturo, really don't seem related.  Also, didn't we earlier equate Matsuro with Matsuura, Matsura?  But if you look for Matsuura on a map it is quite some distance away from Karatsu—in fact, it is in modern Nagasaki prefecture as opposed to Karatsu, which is in modern Saga prefecture. First off, Karatsu is a later name for the city, not the area.  It literally means “Tang Port”, and that name seems to appear in the 15th century in the form of Karatsu Jinja, or Karatsu Shrine.  So no, the names Karatsu and Matsuro are not related.  Prior to being called Karatsu, though, it was part of a larger area called Matsura.  It sits at the head of the Matsura River, which spills out into what is now called Karatsu Bay.  In ancient times this seems to have been the heart of the area known as Matsura or Matsuro.  Over time it was incorporated into the larger area known as Hi no Kuni, and when Hi no Kuni was divided up by the Ritsuryo state into Hizen and Higo, we see the Matsura district, or Matsura-gun, is a part, along the coast.  The fact that it is spelled as “Matsu” and “Ura”, meaning “pine beach”, might hint at the original name of the place or could be a false etymology, imposed by the need to record the location in kanji, the Sinitic characters used at the time.  Fun fact time:  Hizen refers to the area of the land of Hi that was closer to Yamato, while Higo refers to the area of the land of Hi that was further away.  If you look at a modern map of where these two ancient provinces were, however, you'll notice that by a slight technicality, Higo is actually closer, as the crow flies.  But remember, people are not crows, at least not in this life, and in all likelihood, most of the travel to and from Yamato would have been via sea routes.  So Hizen is closer to Yamato from that perspective, as you would have to sail from Higo, around Hizen, or take the long way south around Kagoshima. But where were we? So Matsura district in Hizen started at Matsura-gawa and the area around Karatsu bay, and included modern areas of Hirado all the way out to the Goto islands.  That was a pretty large area.  It later got further subdivided into East, West, North, and South Matsura subdistricts, with Karatsu in the Eastern subdistrict, and some portion of the west.  Eventually, Karatsu city became its own administrative district, in modern Saga prefecture, and so did Hirado city, in what was the old Northern Matsura sub-district, joining Nagasaki prefecture.  The western sub-district went to Karatsu or incorporated as Imari, known for their Imari-ware pottery.  And that left a small portion of the northern sub-district. The incorporated villages and islands eventually came together as Matsuura city, in Nagasaki prefecture, which is what you'll see, today.  And that is why, looking at a modern map, “Matsura” and modern “Matsuura” are not precisely in the same place. That history also helps demonstrate the historical connections between Karatsu, Hirado, Iki, and Tsushima—as well as the Goto islands.  This region was where the Matsura clan arose, which controlled at least out to Iki, Hirado, and the Goto archipelago, and it was known for its strong navy, among other things. For our trip, heading to Karatsu was originally borne out of convenience:  Our goal was to take the ferry so that we could travel along the ocean routes.  We had traveled the route from Izuhara, on Tsushima, to Ashibe port, on Iki island.  During that trip it was interesting to watch as Tsushima disappeared and then eventually Iki appeared on the horizon, but it wasn't immediate, and I suspect you would have wanted an experienced crew who knew the route and knew what to look for.  Conversely, from Indoji port, on Iki, to Karatsu I felt like we were constantly in sight of one island or another, or at least could see the mountains of Kyushu to get our bearings.  There wasn't really a time that felt like we were that far out from land.  Even so, it would still have been a treacherous crossing back in the day. Coming in to Karatsu from the ferry, the first thing you will notice is the castle.  Karatsu castle, also known as Maizuru Castle, is a reconstructed castle, but it really does provide a clear view of what one would have seen.  The original was abandoned in the Meiji period and sold off in 1871.  The main keep was later demolished and made into a park.  In 1966 they built a new, 5-storey keep on the original base, and from 1989 onward have continued to make improvements to various parts of the castle moats and walls.  You can still see the layout of the Ninomaru and honmaru sections of the castle, encompassing the old samurai districts of the jokamachi, or castle town, of Karatsu during the Edo period. Our primary goal in Karatsu, however, was not castle focused.  We wanted to go back to an earlier time – the Yayoi period, to be precise - and Karatsu and the Matsuro-kan did not disappoint.  While not quite as extensive as the reconstruction at other Yayoi sites like Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, the site at the Matsuro-kan is still impressive in its own right. What is the Matsuro-kan, you might ask?  It is the building and grounds of what is also known as the Nabatake site.  In 1980, construction workers were excavating for a road through the Nabatake section of Karatsu when they noticed they were pulling up artifacts.  An investigation between 1980 to 1981 determined that the artifacts were from the late Jomon to middle Yayoi period.  Further investigation discovered the presence of old rice paddies.  In 1983 the site was designated as a national historic site, further excavations were carried out, and the Matsurokan was built to house the artifacts and also provide some reconstructions of what the rice paddies would have looked like.  For context these are some of the oldest rice paddies found in Japan, along with the nearby Itazuke rice paddies, in neighboring Fukuoka prefecture, and are key for giving us insights into what we know about early rice field cultivation. Here I should point out that these fields were in use through the middle Yayoi period, while the mission to Yamato—or Yamatai—recorded in the Weizhi would have been in the late Yayoi or early Kofun period, so likely several hundred years later.  There are other Yayoi settlement remains found up and around the peninsula, and there are Kofun in the area, especially along the banks of the Matsura river.  Given how built up much of the area is, it is possible that any large scale settlement may have been destroyed by subsequent settlements, or is somewhere that there just hasn't been a good reason for a full excavation.  Still, who knows what we might eventually find.    The Matsurokan appears to stick with the dating of the Yayoi period from about 300 BCE.  This is based largely on assumptions regarding the development of different pottery styles.  Recent research has suggested that this should be pushed back to about 800 or even 1000 BCE, suggesting a more gradual development.  For our purposes, it is enough to note that this site appears to cover from the final Jomon era in Kyushu to the coming of wet rice agriculture with the advancing Yayoi culture. Based on what was found at the site, the wet rice paddies were created in what at least one scholar has suggested as a “primitive” wet rice paddy.  The paddies themselves appear to have been placed in a naturally swampy area, irrigated by a natural stream.  This would have made flooding the fields relatively simple, without the large ponds or waterworks required to cover a more extensive area.  This may have sufficed for a small village, possibly only a handful of families living together and working the land. Besides the impressions of the paddies themselves, various tools, pottery, and more were also found at the site.  Stone harvesting knives were plentiful—a semicircular stone knife that was held in the fingers of one hand, allowing a harvester to grasp the stalks and cut them quickly.  This was the standard method of harvesting prior to the arrival of the sickle, or kama, and is still in use in some parts of China and Southeast Asia.  It is more labor intensive than the sickle, but provides some benefits in the consistency and lack of waste product. The Matsurokan demonstrates how a lot of the Yayoi tools are, in fact, still in use in one form or another in different cultures that also absorbed rice cultivation, showing how widespread it became. In addition, there are artifacts such as shards of pottery showing what looks to be the imprint of a woven fabric, and various equipment for weaving and sewing.  We have some beams and posts from buildings, which give us something at least try to guess at how things were put together. There are bones of various animals as well as stone arrowheads.  There are also fish and even dugong bones, suggesting they also made a living from the nearby sea.  And there are various bits of jewelry, including magatama, and what appears to be a shark's tooth with holes drilled in so it could be worn on a cord.    There are also carbonized rice grains found at the site, likely grown there. We don't have any ancient strains of rice that can be proven to come from these fields, but in their reconstruction, outside the museum, they have rebuilt some of the rice fields and grow old rice variants in them.  This is used, in part, to teach local schoolchildren about rice cultivation – in fact, local schools are allocated individual paddies each growing season. Besides the rice paddies, the Matsurokan also boasts several reconstructed dwellings.  These are similar to ones you might find elsewhere depicting what life was like back in the Yayoi period. As the Yayoi period gave way to the kofun, we do see some mounded tombs in the area, though not quite as many as in others.  Matsura appears to be rather rural. Around the Heian period, we see the rise of a local group that comes to be known as the Matsura group, or Matsura-tou, which eventually consolidated into the Matsura family.  There are several lineages claiming that the Matsura family descended from the Minamoto or Abe clans or through branch families thereof.  Matsura-to itself is sometimes called the 48 factions of Matsura.  It wasn't as much a family as an alliance of local warriors, each with their own base of operations.  I can't quite tell if the lineage of the later Matsura clan, as they were known, were meant to represent a single lineage or the various lineages that came together.  For all we know, they may have married into official families or otherwise concocted lineages to help legitimize them as much as anything else—this far out from the center, in the 11th century, there wasn't necessarily as much oversight. Early in the 11th century they also had a chance to prove themselves with the Toi invasion – that was the Jurchen invasion we mentioned last couple episodes.  After the Toi invaders attacked Tsushima and Iki, they set their sites on Hakata Bay, which was the closest landing to the Dazaifu, the Yamato government in Kyushu.  They were chased off and headed down the coast.  Minamoto Tomo is said to have led the forces that repelled the Toi invaders, who finally departed altogether, striking one more time on Tsushima before heading back to wherever they came from. Minamoto Tomo is said, at least in some stories, to have been the founder of the Matsura clan, or at least the leader of the 48 factions, which then coalesced into the Matsura clan, which eventually would run the Hirado domain. Over two hundred and fifty years after the Toi Invasion would come the Mongols.  If the Toi were bad, the Mongols were much worse.  The Toi were a band of marauders, who caused a lot of havoc, but do not appear to have had state backing.  The Mongols were perhaps more appropriately the Yuan empire, who had already conquered the Yellow river valley and were working on the Song dynasty along the Yangzi.  While the Toi had brought with them Goryeo warriors as well—who may or may not have joined up willingly—the Mongols had huge armies from all over that they could throw at a problem. As we talked about in the past two episodes, the Mongols swept through Tsushima and Iki and then headed straight for Hakata, the closest landing zone to the Dazaifu, the government outpost in Kyushu.  Even during the height of the Kamakura shogunate, this was still an important administrative center, and would have given the Mongols a huge advantage on holding territory and eventually sweeping up the archipelago. Fortunately, they were stopped.  Whether it was the gumption, skill, and downright stubbornness of their samurai foes or the divine wind that swept up from the ocean, the Mongols were turned back, twice. During each of these invasions, the Matsura clan and others rushed to the defense of the nation, but unlike with the Toi invasions, there do not appear to have been any serious battles along the Matsuura coastline—not that I can make out, anyway. After the Mongol invasion, Kyushu was not left out of the troubles that would follow, including the downfall of the Hojo, the rise of the Ashikaga, and the eventual breakdown of the shogunal system into the period known as the Warring States period.  Through it all the Matsura continued to ply the seas and encourage the trade from which they and others, like the Sou of Tsushima, came to depend on.  They also allied with other entrepreneurial seafarers, known to others as pirates, and they started trading with a group of weird looking people with hairy beards and pale skin, who came to be known as the Nanban, the southern barbarians—known to us, primarily, as the Portuguese. One faction of the Matsura were the Hata—no relation to the Hata that set up in what would become the Kyoto region in the early periods of Yamato state formation.  The Hata ruled the area that would become Karatsu, but eventually they were taken over by the Ryuzoji, who were allied with Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi's interest in the Karatsu and Matsura area had to do with its easy access to the continent.  And so Hideyoshi began to pay attention to Nagoya, at the end of the peninsula down from Karatsu.  And no, not *that* Nagoya.  If you hear Nagoya, today, you are probably talking about the bustling metropolis in Aichi, which was where Toyotomi himself got his start, growing up and going to work for the local warlord, named Oda Nobunaga.  Due to a quirk of Japanese names and how they read particular characters, this is a different Nagoya. The Kyushu Nagoya had been one of the Matsura trading posts, run by a sub-branch of the Hata family, who had built a castle on the site.  Hideyoshi had much grander plans for the area.  In 1591 he began work on a massive castle and associated castle town.  This castle was to be his new headquarters, and he moved his entire retinue there from Osaka, with an expectation that all of the daimyo would follow him.  Sure enough, they showed up with their own vassals, setting up camps around the peninsula and in the new city-to-be. The castle was the base of operations from which Hideyoshi coordinated the invasions of Korea.  It was a massive undertaking, and extremely impressive.  The city itself sprung up, and although the wood was still new, and the buildings somewhat hastily put together, it was soon a bustling metropolis and briefly became the center of art and culture in the entire archipelago. Hideyoshi himself had a teahouse built within the confines of the castle, where he apparently spent most of his days, even when receiving reports on how things were going across the sea on the archipelago.  The city had a Noh theater, as well.  It must have been a sight to see. As for the castle itself, based on the remains, it was massive.  It appears to use the contours of the hill upon which it sits.  It seems there was a previous castle there of some kind, and it is unclear how much this was merely expanded, but Hideyoshi's new castle was truly monumental, with a labyrinth of gates to get in -- similar  to Himeji Castle, for anyone who has been there, but with a serious vertical incline as well.  Nagoya Castle was second only to Osaka castle, and yet it was erected quickly—only 8 months.  I guess that's what you can do when you can mobilize all of the daimyo across Japan.  Even today, ruined as it is, the walls tower over you, and you can spend hours wandering the grounds. For all that it was impressive, the good times at Nagoya Castle lasted only for a brief seven years—when Hideyoshi passed away, the council of regents moved back to Osaka, and Nagoya castle was deliberately destroyed, stones removed from the walls such that it could never survive a true siege. This was a sign to the Korean peninsula – the Joseon court - that, with the death of the taiko, Japan had given up any pretext of conquering the peninsula. Today, only the stones and earthworks remain of the briefly thriving city, but on the grounds is a wonderful museum that catalogs this particular slice of Medieval life.  The Nagoya Castle Museum of Saga prefecture is off the beaten path—there is no train, so you'll need to take a bus or private car to get there—but it is well worth it. The museum itself is dedicated to Japanese and Korean cross-strait relations, which feels a bit like atonement given that the castle was built with conquest in mind. Of course, the centerpiece of the Museum is the castle, but it also does a good job telling the story of relations between the peninsula and the archipelago.  It starts in the ancient times, talking about how, even during the Jomon period, there were commonalities in fishhooks and similar equipment found from Kyushu up through the Korean peninsula.  From there, of course, trade continued, as we've seen in our journey through the Chronicles.  It talks about some of the shared cultural items found from the Yayoi through the Kofun, and also demonstrates how some of the earliest Buddhist statues have clear similarities to those found in Silla.  It goes over the various missions back and forth, and even gives a map of the Toi Invasion that we talked about hitting Tsushima and Iki. The Mongol invasion is also heavily talked about, but not nearly so much as the invasion of Korea.  There is another reproduction of the letter of King Sejeong, with the faked seal from the Sou clan in Tsushima.  This of course, was the period when they built Nagoya-jo into a castle and city of at least 100,000 people, almost overnight.  Even the Nanban were there, trading in the city while supplies from across the country were gathered and shipped off to keep troops fed on the invasion of Korea. There are plenty of images from this time—from a Ming envoy to Nagoya castle to images of the invasion from the Korean perspective, with Koreanized samurai manning the walls of the castles they had taken.  They don't exactly lionize the samurai, but they don't accentuate some of the more horrific things, either, like the piles of ears taken from those killed because taking their heads, as was standard practice in older days, was too cumbersome. There is also some discussion of relations afterwards—of the Joseon embassies, though those went through Hakata, Nagoya-jo having long been abandoned at that point.  For reasons one can probably understand, it doesn't go into the post-Edo relations, as that is much more modern history. After the destruction of Nagoya castle, the area was largely abandoned, but the city of Karatsu proper really thrived during the Edo period.  Karatsu was also a castle town, as we've mentioned, but a bit out of the way.  As sailing ships were now more sturdy and able to handle longer sea crossings, it was now often Hakata, in Fukuoka, that received much of the trade, and the Dutch traders who had replaced the Portuguese, were limited to Dejima, in Nagasaki. When Hideyoshi swept through, the Hata were not exactly considered trustworthy, and were placed under the Nabeshima, a branch of their rivals, the Ryuzouji.  During the invasion of Korea, the Hata rebelled, and were destroyed for it in 1593.  Their territory was given to Terazawa Hirotaka, who had been put in charge of the construction of Nagoya castle and later put in charge of the logistics for the invasion effort from the Kyushu side.  As a result, he was granted the lands formerly controlled by the Hata, including Karatsu, and what would become the Karatsu domain. Hirotaka could see which way the wind blew—in more ways than one.  After Hideyoshi's death, he supported Tokugawa Ieyasu, allowing him to keep and even expand his fief.  He redirected the Matsura river—then known as the Hata river—to its present course, and he built a pine grove along the northern beach that is the third largest such grove in all of Japan.  Known as the “Niji no Matsubara”, or the ”Rainbow Pine Forest” for its shape, it was erected as a windbreak to protect the precious farmland just on the other side.  It is still there today, still managed, and quite famous.  You can drive through the pine trees or stop and walk through them, even out to the beach.   And there is even a fantastic burger truck that parks along the main road through the pine grove, so you can enjoy a lovely picnic among the trees. The Terazawa would not remain in place for very long.  During the Shimabara rebellion of the early 17th century—a rebellion based on either taxes or Christianity, depending on whom you ask—the Terazawa line was extinguished.  Terazawa Katataka, then ruler of the Karatsu domain, was held liable for mismanagement of the domain and loss of a castle to the rebels.  He had land confiscated and he felt publicly humiliated, and so he took his own life while he was in Edo.  As he had no heir, the Terazawa line died out. Karatsu domain went through a variety of hands after that.  Its value fluctuated, but it is generally thought that the real value of the domain, thanks to the ability to trade, was well beyond what it was assessed to produce.  As such it was a lucrative position, and also held sway as a check against Nagasaki, watching the trade there with the Dutch merchants.  Because of all of this, the lord of Karatsu was also banned from holding certain government positions, so as not to distract from their duties, making the position something of a blessing and a curse. Through the years, Karatsu thrived.  They were and are still known for a type of traditional pottery, known as Karatsumono, or Karatsuware, and they maintain elaborate festivals.  One of the festivals, the Karatsu Kunchi, is considered a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage.The Karatsu Kunchi is an annual parade where neighborhood associations carry giant floats through the city from Karatsu Shrine down to the shore.  It was inspired, in the early 19th century, by the famous Gion Matsuri of Kyoto—a wealthy merchant saw that and donated the first lion-head float to Karatsu Shrine.  Later, others would create their own floats. These floats, known as “Hikiyama” or “pulled mountains” can be five or six meters high and weigh anywhere from two to five tons.  There appear to be 14 hikiyama, currently, though there used to be 15—a black lion is currently missing.  The floats have gone through a few iterations, but are largely the same, and often have some relationship to the neighborhoods sponsoring them. From Matsura, aka Matsuro-koku, we went north along the coast of Kyushu to Itoshima, thought to the be old country of Ito-koku, and beyond that, the Na-koku of Fukuoka.  We'll cover both of those in our next and final installment of our Gishiwajinden tour. If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Ito-koku and Na-koku were the next two countries on the path of the Wei envoys noted in the Gishiwajinden.  They likely refer to the areas known today as Itoshima and Fukuoka, so what do we know about these places in the Yayoi period, and how is it that by the 3rd century Yamato seemed to have taken the foremost position on the archipelago and not one of these other countries, where wet paddy rice agriculture and other continental technologies first arrived in the archipelago. For more see our podcast blog post at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/itoandna Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Gishiwajinden Part Five: Ito-koku and Na-koku This episode we are finishing up our Gishiwajinden Tour, focusing on our journey to Ito-koku and Na-koku, or modern day Itoshima and Fukuoka. We'll talk about what we know from the records of these two areas in the Yayoi and early Kofun periods, and then look at some of the later history, with the development of the Dazaifu, the build up of Hakata and Fukuoka, and more.  A key thread through all of this will be our discussion about why it was Yamato, and not these early states, who eventually became paramount.  If this is where things like wet paddy rice agriculture started, and they had such close ties to the continent, including sending a mission to the Han dynasty, why did the political center shift over to Yamato, instead?  It is certainly something to wonder about, and without anything written down by the elites of Na and Ito we can only really guess based on what we see in the histories and the archaeological record. We ended our tour in Na for a reason: while the Gishiwajinden—the Japanese section of the Wei Chronicles—describes the trip from the continent all the way to Yamatai, the locations beyond Na are largely conjecture.  Did ancient travelers continue from Na along the Japan Sea coast up to Izumo and then travel down somewhere between Izumo and Tsuruga to the Nara Basin?  Or did they travel the Inland Sea Route, with its calmer waters but greater susceptibility to pirates that could hide amongst the various islands and coves?  Or was Yamatai on the island of Kyushu, and perhaps the name just happens to sound similar to the Yamato of Nara?  Unfortunately, the Wei Chronicles have more than a few problems with accuracy, including problems with directions, meaning that at most we have some confidence in the locations out to “Na”, but beyond that it gets more complicated.  And even “Na” has some questions, but we'll get to that later. Unlike the other points on our journey, we didn't stay overnight at “Ito-koku”, , and we only briefly stayed at Na—modern Fukuoka, but I'll still try to give an account of what was going on in both places, and drawing on some past visits to the area to fill in the gaps for you.   Both the Na and Ito sites are believed to be in the modern Fukuoka prefecture, in Itoshima and Fukuoka cities.  Fukuoka prefecture itself actually spans all the way up to the Shimonoseki straits and includes the old territory of Tsukushi—Chikuzen and Chikugo—as well as the westernmost part of Buzen, the “closer” part of the old land of “Toyo” on the Seto Inland Sea side of Kyushu.  When it comes to locating the country of Ito-koku, we have lots of clues from current place names.  The modern Itoshima peninsula, which, in old records, was known as the country of Ito, and was later divided into the districts of Ito and Shima.  Shima district, at the end of the peninsula, may have once been an island—or nearly so.  It is thought that there was a waterway between the two areas, stretching from Funakoshi bay in the south to Imazu Bay, in the north, in Fukuoka proper.  Over time this area was filled in with deposits from the local rivers, making it perfect for the Yayoi style wet rice paddy agriculture that was the hallmark of the growth in that period.  And indeed there are certainly plenty of Yayoi and Kofun era ruins in the area, especially in eastern reaches of the modern city of Itoshima, which reside in the valley that backs up to Mt. Raizan.  There you can find the Ito-koku History Museum, which tells much of the story of Ito. The Weizhi, or the Wei Chronicles, note that Ito-koku had roughly a thousand households, with various officials under their own Queen, making it one of the few Wa countries that the Chroniclers specifically noted as being a “kingdom”, though still under the nominal hegemony of the queen of Yamatai or Yamateg.  If you continue eastward along the coast from Itoshima, you next hit Nishi-ku, the Western Ward, of modern Fukuoka city, which now continues to sprawl around Hakata Bay.  Nishi-ku itself used to also be known as “Ito”, though spelled slightly differently, and you can still find Ito Shrine in the area. So was this part of Ito-koku also? It's very possible.   Na-koku, or the country of Na, was probably on the eastern edge of modern Fukuoka, perhaps around the area known as Hakata down to modern Kasuga.  Much like in Karatsu, this area features some of the earliest rice fields ever found in Japan – in this case, in the Itazuke neighborhood, just south of Fukuoka airport.  The land here is mostly flat, alluvial plains, formed by the rivers that empty out into Hakata Bay, another great area for early rice agriculture. Locating the country of Na is interesting for several reasons.  For one, unlike all of the other Wei Chronicles sites we've mentioned, there is no clear surviving placename that obviously matches up between “Na” and the local area.  It is a short enough name that it may simply be difficult to distinguish which “Na” is meant, though there is a “Naka” district in Kasuga that may show some promise.  There certainly is evidence for a sizeable settlement, but that's much more tenuous than the placenames for other areas, which remained largely in use in some form up to the modern day, it would seem. The name “Na” shows up in more than just the Weizhi, and it is also mentiond in the Houhan-shu, or the Record of the Later Han, a work compiled later than the Weizhi, but using older records from the Late Han dynasty period.  There it is asserted that the country of Na was one of the 99 some-odd countries of Wa, and they sent an embassy to the Later Han court, where they received a gold seal made out to the “King of Na of Wa”.  We talked about this in Episode 10: The Islands of the Immortals: That seal, made of gold, was seemingly found in the Edo period—1784, to be precise.  A farmer claimed to have found it on Shika island, in Hakata Bay, which is quite prominent, and connected to the mainland with a periodically-submerged causeway.  The description of the find—in a box made up of stones, with a large stone on top that required at least two men to move it—seems like it could have been an old burial of some kind.  The island certainly makes sense as an elite burial site, overlooking Hakata Bay, which was likely an important feature of the lifeways of the community.  While there have been questions about the authenticity of the seal, if it is a forgery, it is quite well done.  It looks similar to other Han era seals, and we don't really have a way to date the gold it is made of.  Without the actual context we can't be quite sure. This certainly seems like pretty strong evidence of the country of Na in this area, somewhere – probably not on the island itself, then close by.So unless something else comes along, I think we can say that this is at least the vicinity of the old country of Na.  Okay, so now that we've talked in general about where these two places were, let's go back and look at them in more detail. The Ito-koku site is just up the coast from where we stayed for Matsuro-koku, in Karatsu, which all makes sense from the position of the Chronicles in that it says the early envoys traveled overland from one place to the other.  Of course it also says they traveled southeast, which is not correct as the route is actually northeast.  However, they had traveled southeast from the Korean peninsula to Tsushima and then Iki and Matsuro, so that direction was well established, and this is an easy enough error that could have been made by the actual envoys or by later scribes, as it would be a one character difference. For Ito-koku, as with Matsuro-koku, we have no large, reconstructed sites similar to Harunotsuji on Iki or Yoshinogari, further inland in Saga prefecture, where we have an entire, large, so-called “kingly” settlement.  There is evidence of settlements, though, both near the major burial sites as well as around the peninsula.  And as for those burial sites, well, Ito has a few, and they aren't merely important because of their size.  Size is often an indication of the amount of labor that a leader must have been able to mobilize, and so it can be used to get a general sense of the power that a given leader or system was able to wield, as they could presumably turn that labor to other users as well. However, it is also important to look at other factors, like burial goods. What kind of elite material was the community giving up and placing with the deceased? That is the case with the first site we'll discuss, the Hirabaru burial mound.  At first glance it isn't much—a relatively unassuming square mound, about 12 by 14 meters, and less than 2 meters in height.  It was discovered in 1965 by a farmer who started digging a trench to plant an orchard and started pulling up broken pieces of a bronze mirror, one of the first clues that this was someone important.  They later found various post holes around the site, suggesting that it was more than just an earthen mound, and as they excavated the site they found pottery, beads, mirrors, and more. Let's start with those post-holes.  It looks like there was at least one large pillar set up due east of the burial.  We don't know how tall it was, but it was likely of some height given the size of the pillar hole—I've seen some estimates that it could have been up to 70 meters tall.  A tall pole would have provided visibility, and it may also be significant that it was east, in the direction of the rising sun.  We know that the ancient Wa had a particular connection with the sun, and this may be further evidence of that.  There are other holes that may be a gate, and possible a storehouse nearby, presumably for various ritual items, etc.  Suddenly, even without knowing exactly what was there, we start to see a picture of a large, manmade complex that seems to be centered on this burial and whomever is there. On top of that, there was a mirror in the tomb that was larger than any other ever found in Japan at that time—certainly the largest round mirror of that period.  It is not one of the triangular rimmed mirrors that Yamato is known for, but may have been part of another large cache brought over from the mainland.  About 40 mirrors in total, many of them very large, were found buried in the tomb, some of which appear to have been broken for some reason.  Furthermore, the large mirrors appear to fit within the dimensions given the Great Mirror—the Yata no kagami—housed at the sacred Ise Shrine.  There is a document in 804, the “Koutai Jingu Gishiki Chou”, detailing the rituals of Ise shrine, which describes the sacred mirror sitting in a box with an inner diameter of 1 shaku, 6 sun, and 3 bu, or approximately 49.4 centimeters, at least using modern conversions.  The same measurements are given in the 10th century Engi Shiki.  So we can assume that the mirror in Ise, which nobody is allowed to actually see, let alone measure, is smaller than that, but not by much, as the box would have been made to fit the mirror, specifically.  It isn't like you can just grab a box from Mirror Depot.  The mirrors found at Hirabaru Mound measure 46.5 centimeters, and have a floral pattern with an eight petaled flower on the back.  Could this mirror be from the same mold or the same cache, at least, as the sacred mirror at Ise?  At the very least, they would seem to be of comparable value.   In addition, there were many beads, jars, etc.  Noticeably absent from the burial were swords and weapons.  Based on this, some have argued that this was the burial of a queen of Ito-koku.  There is evidence that this may be the case, but I don't think the presence of weapons, or the lack thereof, is necessarily a good indicator. After all, we see in the old stories that women were also found wielding swords and leading troops into battle. So it's dangerous to make assumptions about gender based on this aspect alone. I wonder if the Hirabaru tomb assemblage might have more to do with something else we see in Yamato and which was likely applicable elsewhere in the archipelago: a system of co-rulership, where one role might have to do more with administrative and/or ritual practice, regardless of gender. This burial assemblage or mirrors and other non-weapons might reflect this kind of position. The Weizhi often mentions “secondary” or “assistant” positions, which may have truly been subordinate to a primary ruler, or could have just been misunderstood by the Wei envoys, who saw everything through their particular cultural stratification.  In a similar fashion, early European explorers would often name people “king”—from the daimyo of Sengoku era Japan to Wahunsenacawh, known popularly as “Powhatan” for the name of his people, on what would become known as North America.  That isn't to say that these weren't powerful individuals, but the term “king” comes with a lot of Eurocentric assumptions and ideas about power, stratification, etc.  Is there any reason to believe that the Wei envoys and later chroniclers were necessarily better at describing other cultures? And of course we don't have any physical remains of the actual individual buried there, either. However, there is a good reason to suggest that this may have been a female ruler, and that *is* because of something in the Weizhi, which specifically says that the people of Ito lived under the rule of a female king, aka a queen, using a description not unlike what is used for Queen Himiko.  In fact, Ito gets some special treatment in the record, even though it isn't the largest of the countries.  Let's look at those numbers first: Tsushima is said to have 1,000 households, while Iki is more like 3,000.  Matsuro is then counted at 4,000 families, but Ito is only said to have 1,000, similar to Tsushima.  Just over the mountains and along the Bay, the country of Na is then counted at a whopping 20,000 households, so 20 times as many.  These numbers are probably not entirely accurate, but do give an impression of scale, at least. But what distinguishes Ito-koku in this is that we are told that it had a special place for envoys from the Korean peninsula to rest when they came.  It makes you wonder about this little place called Ito. Hirabaru is not the only kingly tomb in the area.  Walk about 20 to 30 minutes further into the valley, and you might just find a couple of other burials—in particular Mikumo-Minami Shouji, discovered in 1822, and Iwara-Yarimizo, which includes artifacts discovered in the 1780s in the area between Mikumo and Iwara as they were digging a trench.  Based on evidence and descriptions, we know that they pulled out more bronze mirrors and other elite goods indicative of the late Yayoi paramounts. In these areas they have also found a number of post holes suggesting other buildings—enough to perhaps have a relatively large settlement. As noted earlier, we do not have a reconstructed village like in Harunotsuji or Yoshinogari, given that these are private fields, so the shape of the ancient landscape isn't as immediately impressive to people looking at the area, today.  The apparent dwellings are largely found in the triangle created between two rivers, which would have been the water source for local rice paddies.  The tombs and burials are found mostly on the outskirts, with the exception of the kingly burial of Mikumo-Minami Shouji.  This is also interesting when you consider that the later Hirabaru mound was situated some distance away, raising a bunch of questions that we frankly do not have answers for. The area of these ruins is not small.  It covers roughly 40.5 hectares, one of the largest Yayoi settlements so far discovered.  Of course, traces of other large settlements—like something in the Fukuoka area or back in Yamato—may have been destroyed by later construction, particularly in heavily developed areas.  This is interesting, though, when you consider that the Weizhi only claimed some 1,000 households. There are also other graves, such as various dolmens, across Ito and Shima, similar to those found on the peninsula, and plenty of other burials across both ancient districts.  And as the Yayoi culture shifted, influence of Yamato can be seen.  While Ito-koku clearly had their own burial practices, which were similar to, but not exactly like, those in the rest of the archipelago, we can see them start to adopt the keyhole style tomb mounds popular in Yamato. During the kofun period, the area of Itoshima built at least 60 identified keyhole shaped tombs, with a remarkable number of them from the early kofun period.  Among these is Ikisan-Choushizuka Kofun, a large, round keyhole tomb mound with a vertical stone pit burial, estimated to have been built in the latter half of the 4th century.  At 103 meters in length, it is the largest round keyhole tomb on the Genkai coast—that is to say the northwest coast of Kyushu. All of these very Yamato-style tombs would appear to indicate a particular connection between Ito and  Yamato—though what, exactly, that looked like is still up for debate.  According to the various early Chronicles, of course, this would be explained because, from an early period, Yamato is said to have expanded their state to Kyushu and then even on to the Korean peninsula.  In particular, the Chronicles talk about “Tsukushi”, which is both used as shorthand for the entirety of Kyushu, while also indicating the area largely encompassing modern Fukuoka prefecture.  On the other hand, this may have been a sign of Ito demonstrating its own independence and its own prestige by emulating Yamato and showing that they, too, could build these large keyhole tombs.  After all, the round keyhole shape is generally thought to have been reserved, in Yamato, for members of the royal family, and Ito-koku may have been using it similarly for their own royal leaders.  It may even be something in between—Ito-koku may have recognized Yamato's influence and leadership, but more in the breach than in actuality.  Afterall, until the standup of things like the various Miyake and the Dazai, we aren't aware of a direct outpost of the Yamato government on Kyushu.  The Miyake, you may recall, were the ”royal granaries”, which were basically administrative regions overseeing rice land that was directly controlled by Yamato, while the Dazai was the Yamato government outpost in Kyushu for handling continental affairs.  On top of a lack of local control in the early Kofun, the Weizhi appears to suggest that the Yamato paramount, Himiko, was the “Queen of the Wa” only through the consensus of other polities, but clearly there were other countries in the archipelago that did not subscribe to her blog, as it were, as they were in open conflict with Yamato.  This all leads into something we've talked about in the main podcast at various times, but it still bears discussing:  How did Yamato, over in the Nara Basin, become the center of political life in the Japanese archipelago, and why not somewhere in Kyushu, like ancient Na or Ito?  While we don't entirely know, it is worth examining what we do and some of the factors that may have been in play.  After all, Kyushu was the closest point of the main Japanese islands to the mainland, and we see that the Yayoi culture gets its start there.  From there, Yayoi culture spread to the east, and if we were to apply similar assumptions as we do on the spread of the keyhole shaped kofun, we would assume that the culture-givers in the west would have held some level of prestige as groups came to them to learn about this new technology, so why wasn't the capital somewhere in Kyushu?  We likewise see other such things—Yayoi pottery styles, fired in kilns, rather than open fired pottery; or even bronze items brought over from the continent.  In almost every instance, we see it first in Kyushu, and then it diffuses eastward up to the edge of Tohoku.  This pattern seems to hold early on, and it makes sense, as most of this was coming over from the continent. Let's not forget, though, that the Yayoi period wasn't simply a century: by our most conservative estimates it was approximately 600 years—for reference, that would be roughly equivalent to the period from the Mongol invasions up to the end of the Edo period, and twice as long as the period from Mimaki Iribiko to the Naka-no-Oe in 645, assuming that Mimaki Iribiko was ruling in the 3rd century.  So think about all that has happened in that time period, mostly focused on a single polity, and then double it.  More recent data suggests that the Yayoi period may have been more like an 1100 to 1300 year range, from the earliest start of rice cultivation.  That's a long time, and enough time for things in the archipelago to settle and for new patterns of influence to form.  And while Kyushu may have been the first region to acquire the new rice growing technology, it was other areas around the archipelago that would begin to truly capitalize on it. We are told that by the time the Wei envoys arrived that the state of Yamato, which we have no reason not to believe was in the Nara Basin, with a focus on the area of modern Sakurai, had approximately 70,000 households.  That is huge.  It was larger than Na, Ito, and Matsuro, combined, and only rivaled in the Weizhi by Touma-koku, which likely referred to either the area of Izumo, on the Japan Sea coast, or to the area of Kibi, along the Seto Inland Sea, both of which we know were also large polities with significant impact in the chronicles.  And here there is something to consider about the Yayoi style agriculture—the land determined the ultimate yield.  Areas with more hills and mountains are not as suited to wet rice paddy agriculture.  Meanwhile, a flat basin, like that in Yamato, which also has numerous rivers and streams draining from the surrounding mountains into the basin and then out again, provided the possibility for a tremendous population, though no doubt it took time to build. During that time, we definitely see evidence of the power and influence of places like Na and Ito.  Na sent an embassy to the Han court—an incredible journey, and an indication of not only their interest in the Han court and continental trade, but also their ability to gather the resources necessary for such a journey, which likely required some amount of assistance from other, nearby polities.  Na must have had some sway back then, we would assume. Meanwhile, the burial at Ito shows that they were also quite wealthy, with clear ties to the continent given their access to large bronze mirrors.  In the absence of other data, the number and size of bronze mirrors, or similar bronze items, likely only useful for ritual purposes, indicates wealth and status, and they had some of the largest mirrors as well as the largest collection found for that period.  Even into the stories in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki we see how mirrors, swords, and jewels all are used a symbols of kingship.  Elite status was apparently tied to material items, specifically to elite trade goods.  Assuming Yamato was able to grow its population as much as is indicated in the Weizhi, then by the 3rd century, they likely had the resources to really impress other groups.  Besides things like mirrors, we can probably assume that acquisition of other goods was likewise important.  Both Ito and Yamato show evidence of pottery shards from across the archipelago, indicating extensive trade networks.  But without any other differentiating factors, it is likely that Yamato, by the 3rd century, at least, was a real powerhouse.  They had a greater production capacity than the other states listed in the Weizhi, going just off of the recorded human capital. And this may answer a question that has been nagging me for some time, and perhaps others:  Why did other states acquiesce to Yamato rule?  And the answer I keep coming back to is that it was probably a combination of wealth, power, prestige, ritual, and time. For one thing, wealth: Yamato had it.  That meant they could also give it.  So, if Yamato was your friend, you got the goods, and you had access to what you need.  You supported them, they could help you with what you needed.  These transactional alliances are not at all uncommon, and something I think most of us can understand. There is also power—specifically military power.  With so many people, Yamato would likely have been a formidable threat should they decide that violence was the answer.  That said, while we read of military campaigns, and no doubt they did go out and fight and raid with the best of them, it's expensive to do so.  Especially exerting control over areas too far out would have been problematic, especially before writing AND horses.  That would be costly, and a drain on Yamato's coffers.  So while I do suspect that various military expeditions took place, it seems unlikely that Yamato merely bested everyone in combat.  Military success only takes you so far without constant maintenance. And so here is where I think prestige and ritual come into play.  We've talked about how Yamato did not exactly “rule” the archipelago—their direct influence was likely confined to the Kinki region for the longest period of time.  And yet we see that they influenced people out on the fringes of the Wa cultural sphere: when they started building large, keyhole shaped kofun for their leaders, and burying elites only one to a giant mound, the other areas of Japan appear to have joined in.  Perhaps Yamato was not the first to build a kofun for a single person, but they certainly were known for the particular shape that was then copied by so many others.  But why? We don't know for certain, but remember that in Yamato—and likely the rest of the Wa cultural sphere—a large part of governance was focused on ritual.  The natural and what we would consider the supernatural—the visible and invisible—worked hand in hand.  To have a good harvest, it required that workers plant, water, harvest, etc. in the right seasons and in the right way.  Likewise, it was considered equally important to have someone to intercede with the kami—to ensure that the rains come at the right time, but not too much, and a host of other natural disasters that could affect the crop. And if you want to evaluate how well ritual works, well, look at them.   Are you going to trust the rituals of someone whose crops always fail and who barely has a single bronze mirror?  Or are you going to trust the rituals of someone with a thriving population, multiple mirrors, and more?  Today, we might refer to this as something like the prosperity gospel, where wealth, good health, and fortune are all seen as stemming from how well one practices their faith, and who's to say that back in the day it wasn't the same?  Humans are going to human, after all. So it makes sense that one would give some deference to a powerhouse like Yamato and even invite their ritualists to come and help teach you how it is done.  After all, the local elites were still the ones calling the shots.  Nothing had really changed. And here is where time comes in.  Because over time what started as an alliance of convenience became entrenched in tradition.  Yamato's status as primus inter pares, or first among equals, became simply one of primus.  It became part of the unspoken social contract.  Yamato couldn't push too hard on this relationship, at least not all at once, but over time they could and did demand more and more from other states. I suspect, from the way the Weizhi reads, that Yamato was in the early stages of this state development.  The Weizhi makes Queen Himiko feel like something of a consensus candidate—after much bickering, and outright fighting, she was generally accepted as the nominal paramount.  There is mention of a male ruler, previously, but we don't know if they were a ruler in Yamato, or somewhere else, nor if it was a local elite or an earlier paramount.  But not everyone in the archipelago was on board—Yamato did have rivals, somewhere to the south (or north?); the directions in the Weizhi are definitely problematic, and it may refer to someone like the Kuma or Kumaso people in southern Kyushu or else people that would become known as the Emishi further to the east of Yamato. This lasted as long as Yamato was able to continue to demonstrate why they were at the top of this structure.  Theoretically, anyone else could climb up there as well, and there are certainly a few other powerful states that we can identify, some by their mention and some by their almost lack of mention.  Izumo and Kibi come to mind almost immediately. The Weizhi makes it clear that Himiko's rule was not absolute, and part of her reaching out to the Wei in the first place may have been the first attempt at something new—external validation by the continent.  A large part of international diplomacy is as much about making people believe you have the power to do something as actually having that power.  Getting recognition from someone like the Wei court would further legitimize Yamato's place at the top of the heap, making things easier for them in the long run. Unfortunately, it seems like things did not go so smoothly, and after Himiko's death, someone else came to power, but was quickly deposed before a younger queen took over—the 13 year old Toyo.  Of course, the Wei and then the Jin had their own problems, so we don't get too many details after that, and from there we lose the thread on what was happening from a contemporary perspective.  Instead, we have to rely on the stories in the Nihon Shoki and Kojiki, which are several hundred years after the fact, and clearly designed as a legitimizing narrative, but still present us something of a picture.  We don't see many stories of local elites being overthrown, though there do seem to be a fair number of military campaigns.  Nonetheless, even if they were propped up by Yamato, local elites likely had a lot of autonomy, at least early on, even as they were coopted into the larger Yamato umbrella.  Yamato itself also saw ups and downs as it tried to figure out how to create a stable succession plan from one ruler to the next.  At some point they set up a court, where individuals from across the archipelago came and served, and they created alliances with Baekje, on the peninsula, as well as with another polity which we know of as Nimna.  Through them, Yamato continued to engage with the continent when the dynastic struggles there allowed for it.  The alliance with Baekje likely provided even more legitimacy for Yamato's position in the archipelago, as well as access to continental goods. Meanwhile the court system Yamato set up provided a means for Yamato to, itself, become a legitimizing factor. Hierarchical differences in society were already visible in the Yayoi period, so we can generally assume that the idea of social rank was not a new concept for Yamato or the other Wa polities.  This is eventually codified into the kabane system, but it is probably likely that many of the kabane came about, originally, as titles of rank used within the various polities.  Yamato's ability to claim to give—or even take away—that kabane title, would have been a new lever of power for Yamato.  Theoretically, other polities could just ignore them and keep going on with their daily lives, but if they had already bought into the social structure and worldview that Yamato was promoting, then they likely would have acquiesced, at least in part, to Yamato's control. Little by little, Yamato's influence grew, particularly on those closer to the center.  Those closer, and more affected, started to listen to Yamato's rules about kofun size and shape, while those further on the fringes started to adopt Yamato's traditions for themselves, while perhaps maintaining greater independence. An early outlier is the Dazai.  It is unclear whether this was forcibly imposed on the old region of Na and nearby Ito, or if it was more diplomatically established.  In the end, though, Yamato established an outpost in the region early on, almost before they started their practice of setting up “miyake”, the various royal granaries that appear to have also become local Yamato government offices in the various lands.  The Dazai was more than just a conduit to accept taxes in the form of rice from various locals—it was also in charge of missions to the continent.  Whether they were coming or going, military or diplomatic, the Dazai was expected to remain prepared.  The early iterations were likely in slightly different locations, and perhaps not as large, but still in roughly the area near modern Fukuoka and Dazai.  This was a perfect place not only from which to prepare to launch or receive missions from the continent, but also to defend the nearby Shimonoseki straits, which was an important entryway into the Seto Inland Sea, the most direct route to Naniwa and the Yamato court. The first iterations of direct Yamato control in Tsukushi—modern Fukuoka—claim to have been focused largely on being a last point to supply troops heading over to fight on the peninsula, not unlike the role of Nagoya castle on the Higashi-Matsuura peninsula in the 16th century.  Over time, though, it grew into much more.  The Weizhi, for its part mentions something in the land of Ito, where there were rooms set up for envoys from the continent, but the Dazai was this on steroids. Occasionally we see evidence of pushback against Yamato's expansion of powers.  Early on, some states tried to fool the envoys into thinking that they were Yamato, perhaps attempting to garner the trade goods for themselves and to take Yamato's place as the interlocutor between the Wa polities and the continent.  We also see outright rebellions—from Iwai in Kyushu, in the 6th century, but also from various Emishi leaders as well.  The Iwai rebellion may have been part of the impetus for setting up the Dazai as a way to remotely govern Tsukushi—or at least help keep people in line.  For the most part, though, as time goes by, it would seem that Yamato's authority over other polities just became tradition, and each new thing that Yamato introduced appears to have been accepted by the various other polities, over time.  This is likely a much more intricate process than even I'm describing here, but I'm not sure that it was necessarily a conscious one; as the concept of Yamato as the “paramount” state grew, others ceded it more and more power, which only fed Yamato's self-image as the paramount state.  As the elites came under the Yamato court and rank system, they were more closely tied to it, and so Yamato's increased power was, in a way, passed on to them as well.  At least to those who bought in. By the 5th century, we know that there were families sending people to the court from as far away as Hi no Kuni in Kyushu—near modern Kumamoto—and Musashi no Kuni in the east—including modern Saitama.  All of that said, while they may have subordinated themselves to Yamato in some ways, the various polities still maintained some independent actions and traditions.  For example, whatever their connection to Yamato, the tombs at Itoshima also demonstrate a close connection to the peninsula.  The horizontal entry chamber style of tomb—something we saw a lot in Iki, and which seems to have been introduced from the continent—started to become popular in the latter half of the 4th century, at least in the west of the archipelago. This is well before we see anything like it in Yamato or elsewhere, though it was eventually used across the archipelago.  Itoshima appears to have been an early adopter of this tomb style, picking it up even before the rest of the archipelago caught on, making them the OG horizontal chambers, at least in Japan. Ultimately, the image we have of Ito-koku is of an apparently small but relatively influential state with some influence on the cross-strait trade, with close ties to Yamato. The history of the region seems a bit murky past the Kofun period.  There are earthworks of an old mountain castle on Mt. Raizan that could be from the Asuka period, and in the 8th century the government built Ito castle on the slopes of Mt. Takaso, possibly to provide some protection to the Dazaifu, which was the Yamato outpost in Kyushu, and eventually became the main administrative center for the island.  It seems, then, that whatever power the country of Ito may have once had, it was subsumed by the Dazai, which was built a little inland, east of the old Na territory.  Furthermore, as ships grew more seaworthy over time, they could make the longer voyages straight to Iki or Tsushima from Hakata.  For the most part, the area of the Itoshima peninsula seems to have been merely a set of districts in the larger Tsukushi and then the Chikuzen provinces.  The area of Na, meanwhile, which is said to have had 20,000 households in the 3rd century—much larger than nearby Ito—was completely eclipsed by the Dazaifu after the Iwai rebellion.  After the fall of Baekje, the Dazaifu took on even greater administrative duties, and eventually took over all diplomatic engagement with the continent.  They even set up a facility for hosting diplomatic envoys from the continent.  This would come to be known as the Kourokan, and they actually found the ruins of it near the site where Maizuru castle was eventually built in what is now Chuo-ku, or the central ward, of Fukuoka city. From the Heian period onwards, the Harada family eventually came to have some power in the area, largely subordinate to others, but they built another castle on Mt. Takaso, using some of the old Ito Castle earthworks, and participated in the defense of the nation during the Mongol invasions. The Harada family rose briefly towards the end of the Sengoku Period, pushing out the Otomo as Hideyoshi's campaign swept into Kyushu.  They weren't quite fast enough to join Hideyoshi's side, though, and became subordinate to Kato Kiyomasa and eventually met their end during the Invasions of Korea. The Ito district at some point after that became part of the So clan's holdings, falling under Tsushima's purview, along with a scattering of districts elsewhere, all likely more about the revenue produced than local governance.  In the Edo period, there were some efforts to reclaim land in Imazu bay, further solidifying links with the Itoshima peninsula and the mainland, but that also fits in with the largely agricultural lifestyle of the people in the region.  It seems to have remained largely a rural backwater up into modern times, when the Ito and Shima districts were combined into an administrative district known as “Itoshima city”. Meanwhile, the Dazaifu continued to dominate the region of modern Fukuoka.  Early on, worried about a Silla-Tang alliance, the Yamato state built massive forts and earthworks were built around the Dazaifu to protect the region from invasion.  As the Tang dynasty gave way to the Song and Yuan dynasties, however, and the Heian court itself became more insular, the Dazaifu's role faded, somewhat.  The buildings were burned down in the 10th century, during the failed revolt of Fujiwara no Sumitomo.  The government never rebuilt, and instead the center of regional government shifted to Hakata, closer to the bay. Appointed officials to the Dazai were known as the Daini and the Shoni.  Mutou Sukeyori was appointed as Dazai Shoni, the vice minister of the Dazaifu, in the late 12th century.  Though he had supported the Taira in the Genpei wars, he was pardoned and made the guardian of Northern Kyushu, to help keep the region in check for the newly established Kamakura Bakufu.  He would effectively turn that into a hereditary position, and his family became known as the “Shoni”, with their position eventually coming to be their family name.  They would provide commendable service against the Mongol invasion, and eventually became the Shugo Daimyo over much of western Kyushu and the associated islands, though not without pushback from others in the region. Over time, the power of the Shoni waned and various other daimyo began to rise up.  The chaos of the Sengoku period saw the entire area change hands, back and forth, until Hideyoshi's invasion of Kyushu.  Hideyoshi divided up control of Kyushu, and Chikuzen, including the areas of Hakata and modern Itoshima, was given to Kobayakawa Takakage.  Hideyoshi also began to redevelop the port of Hakata.  After the battle of Sekigahara, Kobayakawa Hideaki, Takakage's adopted son and nephew to the late Hideyoshi, was transferred to the fief of Okayama, and the area of modern Fukuoka city was given to Kuroda Nagamasa, creating the Fukuoka Han, also known as the Kuroda Han. Nagamasa would go on to build Maizuru Castle on the other side of the Naka river from the port of Hakata, creating two towns with separate administration, each of which fell under the ultimate authority of the Kuroda.  Hakata, on the east side of the river, was a city of merchants while Fukuoka was the castle town, and largely the domain of samurai serving the Kuroda.  The Kuroda would remain in control of the Fukuoka domain through the Edo period, and only lost control at the very start of the Meiji, as the domain system in general was dissolved. Over that time, Hakata remained an important port city, and the samurai of Fukuoka were known for maintaining their martial traditions. In the Meiji era, samurai from the Kuroda Han joined with other Kyushu samurai, rising up during Saigo Takamori's rebellion.  Later, it would be former samurai and others from Fukuoka who would form the Gen'yosha, an early right wing, nationalist organization that would greatly influence the Japanese government heading into the latter part of the 19th and early 20th century. But that is getting well into more modern territory, and there is so much else we could discuss regarding the history of this area, and with any luck we will get to it all in time.  For now, this concludes our Gishiwajinden Tour—we traveled from Kara, to Tsushima and Iki, and then on to Matsuro, Ito, and Na.  From here the envoys traveled on to Fumi, Toma, and then Yamato.  Fumi and Toma are still elusive locations, with various theories and interpretations as to where they were.   For us, this was the end of our journey. Next episode we will be back with the Chronicles and getting into the Taika era, the era of Great Change.  There we will really see Yamato starting to flex its administrative muscles as it brings the various polities of the archipelago together into a single state, which will eventually become known as the country of Nihon, aka Japan. Until then, thank you for listening.  If you like what we are doing, tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to us at our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

We are finally starting to get into the Taika era and the Taika reforms, which would really start the transformation of Yamato into the bureaucratic state of the Nara period.  This episode, we look back at how the Yamato state had been changing up to this point, some of the possible influences and precursors, and then dive into some of the first edicts, largely dealing with sending out governors to the provinces.  These governors, or "kokushi", were originally temporary positions, limited in what they could do.  More info over at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-108  Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 108: The Great Change ……………….. The Kuni no Miyatsuko, hereditary leader of his lands, likely heard the news before they arrived.  Apparently Yamato was sending out an official—a kokushi—who was going to be doing some sort of survey.  Whatever.  Just another person from Yamato's court—what did it matter?  His family had been in charge of the local lands for as long as anyone remembered, and while they might give nominal fealty to the Oho-kimi in Yamato, along with the occasional bit of taxes, paid in rice, what consequence was it to him?  Some might say he was a big fish in a small pond, but it was his pond.  Always had been, and always would be.  Wouldn't it? ……………….. And we are back with our regular chronological podcast, and we are finally going to pick back up on the fall out from the events of 645, the Isshi Incident, when Prince Naka no Oe orchestrated the murder of Soga no Iruka, and later his father, Soga no Emishi, in full view of the court, including his mother, Takara, aka Kougyoku Tennou.  That incident would be the start of Naka no Oe's own rise to power and the reshaping of Yamato from the its longstanding clan based system of government to a new national government of laws and punishments, known generally as the Ritsuryo system.  This episode we'll dive into this new system and the so-called “Taika reforms” that brought it about, the changes it ushered in, and the ripples this sent throughout the entire archipelago.     The term “Taika” itself means “Great Change”, and it isn't clear to me if it was picked because they expected to be making big changes or after the fact, but in the minds of most Japanese historians it is quite accurate. The entire system actually took about a century or so to really come together—we often think of the Ritsuryo system as it was in its final version.  This period, though, is where things kicked off, so we'll be setting the stage and talking about some of the edicts during this period that eventually became the written code of the Ritsuryo system.  This was started by Naka no Oe who, spoiler alert, would eventually reign as sovereign and be known as Tenchi Tennou.  The system he helps put into place would continue to be used and refined even after his death and even after the end of the period covered by the Nihon Shoki. So after some background, we'll get to some of the very first edicts this episode, and then spend more time on them again, in the future. The RitsuryoThe Ritsuryo system was based largely on continental models, with Confucian ideals and the legal code of the Tang dynasty having particular influence.  And as we discuss these changes, which were huge, I'll start with some clarifications and caveats.  This was a system of government based largely on continental models, with Confucian ideals and the legal code of the Tang dynasty having particular influence.  That   One of the first things to emphasize is that said, itthis wasn't exactly an immediate revolution and reformation.  Based on the entries in the Nihon Shoki, some of the work had already  been started long before Naka no Oe came on the scene, largely attributed to the influence of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, and things like the 17 article constitution and rank system, which we discussed back in episode 95.  And even after its initial implementation, there would come various tweaks to the system.  Although there are numerous edicts made in the initial years of what is known as the Taika era, leading this change to often be given the nickname of the “Taika reforms”, the earliest formal administrative codes would come much later, firming up in the 8th century. Another thing to keep in mind as we realize, as we start looking at these changes is that the Yamato courtit didn't necessarily discard the old system, either.  Changes like this take time, and something even if it is implemented for a year or two , it might not stick.  This is one of the reasons that it is important that two of the apparent architects of the new system for these changes were there present through much of its implementation, actively guiding and shaping the process direction that the changes would take.  These two individuals at wereas Prince Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamako, later known in this reign as Kamatari, which is the name I'm going to use from here on out as it is the much more well known in case anyone decides to look up information later. Finally, I would also note that many of these changes were being applied at the level of the elites of society, how they organized power and how they approached governance – but  we should also spare a thought for how this affected the majority of people.  After all, it was the majority of people who were working the fields, cutting the wood, or fishing the seas.  The elites were often otherwise engaged, and whichthat isn't to say that they did nothing.  Often they were coordinating and bringing things together, but that was a smaller part of the overall population.  In these reforms we get to see some rare glimpses into how all of thisit may have affected people beyond just the court elites. To set this up, let's start with a look at what brought us here, and how things changed over time and how they had governed things up until now—or at least as best as we can make out from our various sources.  From there we can take a look at some of the earliest edicts related to the changes evolution in the government, focusing how they focused on consolidating the power and support at the center of the Yamato court and starteding to make more concrete Yamato's control across the rest of the archipelago. We've covered much of the development of complex society in Yamato this in previous episodes:  How Yayoi society came with or at least introduced a form of stratification evident in graves, grave goods, as well as other patterns of lifeways.  Local elites rose up to oversee communities, and eventually extended their influence, creating the various “kuni”, or countries—regional collections of communities that came together under a leadership structure and some shared cultural values.   Some of the earliest stories give us the Hiko-Hime leadership structure, often with a male and female head of state, though sometimes shown as elder and younger co-rulers.  This is backed up by some evidence in the kofun era, as we see large, single-purpose tomb mounds built for what we can only assume are the elite.  Their construction would have required control of a large labor force, indicating a certain amount of their power, and their shape and various burial goods have further suggested, at least to scholars like Kishimoto, that there may have been a division of rulership, at least early on. We've talked about the spread of Yamato style round keyhole shaped kofun through the archipelago and how the popularity of that kofun shape demonstrated Yamato's influence but  in the shape of their kofun, but that didn't necessarily accompany a change in  change the actual dynamics of local government, other than demonstrating Yamato's increased influence.  The next thing we see in the record, I would argue, is the change to a familial based system, or the Bemin-sei.  This is what we've talked about periodically in terms of both the uji, familial groups or clans, and the “be” familial or occupational groups, but here I'll give an overview of the whole practice and what its development means in the sense of changing approaches to organizing and governing a complex society. The Bemin system was a means of further dividing and categorizing people in society, .  It is  rooted in continental concepts of a familial group.  Prior to the 5th century, there isn't a clear indication of familial clans in Yamato, though that doesn't mean people didn't know where they were from.  They still remembered who their ancestors were, and that was important, often tracing back to mythical and legendary individuals who are recorded as gods, or kami.  I suspect, however, that in the smaller communities of the Yayoi period, where you were from was as a good an indicator of your relationships as anything else.  Farming is a pretty sedentary lifestyle, and if you know all of your neighbors there isn't as much need to divide each other up into specific familial groups.  It was more important that I'm from this village or region than I'm from this particular family. And so the oldest stories in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki only refer to individuals by their names or by locatives.  Occasionally we will be told that so-and-so was an ancestor of this or that uji, or clan, but it is telling that they don't use the clan name with that person. Surnames do become important, however, in the Bemin system.  But they are only really important for those in the upper tiers of society.  Amongst the farmers and other commoners—the heimin—you often won't find specific surnames, or people will use pure locatives or something similar to refer to a person.  Surnames were for people a little further up the social food chain. From what we can tell, the uji structure likely started with the “-Be” families, trying to set up groups of individuals who were in charge of certain economic activities beyond just farming the land.  The Imbe, the Mononobe, the Abe, the Kuratsukuribe, and the Kusakabe are all examples of family names ending in “-Be”.  Some, like Kuratsukuribe, Inukaibe, and Umakaibe are all fairly straightforward:  These are groups that were set up around particular industries.  Kuratsukuri literally means “saddle-making”, so the Kuratsukuri-be are the saddlemakers.  Inukai and Umakai refer to the ones who kept or raised the dogs and horses. Setting up a familial or clan unit around a certain profession was one way of organizing society so that you had the things that you needed.  Such jobs were often inherited, anyway, passing from father to son, mother to daughter, etc.  So it makes some sense.  And the clan, or uji, structure meant that there was a person or persons at the head of the familial unit who could be responsible for coordinating efforts across different, sometimes dispersed, groups of people. The thing is, there is no indication that the people in these professions were necessarily related to each other prior to this organization, and in many ways the idea that they were a family with a common ancestor was a created fiction.  There may have been some relationship—for instance, weaver groups were often centered on immigrant groups that came over from the continent with knowledge of specific techniques, so there was likely some pre-existing relationship, but they weren't necessarily what we would consider family, related by blood, to one another. Over time these groups became actual clans—children were born into them and remained, unless they specifically were split off into a different uji for some reason.  Some of them dropped the “-Be” part of their name—in some instances it seems this may have created a distinction between the line at the head of the clan vice the other members, but that distinction isn't entirely clear.  Furthermore, members of these clans were not, ultimately, restricted to the hereditary jobs for which the clan had been created.  There are also clans that appear to be more about location, possibly local rulers or magnates.  For example, there are the Munakata and the Miwa, referring to local chiefs or lords of the Munakata and Miwa areas, both important ritual areas. The clans formed another function as well, as each clan had a kabane, which was an early form of social rank.  Some of these ranks appear to have come from titles or positions.  So, for instance, you have the Omi, the Muraji, the Kimi, and the Atahe.  Early on, Muraji appears to be the more prestigious title, with the Ohomuraji being the head of a Muraji level house that was also a key member of the government.  Omi, meaning minister, eventually came to be seen as more prestigious, however.  Meanwhile, both were more presitiousprestigious than the term “Kimi”, although that may have originated as a term for the rulers of the local countries, which makes sense if you consider that the Yamato sovereign was the Oho-kimi, or the Great Kimi, much as the Oho-omi was in charge of an Omi group and the Ohomuraji was in charge of a Muraji level house.  There are also Omi and Muraji households for whom there is no Oho-omi or Oho-muraji ever mentioned, but only members of the Omi and Muraji ranked families were considered for positions at the top of the court hierarchy.  This All of this clan and rank system began to change in the 6th century during the reign of Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, with the introduction of the 17 article constitution and new rank system.  While both of these developments are of debatable veracity, since the chroniclers likely made this change seem much more structured than it actually was in practice, —there is probably at least something to the idea that the Yamato court y werewas adopting more continental ideas regarding state governance.  The rank system, in particular, was a step towards recognizing individuals above simply their inherited social position.  While kabane rank was applied to an entire uji, the new rank was applied to individuals alone, meaning that an individual could be recognized without necessarily rewarding every other person holding their same surname.  At the same time, more and more books were coming in from the continent.  Some of these were focused on the new Buddhist religion, but there were also other works, based on a variety of subjects and introducing the Yamato court to some of the philosophical ideas of what government should be.  And then there were various envoys sent to the Sui and Tang courts in the early 7th century, where they would have seen how things were working there. Nonetheless, to be clear, we don't know it is unclear just how far Yamato control extended across the archipelago.  We know that in the 5th century there were individuals who considered themselves part of the Yamato court structure from the Kantou to Kyuushuu.  In the Nihon Shoki, we also see the establishment of Miyake up and down the archipelago, from as far out as Kamitsukenu, aka Kozuke, to the western edge of Kyushu, in the early 6th century.  These were areas of rice-land which owed their output to the Yamato court or a particular endeavor.  They would have had officials there tied to the court to oversee the miyake, providing a local court presence, but how much this translated into direct Yamato control is hard to say. Then there is the Dazai , the Yamato outpost in Kyushu,  set up in the area of Tsukushi, modern Fukuoka Prefecture, largely following the Iwai Rebellion, and which we .  We talked about this some in the Gishiwajinden Tour episode about Ito and Na, extending a more directand how the Yamato government extended a more direct, and explicitly military, presence in Kyushu. Still, the individual lands of places like Hi, Toyo, Kibi, Owari, or Musashi were all governed by the Kuni no Miyatsuko, the Yamato court's term for the various chieftains or rulers of the different lands. And that gets us roughly to the situation where we are now, in 645.  Prince Naka no Oe hadand been talking with his good friend Nakatomi no Kamatari about how things should be, ever since the day that Kamatari had helped him out at a kemari game—something akin to group hackey-sack with a volleyball.  As we've discussed in past episodes, a lot of this sense of “how things should be” related to nipping the power of Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi in the bud, cutting off what they no doubt saw as a thread to imperial power and the ”right way of doing things”.  But Tthe two had also been taking lessons from the Priest Minabuchi, and, like students everywhere, they thought they had figured this whole government thing out as well.  They'd been reading the classics and would have had access to the reports from various envoys and ambassadors to the Tang court.  The last one had left in 630 and returned in 632.  They would no doubt have seen the workings of the Tang dynasty law code of 624 and the subsequent update in 627.  Naka no Oe and Kamatari may have even heard news of the update in 637. Thise law code, implemented by Tang Taizong, relied on Confucian and Legalist theory.  It wasn't the first law code in East Asia, or even the Yellow River basin , but it is one of the most significant and influential, and the earliest for which we have the actual code itself—though the extant version is from 653, about eight years after the events of 645., butHowever, as we'll see, all of this was well withing the timeframe which the Ritsuryo system was used and updated, itself. So, Naka no Oe and Kamatari have a shiny new document in their hands, promising an organized system of government very different from the status quo in Yamato to date.  However, the Tang law code did have a problem:  It was undeniably centered in the imperial culture of the Yellow River and Yangzi River basins.  These areas had long had the concept of empire, and even in the chaotic period of the Sixteen Kingdoms and the Northern and Southern dynasties, the concept of an empire that ruled “All Under Heaven”, or “Tianxia” was something that people generally accepted.  The Wa polities of the Japanese archipelago, even as they were now consuming media from the continent, still operated under their own cultural imaginaries of how the world was ordered and how government operated.  And so the code couldn't just be adopted wholesale:  It would have to be adapted to the needs and demands of the Wa polity. I should note that this was unlikely the reforms that took place in Yamato were sole effort of Naka no Oe and Kamatari, and much of what is written suggests that this wasn't done simply through autocratic fiat, but included some key politicking.  This started even before the Isshi Incident.  Kamatari already had close ties with Prince Karu before he met with Naka no Oe.  Kamatari and Naka no Oe had also brought Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro into their confidence, a member of the Soga family.  The Fujiwara family history, the Toushi Kaden, compiled by Fujiwara Nakamaro in the 8th century, describes Maro—referenced as Soga no Yamada—as a man of particular and upright character.  He also appears to have had a beef with his cousin , Soga no Iruka, and was ambitious. I'm not sure just how much Naka no Oe and Kamatari were sharing their plans about reforming the State at this point, or if they were simply concentrating efforts on bringing down—that is to say murdering—Soga no Iruka. The Toushi Kaden mentions that others were also brought around to at least the idea that something had to be done about Soga no Iruka, though nobody was quite willing to speak out for fear of Soga no Iruka and his father, Emishi, and what they could do to someone's reputation—or worse.  After all, Soga no Iruka had only   recently killed the Prince Yamashiro no Oe, reportedly as part of a plot to ensure Prince Furubito would be next elevated to the throne.  On the other hand, not much information seems to be given about the reforms until they are enacted. And so after the Isshi Incident, we see our murderous firebrands taking the reins of power.  As we noted back in episode 106, Prince Karu was encouraged to take the throne, while Prince Furubito no Ohoye retired from the world and took orders at a temple in Yoshino.  Naka no Oe had been offered the throne, we are told, but turned it down, as the optics on it would not have been great.  Not only because he was clearly responsible for the death of Soga no Iruka and his father, and thus his mother's abdication.  However, he could still be made Crown Prince, and keep right on going with his ambitions to change up the way things were done in the Yamato government. Although Naka no Oe and Kamatari get most of the credit, the work required the cooperation—or at least consent—of the newly made sovereign, Prince Karu, also known as Ame Yorozu Toyohi, later styled as Koutoku Tennou.  After all, it would be his edicts that would lay out the new system, and his name that would be attached to it.   One good example is a change that came immediately: Meanwhile, in place of Soga no Iruka as Oho-omi, Karu selected two individuals to take his place, dividing up the position of Oho-omi into ministers of the Left and Right.  The first was Abe no Omi no Uchimaro, as Minister of the Left, and then Soga no Kurayamada no Omi no Ishikawa no Maro, Naka no Oe's recently made father-in-law, was made the Minister of the Right.  These positions, later known as the Sadaijin and Udaijin, would continue to be two of the most powerful civil positions in the Ritsuryo and later Japanese governments.  The Minister of the Left, the Sadaijin, was often considered the senior of the two. By the way, “Daijin” is just a sinified reading applied to the characters used for “Oho-omi”, or great minister.  This means that the Minister of the Left, the Sadaijin, could just as easily be called the Oho-omi of the Left, or something similar.  This actually causes a bit of confusion, especially in translation, but just realize that this is effectively just a rebranding, and not entirely a new name.  What was new was this idea that they were broken into the Left and the Right a distinction that would mean a lot more once more of the bureaucratic offices and functionaries were properly defined. Who were these two new ministers? Abe no Uchimaro has popped up a few times in the narrative.  He was an experienced courtier.  The Abe family had been moving within the halls of power for some time, and had even stood up to the Soga family when Soga no Umako had tried to acquire their lands in Katsuraki, making an ancestral claim.  Uchimaro had also been involved in the discussions regarding Princes Tamura and Yamashiro no Oe after the death of Kashikya Hime, hosting one of the dinners during which the delicate issue of succession was discussed.  He was clearly a politician of the first order.  Of course, Soga no Kurayamada had clearly earned his position through his connections with the conspirators. , bBut what about Nakatomi no Kamatari?  Well, he wasn't exactly left out in the cold.  Nakatomi no Kamatari was made the Naijin, the Minister, or “Omi”, of the Middle or the Minister of the Interior, implying that he had some authority over the royal household itself.  This feels like a created position, possibly to allow him the freedom to help with the primary work of transforming the Yamato government. Although Naka no Oe and Kamatari get most of the credit, the work required the cooperation—or at least consent—of the newly made sovereign, Prince Karu, also known as Ame Yorozu Toyohi, later styled as Koutoku Tennou.  After all, it would be his edicts that would lay out the new system, and his name that would be attached to it. One of the first things that is recorded in the Nihon Shoki was the declaration of a nengo, or era name.  Up to this point, years in Yamato were remembered by the reign of the sovereign—typically based on their palace.  So you would see things like the second year of the reign of the sovereign of Shiki palace, or something like that.  In addition, at least since about the 6th century, if not earlier, years would eventually be given the appropriate sexagesimal year name, combing one of the ten stems and twelve branches.  For example, 2024, when this episode is coming out, is the year of the Wood Dragon, or Kinoe-tatsu.  This is still used for various Japanese traditionspractice still continues today in Japan for various reasons. The Nengo was something newly introduced to Japan, however: .  Aan era name would be chosen by the sovereign, often based on important changes that either had occurred or even as a wish for something new.  So you would we see a new nengo with the ascension of a new sovereign, but it couldan also come because of an auspicious omen or because of a terrible disaster and hope for something new.  The current nengo, which started with the reign of Emperor Naruhito a few years back, is “Reiwa”. This very first nengo, we are told, was “Taika”, meaning, as I said up front, “Great Change”.  It certainly was apropos to the work at hand.  So let's go through the Chronicles and see some of the “great changes” occurring at the Yamato court now that the intention had been made clear.  We already talked about the change from an single Oho-omi to ministers of the Left and Right, but there were many other Some of the first things were to set up various newly created officials and positions.  An example is , such as two doctors, or Hakase – doctors in the sense of learned experts, not medical doctors, although medicine was certainly revered.  One of these new Hakase was the Priest Min, presumably the same one who had brought back astronomical knowledge from the Sui dynasty, possibly the same as the one known as Sho'an.  The other was Takamuko no Fubito no Kuromaro, who had gone to the Sui Dynasty with Min and others and come back with knowledge of how things worked on the continent.  The Takamuko family had immigrant roots as descendants of the Ayabito, and Kuromaro was well traveled, returning from the Sui court by way of Silla.  These two were well positioned to help with the work at hand. Now that the rudiments of a cabinet were in place, Oone of the first problems set before things after setting up their cabinet, as it were, was to askthe their new Ministers of the Right and Left, as well as the various officials, the Daibu and the Tomo no Miyatsuko, was how tohey should  get people to acquiesce to forced, or corvee labor—the idea that for certain government projects villages could be called upon to provide manual labor in the form of a healthy adult—typically male—to help as needed.  This was a thorny problem, and evidently it was thought best to get expertise beyond the purely human.  The following day, tThe Udaijin, Soga no Ishikawa no Maro, suggested that the kami of Heaven and Earth should be worshipped and then affairs of government should be considered.  And so Yamato no Aya no Hirafu was sent to Wohari and Imbe no Obito no Komaro was sent to Mino, both to make offerings to the kami there for their assistance, it would seem, in setting up a good government. This is significant, in part, as it shows the continued importance of local traditions focused on appeasing the kami, rather than the Buddhist rituals that they could have likely turned to, instead. FinallyThree weeks later, on the 5th day of the 8th month—about three weeks later— camecomes the first truly major edict of the Taika era, which and it wasis to appoint new governors, or kokushi, of the eastern provinces.  Note that they specifically mention the Eastern Provinces, presumably meaning those east of Yamato, since they only sent out eight of them.  They also did not send them to usurp control, necessarily, from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of those areas.  The Kuni no Miyatsuko were still nominally in charge, it would seem, but the court was getting ready to make some major changes to the relationship. These governors were expected to go out and take a census of the people—both those free and those in bondage to others.  They were also to take account of all of the land currently under cultivation, likely to figure out how to tax it appropriately.  As for things other than arable land, such as gardens, ponds, rivers, oceans, lakes, mountains, etc., the edict commands the governors to consult with the people—presumably the people of the province—to get a better idea of what should be done. And this doesn't sound so bad.  It is basically just a tally of what is already there.  That said, anyone who has worked in a modern office probably knows about the dread that comes over a workplace when people show up from the Head Office with clipboards in hand.  However, apparently many of the people had not yet heard of a “clipboard” and likely didn't realize that this was only a precursor to greater and more centralized bureaucratic control. Now in addition to taking a zero-baseline review of provincial resources, there was also a list of what these new governors y were to avoid – clear boundaries around the power they were to wield.  For one thing, they were not to hear criminal cases.  They weren't there to be an extension of the Yamato court in such matters or to usurp the duties of the Kuni no Miyatsuko, one supposes.  Furthermore, when they were traveling to the capital, they were only to bring themselves and district officials, but not a huge retinue.  Whether they realized it or not, these kokushi were early bureaucrats in a burgeoning bureaucratic state, and they weren't supposed to be going out there to become minor kings in their own right; their power came from and was limited by the royal edict.  They also did not send them to usurp control, necessarily, from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of those areas.  The Kuni no Miyatsuko were still nominally in charge, it would seem, but the court was getting ready to make some major changes to the relationship. When traveling on official business, the governors could use appropriate government resources, such as the horses and food that they were entitled to.  Remember that post stations were set up, previously, to help better facilitate official travel and communication.  In a later edict it would be clarified that officials would be given a bronze token with bell-like figures on it.  The shape of the token would indicate what kinds of resources the individual was entitled to.  This applied to governors and their assistants.  Those who follow the rules could be rewarded with rank and more, while those who disobeyed would be reduced in rank, and any stipend that came with it.  Furthermore, any government official who was found taking a bribe would be liable to pay twice the amount, as well as being open to criminal punishment. The Chief Governor was allowed nine attendants, while the assistant was allowed seven, and a secretary—for which think more of the head of a branch office or department under the governor—could have five.  Any more, and the governor and followers could be punished for it. While in the provinces, the governors were expected to look into any claims of potentially false inheritance.  This included anyone using a false name or title to claim rights that were not theirs.  Governors were to first investigate what was going on before submitting their findings up to the court. Governors were also to erect arsenals on waste pieces of ground—ground that could not be cultivated for some reason.  In those arsenals they were to gather the various weapons and armor of the provinces and districts, presumably so that soldiers could be called up quickly and everyone could just get their equipment from one place, but it also looks like an attempt to take control of the means of violence.  Whether or not that was their direct intention I cannot say.  There was a provision for those on the frontier, with the Emishi, to allow the owners to keep their weapons, probably because the situation was potentially volatile, and it could turn at any moment. And so that was the first major piece of legislation:  Sending out governors to what are translated as “provinces”—though we are still using the term “kuni”, which equally refers to a state or country—ostensibly for the purposes of assessing the land, its value, the number of people, etc, but also to .  They are centralizeing military assets.   and they are given status as true court representatives.  I do notice that it was explicitly stated that these governors were for the eastern lands, .  presumably meaning those east of Yamato, since they only sent out eight of them These are areas that historically appear to have relied more on Yamato or else been something of a frontier area for the ethnic Wa people.  They may have been more open to Yamato's demands on their sovereignty. There were two more pieces to thise edict that didon't directly apply to the governors.  First off was the institution of a bell and a box to be set up at the court.  The box was basically a place to receive complaints about how things were going in the realm.  They are careful to note that complaints should be vetted by the Tomo no Miyatsuko, one of the hereditary government officials, or at least to the head of one's uji, if possible.  If they couldn't come to a decision, though, the complaints would be collected at dawn and then the government would look into them.  If anyone thought that there was a problem with how a complaint was being handled—for example, if they thought there was malfeasance involved or even just neglect, with officials not addressing it in a timely fashion, then the plaintiffs could go to the court and ring the bell, officially noting their dissatisfaction with the process. This idea of a bell and complaints seems to be a wide-ranging practice throughout Asia.  During the reign of the Legendary Yao, people were encouraged to nail their complaints to a tree.  Other edicts suggest that bells and drums were hung in royal palaces to allow common people to voice their grievances.  We have examples of the practice showing up in the Sukhothai kingdom of Thailand, during the 13th century reign of King Ramkhamhaeng, and then a 16th century example in what is now Myanmar, aka Burma.  While they differ in specifics, they are all related to the concept of royal justice even for the lowest of the people.  Granted, if you are a farmer in Owari province, I don't know how easy it was going to be to make your way over to the royal palace and ring that bell, but at least there was the idea that people could submit complaints. This was apparently used relatively soon after, as recounted in the second month of the following year, about six months later.  Apparently some person had placed a complaint in the box stating that people who had come to the capital on government business were being put to work and ill-used.  Basically it sounds like they were being rounded up for corvee labor even though they weren't local residents, they were just passing through.  In response, the sovereign, Karu, put a stop to forced labor at various places—presumably where the offending action was taking place, so I guess the complaint system it was working. The last part of this first set of edicts, kicking off the change was about inheritance.  Not all people in Yamato were free, and the law saw a difference between the status of free and unfree persons—that is to say enslaved persons.  And so they made laws that only the child of two free persons would be considered free.  If either parent was in bondage, then the child was also considered in bondage to their parent's house.  If two enslaved persons of different houses had a child, then they would stay with the mother.  Temple serfs, though technically bound to service of the temple, were made a special case, and their children were to be treated as if the temple serf was a free person. Slavery is something that doesn't always get talked about regarding ancient Yamato, and the Chronicles themselves don't tend to mention enslaved peoplethem often, but more because they belonged to a class of society that was largely outside of the scope of the narrative.  In cases where they are discussed, such as in these edicts, the Chronicles are unapologetic of the practice.  These may have been people who were captured in raids, or their descendants, or people who had been enslaved as punishment for some offence, although it isn't quite clear just what would count.  We know that Himiko sent enslaved persons as part of the tribute to the Wei Court, as she was trying to curry favor, and mention of them certainly shows up now and again. It is unclear how many people were enslaved up to this point, but some estimates suggest that it may have been five to ten percent of the population.  As I've mentioned before, this practice continued up until the Sengoku Period, and was only abolished by Toyotomi Hideyoshi in an attempt to stop the Portuguese from buying enslaved Japanese people and transporting them away from Japan.  That didn't meant that other forms of bondage, often economic in nature, didn't happen, however. So that was the content of the first edict—one of many.  The court sent out newly appointed “governors” to the provinces, but these governors were, so far, limited in their scope.  There is even some evidence that these may have been initially seen as temporary positions, and there was mention of “kokushi” in the previous reign.  Still, this was part of a clearly concentrated effort to assume central authority over the archipelago.  There were even officials appointed over the six districts of Yamato province, the core of the Yamato state, who were likewise expected to prepare registers of the population and the cultivated land. Even the idea that the sovereign had the right to make these appointments was something a bit radical, and indicated a change in way that the court, at least, would view the sovereign.  It likewise placed the sovereign in a position to dispense justice, through the vehicle of the court, and it began to define the citizens of the realm as well. That said, this all could have been argued for by using the Sui and Tang as examples of what government should look like and what a true nation should look like. It is also possible that this didn't all happen of a sudden in the 8th month, as the Chronicles describe it.  This is suggested at based on a separate account, mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, that the gathering of weapons, for instance—one of the things that the governors were charged with—actually took place between the 6th and 9th month, so some of this likely started before the date listed for the edict, and that may just have been one part of the whole.  The Chroniclers often do this, finding one particular date and throwing in everything rather than giving things piecemeal—depending on the event.  In addition, on the 19th day of the 9th month, officials were sent out to all of the provinces—not just the eastern provinces—to take a proper census.  At this same time, the sovereign, Karu, issued another edict, which seems related to their work as well as that of the governors, or kokushi, sent to the east.  In it he noted that the powerful families—the Omi, the Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and the Kuni no Miyatsuko—would compel their own vassals to work at their pleasure.  They would also appropriate for themselves various pieces of land, so that people could only work it for them.  Not everyone was doing this, though.  Some unnamed persons were accused of hording thousands of acres of rice-land, while others had no more land than you could stick a needle into.  Furthermore, these powerful families were collecting taxes for themselves, first, and then handing a portion over to the government.  They likely compelled their vassals to work on their own tombs, and such.  And so, the sovereign, Karu, forbade anyone from becoming a landlord and forcing people to pay rent.  Presumably he was also dealing with some of the other aspects, though that may have proved more difficult.  After all, from what we've seen, everything that Karu is complaining about—things that no doubt were considered antithetical to good government based on pure Confucian values—were the norm for the elite at the time.  Heck, the Kuni no Miyatsuko had no doubt thought of the land and the people on it as their own, not Yamato's.  However, things were shifting, and once again we see Yamato exerting royal prerogative over the land and people, something that they would do more and more as the system of laws and punishments eventually came together. Now the big question is how did this all pan out?  Well, it took some time, but we get a report on the second day of the third month of the following year, 646, and to be honest, it doesn't sound like things were going too well.  Of the high officials sent out as kokushi to govern the eastern provinces, six listened and did what they were told, but two did not, and then there were numerous other issues.  A more detailed list was given on the 19th of the month, including a clearer idea of punishments. The decree was given to the “Choushuushi”, apparently other government officials sent to check on how things were going, though it was clearly about various officials. The decree starts by reminding officials that they were not to use their position to appropriate public or private property.  Anyone of Assistant governor rank or higher would be punished by being degraded in rank, and presumably their stipend.  Those officials of clerk, or secretary, on down would face flogging.  If anyone was found converting public property (or someone else's) to their own use, they would be fined double the value of the property, just as with bribes.  So the Yamato government was They were really trying to tamp down on people trying to make a profit from their position. Here are a few of the specific things that the Choushuushi reported back: -             Hozumi no Omi no Kuhi taxed individual families for his own use and though he gave some of it back make, it wasn't all.  His two assistants were at fault for not correcting him. -             Kose no Tokune no Omi did something similar, taking away horses from the farmers for his own use.  His assistants not only did not correct him, but actually helped him.  They also took horses from the Kuni no Miyatsuko of the province.  One of the officials tried to remonstrate with him, but he finally gave in to the corruption. -             Ki no Marikida no Omi sent men to Asakura no Kimi and Inoue no Kimi to look at their horses for his own use.  He also had Asakura no Kimi make him swords and provide bow-cloth.  He also took the payments in lieu of weapons offered by the Kuni no Miyatsuko but didn't properly report it.  As a somewhat strange addition to these charges, he apparently was guilty of allowing himself to be robbed of a sword in his own province as well as in Yamato, presumably one that was actually government property.  Apparently being held up at sword point wasn't considered sufficient justification for letting it go.  This was facilitated by his assistants and their subordinates. -             Adzumi no Muraji apparently made the Kuni no Miyatsuko send government property to someone when they were ill, and he took horses belonging to the Yube clan.  His assistant gathered items at his house that were paid in lieu of hay, and he took the horses of the Kuni no Miyatsuko and exchanged them for others.  At least two other brothers were found guilty as well. -             Ohochi no Muraji broke the decree of not personally judging the complaints of the people in the districts under his charge.  He took it on himself to judge the case of the men of Udo and the matter of the enslaved persons of Nakatomi no Toko, who was also considered guilty. -             Kishida no Omi, as with Ki no Marikida, also allowed his sword to be stolen, showing a want of circumspection. -             In one of the strangest put-downs in this list, Womidori no Omi and Tanba no Omi weren't guilty of anything, but were just considered incompetent.  So make of that what you will. -             Imbe no Konomi and Nakatomi no Muraji no Mutsuki also committed offenses, we are told, but the nature is unclear. -             Hada no Omi and Taguchi no Omi, on the other hand, were free and clear.  Apparently they hadn't committed any offenses. -             Finally, Heguri no Omi was guilty of neglecting to investigate the complaints of the men of Mikuni. A big to-do was made about the punishments to be meted out to all of these individuals, as well as to the Kuni no Miyatsuko who may have enabled them.  However, instead of prosecuting them, Karu declared a general amnesty.  This was like a mass pardon of offenses—a do-over if you would.  Not that anything would be forgotten.  On the other hand, six individuals who did as they were told were all commended for their service.  He also took the lent-rice for the maintenance of the late Kibishima, the dowager queen who had passed away in 643, and distributed her official-rice lands amongst the ministers down to the Tomo no Miyatsuko.  He also gave rice-land and hill tracts, which weren't suitable for farming, over to various temples which had previously been omitted from the official registers for some reason. Over all, this seems to be a rather powerful message:  We're not They weren't fooling around with these changes, and people better get on board or get out of the way.  Whereas previously things in the provinces may have operated under a sort of Vegas Rules, that was no longer going to be tolerated.  On the other hand, Karuhe demonstrated mercy, likely realizing that too harsh an approach would bring the wrath of the other powerful nobles.  Nonetheless, he elaborated what each person had done and effectively put them and anyone else harboring thoughts that they could just ignore these edicts on notice.  These reforms weren't going away. So we've talked about where we were and we can see the powers at the Yamato court starting to make changes.  For now, this is probably going to be a good place to take a break for this episode, but there are a lot more of these reforms to get to, not to mention the rest of the intra-palace politicking at the court, as well as the changing situation on the continent and in diplomatic channels.  We are going to keep looking at these changes as we move forward through the period of Great Change, known as the Taika era. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Reform, Rebellion, and Rats!  And all in less than a year!  This episode we continue to look at the Taika era and the reforms that bear the era's name.  We are still covering, though, just the first year or so from the start of the era--through 645 and very early 646.  And yet there is a lot going on, some of it as part of the reforms and some of it just the normal international and domestic politics. For more check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-109 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this episode 109: Radical Reforms, Resourceful Rats, and Precarious Princes. ----------------- Prince Furubito no Ohoye looked out over the changing autumn leaves of Yoshino.  Where the mountains had been painted pink in cherry blossoms just seven months earlier, the mountains were now covered in garments of red, yellow, and orange.  Seven months.  A lot could happen in seven months.  Seven months ago, Prince Furubito had been in line for the throne.  His main contender for the position was dead, and he had the support of the most powerful men in the court.  Then it had all come crashing down in an instant. After the turmoil of the court earlier in the year, life in the countryside was no doubt a welcome respite.  The former Crown Prince had narrowly avoided sharing in the fate of his Soga relatives, who had been killed in front of him.  Furubito was no stranger to the literally cutthroat politics of the day.  Soga no Iruka had killed Yamashiro no Ohoye, son of Shotoku Taishi, ostensibly to place Furubito on the throne, no doubt with the expectation that the Soga descended prince would be easier to control.  Furubito himself had not been entirely out of the loop on that whole thing, either, specifically advising Iruka that he should make sure to send subordinates to do the dirty work and keep himself out of harm's way.  Now Furubito's seemingly untouchable supporters, Soga no Iruka and his father, were, themselves, dead at the hands of Furubito's younger brother, Prince Naka no Ohoye.  Their mother, Takara, had immediately abdicated, and Prince Furubito was suddenly in the crosshairs, potentially standing between his murderous brother and the throne.  And so he took himself out of the picture and retired, becoming a monk at a temple in Yoshino, a mostly wild area south of Asuka and the traditional heartland of Yamato, where sovereigns of the past had sometimes gone to get away. Furubito had spent the last several months there in the mountains, out of the political center, but that didn't mean he was completely on his own.  Not everyone was against him, and he still had people bringing him news.  He may have retired from the world, but he wasn't without his resources.  And there were those still in his camp, who thought he should be on the throne.  They just had to keep it under wraps until it was too late for Prince Naka and his cohorts to do anything about it.   So, with that little snapshot of life in Yoshino, let's get into it.  We're talking about the Taika era, so let's first start out with a recap of last episode and some things to keep in mind, and then continue with the story of the reforms, looking at what else was happening in that first year, as well.   We'll talk about the diplomatic missions from the Korean peninsula, the edicts focused on the Yamato elite and the clergy, as well as the strategic use of the change in the capital.  We'll also address just what happened with the “other” crown prince, Furubito no Ohoye. First off, let's quickly recap: So last episode we started talking about the Taika era and the Taika reforms.  In particular, we looked at how the governance of the archipelago had changed—as best as we can tell, at least, from the evidence available to us—and we looked at some of the very first edicts that went out.  According to the Nihon Shoki, things started with the appointment of the Ministers of the Left and Right, the Sadaijin and the Udaijin.  As later institutions were created, these ministers would each take a portion of those institutions into their portfolio, effectively dividing the management of the government.  Although the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, was considered senior to the Udaijin, the Minister of the Right, at least in later years, it should be noted that this system would prevent, at least on paper, a single prime minister from taking the reigns of the entire government, as the Soga seem to have largely done.  Presumably this meant that the sovereign, as head of state, would have the ultimate authority over the realm. Still, from the very get-go, we see that there are positions set up outside of this dynamic.  For one thing, you have the creation of the seemingly nebulous “Naidaijin”.  This is interpreted as the Minister of the Interior, meaning inside the royal house, and it was first granted to Naka no Ohoye's bro and best bud, Nakatomi no Kamatari—the co-conspirator who had helped make all this possible in the first place.  While the Sadaijin and Udaijin nominally had most of the power—and we see them referenced executing that power on a not infrequent basis—the position of Naidaijin appears to be almost extra-numerary, and is rarely mentioned, and yet he seemed to have wielded considerable power and influence.  This pattern of creating or using positions to exalt a singular individual, who would effectively run the affairs of state, is something that we'll see repeated multiple times in the future.  Whether this positionwas something like dajo daijin or kampaku, powerful individuals would often find their way, regardless of the bureaucratic norms. In addition to the Naidaijin, however, the position of the royal princes—especially the Crown Prince—seem to be untouched.  These were another class of elites often with wealth and influence, but who are largely outside the system of court ministers.  In fact, the bureaucratic system of government only really covered those positions by the so-called “commoner” families—elite families that nonetheless were not considered to be in a direct line of succession for the throne.  These were the members of the various be and uji corporate families that were created to serve the Yamato government.  After all, you don't hear of Royal princes taking on the position of a minister or anything similar, and presumably they managed their own affairs and estates as members of the extended royal family, with the sovereign as the familial head.  And then there were the peasants—the agricultural workers and truly common people who were so far removed from court business that they weren't even part of an uji clan or official familial unit other than their village, serfs or semi-free people—as free as anyone was in those days, though they were likely tied to the land by tradition and necessity—who owed service to some group of elites.  One of the things we are seeing in these reforms is a move to redirect the responsibilities of those serfs and semi-free people more directly to the state, with edicts directly addressing their status and their responsibilities.  That's something we'll talk about more as it comes up. But before that, let's get caught up on some other things happening in the first few months of the Taika era.  Sure, Naka no Oe and Kamatari were working closely with our sovereign, Karu—aka Koutoku Tennou—to get their reforms in place. As we talked about last episode, they were sending out governors, hanging bells outside of the palace, and otherwise trying out all kinds of new stuff.  However, as that was going on, they still had to deal with the day to day of the government.  Life didn't just stop while they ramped up their transition to a new, bureaucratic monarchy. One such routine event for a new reign was the designation of Karu's wife, Hashibito, as the queen.  In the fine Yamato tradition of keeping it all in the family, Hashibito was Karu's niece, the daughter of Karu's sister, Takara, aka Kougyoku Tennou, and her late husband, the sovereign Tamura, aka Joumei Tennou.  That made Hashibito a sister to Prince Naka no Oe, who was now his uncle's brother-in-law and, since he was named Crown Prince, his heir.  Probably don't think about it too much. There was also the matter of foreign envoys.  As you may recall, the murder of Soga no Iruka and his father, known to us as the Isshi Incident, kicked off during a court reception for peninsular envoys.  Two months later, we are told that envoys from Baekje, Goguryeo, and Silla all arrived with tribute.  These appear to be separate from those who had witnessed Naka no Oe's bloody coup d'etat, and given the time it took to travel, they may have already been on their way when everything went down.  They arrived in the 7th month of the year, not quite a full month since Karu had taken the throne. This might have been a regular visit, but we get some interesting information from the Chronicles about it.  Kose no Tokuda no Omi addressed the envoys, at least those of Goguryeo and Baekje.  Although it is also noted that Silla envoys arrived as well, communications with them are not recorded.  There was also a slight problem in that one of the envoys (whose name Aston transcribes as “Chaphyong Yonbok”, suggesting that he was actually the Minister of the Left, Yonbok) apparently traveled all the way to Yamato just to come down with an illness.  He stayed at Naniwa and rested while the other envoys made the journey onward, presumably to the palace in Asuka, where the court received the tribute. As for Goguryeo, Kose notes that Yamato and Goguryeo had not had formal relations for very long.  This is unsurprising, given that Goguryeo was on the far north of the peninsula, and would have had to go through either Silla or Baekje controlled territory to get to Yamato, and they weren't always on the best of terms with either of the other countries on the peninsula.  There were some attempts to reach the archipelago by landing on the northern edge of Honshu, along the Japan sea coast, landing near Tsuruga, on the western edge of the land of Koshi, but still, Yamato's relationship with Goguryeo does not appear to have been as old or as consistent as Yamato's dealings with their less distant neighbors.  Tokuda, the Yamato officer addressing the Goguryeo envoys, wished for long and continued interactions, but that was about it. Baekje, though, was another story, and a bit of a conflicting one.  The speech that Tokuda gives according to the Chronicles is likely heavily edited to sound more regal and to be in line with the Chroniclers' ideas of Japan's place in the world, but it is also possible that they were just using flowery, continental style pronouncements.  It starts off with the somewhat audacious statement that Karu is a God-incarnate, which tracks with the idea that he is descended from the Heavenly Grandson, who came down from Takama no Hara.  This same language was used with Goguryeo, earlier.  Then Tokuda repeats the claim that Baekje is a vassal state of Yamato, claiming that they were considered an “internal Miyake”, likely referring to a land that was supposed to be directly controlled by Yamato.  One is left to wonder just how Baekje felt about all of this, but then again, things may have been lost in translation from one court to the other. Finally, Baekje was admonished for not bringing sufficient tribute from Nimna, since it had theoretically been placed under Baekje's care. And here's where I see some conflicting information.  After all, we know that Silla had absorbed Nimna well before this period, and Silla had been made to bring two ships during tribute missions or to meet the Yamato delegation with two ships to preserve at least the fiction that Nimna was still an independent country and ally to the archipelago.  That was all back in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, or earlier .  Of course Baekje would not have any tribute from Nimna, and yet the Yamato court seem to have expected something unless, of course, they were just putting on some kind of show for Silla's sake?  It seems like the matter of Nimna, which was no longer a going concern on the peninsula, was still something that Yamato was keeping front and center in their mind.  Whatever the logic, Tokuda says that the sovereign pays special attention to the tribute from Nimna, and as it was deficient, they returned the tribute back to Baekje until they could bring the expected amount. There is plenty of ink that has been spilt on the subject of the diplomatic tribute systems that were set up across East Asia, largely as part of or in imitation of those systems set up by dynasties like the Han and the Tang.  As we understand it, diplomats were expected to come to a foreign sovereign's courts as petitioners, bringing with them “tribute”—basically trade goods—to grease the wheels of international relations.  The receiving country would reciprocate with lavish gifts on the envoys, in turn, often in excess of the “tribute” they had brought—at least, that is how the central Sinic dynasties operated.  In this way, diplomatic missions were not only profitable for international relations, but also for acquiring elite goods that could not easily be otherwise obtained, and for that, envoys were willing to go along with the polite fiction that they were truly subordinate to the power they entreated.  It is unclear whether or not this went both ways.  I suspect that the Han or Tang dynasties  would not have accepted the idea that their own ambassadors would be bringing tribute to any “lesser” nation.  However, amongst nations like Yamato, Baekje, Silla, and Goguryeo, were there similar concerns?  Unfortunately, we don't really have a clear, contemporary record of these interactions, and can only make assumptions based on what sources do exist.  I suspect, however, that Baekje, though willing to indulge Yamato's fantasies, did not actually consider itself an “inner miyake” of Yamato—though they were a trusted ally.  Most of the time. Which makes me wonder how they took such a snub.  Unfortunately, both Baekje and Yamato sources appear to be quiet on that front. The envoys did not leave empty-handed, however.  They sent away the wife and children of a man identified as “Wisa”—likely hostages being held at the Yamato court as part of the other diplomatic system between Baekje and Yamato.  We are not told why, however, so we are left only to speculate on what actually happened. Later that month, and into the next, the reforms were really kicked off, sending out the governors to the eastern provinces and proclaiming some of the early edicts we talked about last month And while the court was waiting for news to come back from those governors, there was another issue that they were tackling, and that was further incorporating the Buddhist clergy and temples into the state government.  Yeah, if you hadn't already guessed, Yamato at this time didn't exactly have a principle of the separation of church—or in this case temple—and state.  In fact, quite the opposite.  For a little over two decades at this point the court had assumed the authority to appoint individuals at the head of the Buddhist clergy, presumably to keep them in line ever since that one incident with the axe—and if you want a reminder, check out Episode 102. And so a messenger was sent from the court to Kudara-dera to gather all of the clergy there.  That was the temple near where Tamura had built his palace, Kudara no Miya, and it reportedly had an absolutely jaw-dropping pagoda, so perhaps little wonder that it was a central location.  After recounting the history of Buddhism in the archipelago, the court representative appointed chief priests to ten different temples, as well as the chief priest of Kudara-dera.  They then made a promise that the Sovereign—which is to say the State—would pay for the repairs of any of the temples built by the Tomo no Miyatsuko; the courtly families.  At the same time, the court also appointed temple commissioners, and expected them and the chief priests to report out the number of priests and nuns, as well as acreage of cultivated temple land.  Interestingly, these commissioners were to report directly to the state, rather than through the local governors, indicating that the temples appear to have been somewhat exempt from the local civil authorities, though still under the thumb of the sovereign and the national government.  This was likely done through the “Houtou”, or “heads of the Law”, another set of positions for people appointed to oversee Buddhist practice. In the following month, the court moved on from the clergy and focused on the courtiers: the Omi, Muraji, and the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and not in a fun way:  These leading families were called to the carpet for what was seen as a host of offenses.  They were accused of compelling their own vassals to labor at their pleasure, and appropriating land for their own private use, denying it to the people.  This included mountains, hills, ponds, and even portions of the sea, which they turned into their own private hunting and fishing reserves.  They would take prime rice-lands—land that could be brought under cultivation—and use it purely for themselves.  They would take portions of the public land, divvy it up, and sell it off as if it were their own.  Or they would just rent it out, so that they would collect rent on the property and those who farmed it wouldn't actually own anything, making them a kind of tenant farmer or even something like a sharecropper.  Furthermore, when they collected taxes from those in areas they oversaw, they were accused of taking a portion off the top for themselves before turning over the rest to the government. And finally, they would take their own people and build palaces for themselves.  This practice, though probably nothing new, went against the direction the new state was headed, and if it was allowed to continue, it would potentially reduce the number of laborers available for government projects. To be clear, not all of the noble families were doing this, but enough that a broad edict was required.  This edict not only called out these practices, but specifically banned the private sale of land—likely meaning that it was up to the State to decide how land was apportioned—and it forbade anyone making themselves into a landlord. Now for anyone who has been following along—or simply looked at human history—the way that the elites had been concentrating power is hardly surprising.  History books are filled with examples of those in power using it to aggregate more and more to themselves, especially without some kind of regulation.  While the Taika edict treats this like an aberration of the way things should be, it is more likely that this is actually how the system had been designed to work up until this point.  There were elites who operated at different levels in an hierarchical structure.  Those above provided legitimacy and preferential treatment to those they considered their vassals.  Those vassals were left to largely run things as they saw fit at the lower levels, as long as they maintained an expected flow of tribute up the chain.  As long as things didn't get out of hand—no rebellions, famine, etc.—then there was little reason for those at the top to be concerned. Here, though, we are seeing a different imagining of the state: one where the governance of the state truly does flow from the sovereign down to the people.  Those who had been studying the Buddhist and Confucian canons from the continent had been introduced to new ideas of what a state ought to be, and now that they were in power, they were determined to implement those ideas. One has to imagine that this ruffled more than a few feathers, and I have to wonder if it didn't contribute, at least in some way, to what else was happening around the same time.  Remember, all of this—the tribute missions, the governors, the gathering of the clergy, and dressing down the courtiers—all happened in the first three months of the new reign—the Taika era.  But in the ninth month, the court's attention was also turned to another matter, when a man named Kibi no Kasa no Omi no Shidaru came to Naka no Ohoye with a confession:  He claimed he had been party to a meeting in Yoshino with none other than Prince Furubito no Ohoye, along with members of the Soga, the Yamato no Aya, and the Yechi no Hata.  They were all disillusioned with this new reign and how they got here, and were plotting to put a stop to it by overthrowing Karu and putting Prince Furubito on the throne. So, yeah, this is where we circle back to where we started the episode – imagining Prince Furubito, hanging out in the mountains of Yoshino, enjoying his near escape and contemplating his retirement.  Things weren't quite that peaceful. I'd note that another source claims that the guy who spilled the beans, Kibi no Kasa no Omi, instead went to the Daijin, the Great Ministers, Abe no Oho-omi and Soga no Oho-omi, the ministers of the Right and Left.  Regardless of who he spoke to, he ratted out all of his co-conspirators. The details are sparse on just how everything unfolded from there, but we know that Naka no Ohoye appointed two generals to go and arrest—by which I'm pretty sure he meant assassinate—Prince Furubito no Ohoye.  Whether or not the Prince had actually kicked off discussions or had even participated in any significant way, Naka no Ohoye's brother was too dangerous as a symbol around which anyone discontented with the new order could try and rally.  And it's not at all surprising to imagine that there are those who were not exactly happy with where things were going.   The throne was exerting greater control than it had in some time—perhaps more than it ever had, at this scale.  The foreign ideas that had come in the way of books and learning may have, at first, been just another way for the elite to demonstrate their own superiority, but now these ideas were starting to affect the way they, themselves, had to operate.  You could either accept it as the way forward or you could resist.  Those who would resist, though, needed someone to rally around.  Since the Sovereign and the Crown Prince were both pushing for change, anyone opposed would need to find a new sovereign to uphold their own ideas.  To that end, Furubito no Ohoye must have been an enticing figure.  He really was from the old school. Sure, that was a Soga dominated school, drenched in the blood of other members of the royal family, but it was still something that those who wanted to conserve their old way of life could use to legitimize their position. And that made Furubito no Ohoye dangerous, regardless of whether or not he encouraged such individuals or not. And so Uda no Yenomuro no Furu and Koma no Miyachi departed with a sizeable force to take out the Prince.  Which, spoiler alert: they did. There are some conflicting accounts on this.  Some records claim that the attack force didn't set out until more than two months later, on the 30th day of the 11th month.  Others say that the generals were actually Kosobe no Omi no Abe and Sahekibe no Komaro, at the head of only thirty men.  It is possible that both accounts are correct in some way, or that various family records retroactively  claimed credit for the attack.  It may also be that the time from the conspiracy's discovery to the eventual resolution—the killing of Furubito and his household—took a little over two months to complete; a not unreasonable situation. This whole event is often talked about as Furubito no Ohoye's revolt, and if we take the Chronicles at face value, that is largely accurate.  However, we don't have many actual details, and we do know about Naka no Ohoye—we know that he hadn't been afraid to kill Soga no Iruka in broad daylight, in the middle of the court.  Would it have really been too much for him to manufacture a conspiracy to provide him an excuse to take out his older brother and thus prepare his own eventual rise to the throne?  On things like this, the Chronicles are largely silent, and we can only speculate as to what was actually going on.  Still, I have to wonder. Following the death of Furubito no Ohoye, and the suppression of the rebellion in his name, the sovereign, Karu, announced that he had settled on a location for his new palace.  While most of the edicts at this time broke new ground, this one did not, following a tradition that, if we believe the Chronicles, had been around for centuries.  Each new sovereign would designate a location for their new palace, moving out of the palace of their predecessor.  Usually this would beannounced at the very start of a reign, but as we've seen, this reign had gotten off to a busy start, and so we don't see mention of the new palace until the twelfth month. The tradition of moving out of an old palace and into a new one is thought to have typically been due to the ritual pollution, or tsumi, attached to the palace of a sovereign who has died -- often in the palace itself, if they were lucky enough to pass away in their sleep.  Of course, in this case the throne didn't pass on the occasion of the sovereign's death, but there had certainly been plenty of blood spilled in the palace, recently, so I imagine that moving the palace was to be expected. Less expected was exactly where he moved the palace to, since Karu decided not to stay put in the Asuka region, and instead chose to move the palace to the port of Naniwa, where the continental envoys came. There are numerous examples throughout Japanese history where a change was made to move the capital, or at least the seat of government, to somewhere new.  In many cases, this was to get away from various political forces that had become entrenched in the capital region.  Courtiers and their retinue would settle near the palace, and soon an entire area was controlled, physically and politically, by a few powerful families or institutions.  The Asuka region, for example, had started out as the ancestral stronghold of the Soga clan, and for the past century had operated as the seat of Soga controlled sovereigns.  Tamura, or Jomei Tennou, had seemingly tried to move a little ways outside, near the site of Kudaradera, but his wife and successor, no doubt with the assistance and counsel of Soga no Emishi, had moved back into the Asuka valle, proper. Moving to Naniwa would have been quite the undertaking, as it didn't just mean moving the palace, but it meant moving the whole infrastructure of the government.  Granted, this wasn't exactly on par with the size and complexity of the Imperial dynasties in what we now know as China, but it did mean that the powerful families would need to make sure that they had a residence of some sort near the new capital if they wanted to be close to the reins of power.  That meant that they would need to also expend some of their own resources, as well. Also, it would be a good time to provide a sense of renewal for the era.  The Chroniclers added a line, taken from various Chinese histories, that shortly after the announcement of the new capital's location, rats were seen moving across the countryside in the direction of Naniwa.  At its most basic level, this likely recognized that when the people abandon a capital for a new city, that new city quickly has its own population.  No doubt it was felt that the rats had simply followed the people there.  The migration of rats would figure into several other movements during this reign, as well.  It was apparently a popular trope. The movement started in the twelfth month of the first year of Taika, or 645, and would be completed in the third month of the following year, 646.  That was around the same time that word was coming back from the lands in the east about just how things were going with the newly appointed governors.  Giventhe killing of Furubito no Ohoye in the 11th month of 645, as well as everything else that was now happening, the capital would be the catalyst for a fresh new slate in more ways than one.  The building of the new palace, and the need to entreat the kami, that would be used as an excuse to issue a general amnesty -- the “Get out of jail free” card for the governors and others who hadn't quite gotten on board, which we talked about last episode.  They were shown the stick, but offered a carrot.  While not explicitly stated, this may have also been a time to bury the hatchet for the pro-Furubito faction as well, giving them a chance to move on.   And there was a lot of movement to be had.  We are told that there was a proclamation in the first month of 646—a proper edict of reforms.  These are laid out in four articles, and are perhaps the closest we have to a true “code” of the reforms from this era.  And warning: this is where the reforms get really radical. The first article was on land ownership and allocation.  Specifically, it abolished the various royal Miyake and the previously established “representatives of children”—which I'm guessing refers to the various families that were tasked with supporting some of the various royal princes and other royal descendants.  It also abolished various farmsteads of serfs and abolished the bonds of those serfs who owed their service to various royal families; the ministers, the Omi and the Muraji; and general courtiers, the Tomo no Miyatsuko; as well as the various lords of the lands, the Kuni no Miyatsuko, and even down the villages, to the level of the Mura no Obito. In place of these mechanisms of bringing in rice and other goods, various fiefs were created out of the previously held land and redistributed to various princes and officials on a descending scale, with those at the top of the courtly rank system getting the most productive, and less for those further down.  To sweeten this deal, gifts of cloth were also given at the time of the edict, likely as a way to offset any harsh feelings. In the end, this article completely rewrote how land was owned in the archipelago, at least in principle.  The land belonged to the sovereign, who apportioned it out as required.  The fiefs would then supply incomes to government officials, effectively providing them a salary.  Those higher in the court system, which is to say those with a higher court rank, would have a larger stipend.  Some version of this system, which wasn't always as strictly enforced, would continue right up until it was abolished in the early Meiji era. The second article of the reforms largely targeted the capital and the “Home Provinces”, recognized, today, as the area from modern Iga city in the east; to Mt. Seyama, in Wakayama, to the south. It extended westward past modern Kobe to the Akashi area, and north to Afusakayama, on the southwestern shores of Lake Biwa, due east of modern Kyoto city.  These correspond largely to the areas that were traditionally under Yamato's direct rule, and where many of the noble families had their base of operations.  Actual governors were appointed to the home provinces, like Kii, Kawachi, Harima, Yamashiro, etc., with various roads, barriers, outposts, and more created to secure the home territories.  Post horses were included, and this is the first mention of the creation of bell tokens, a kind of bronze amulet with various round “bells” incorporated into the design.  These bell tokens would become a kind of badge of office for anyone traveling, as they would be used at government posts along the road to determine what kinds of and how many horses a given official was entitled to during their official travel. The area within the capital itself was divided into “wards”, or “Bo”.  Each ward would have an “wosa” appointed from the population.  Aston translates this as “alderman”, though it feels like “magistrate” is more appropriate.  For every four wards, an unagachi, or chief magistrate, was appointed.  These wosa and unagachi were charged to watch over the people and investigate criminal matters.  They were supposed to be people of “good character and solid capacity”, and if nobody in the ward could serve, then someone could be chosen from an adjoining ward, instead. Throughout the rest of the home provinces, the land was divided up into “townships” (RI or Sato), rather than wards, and townships would be gathered into “districts” (GUN or Koori).  Large districts were those with over forty townships.  Middle districts were those with anywhere from four to thirty townships.  And districts of three or fewer townships were considered Lesser Districts.  The Japanese for these would be Tai-gun, Chuu-gun, and Shou-gun, but I should note that it is unclear whether that was the actual term used or just the way to write it in the Sinitic style of the Chronicles.  The governors of these areas were the Tairei and Sharei, glossed in Japanese as the Koori no Miyatsuko and the Suke no Miyatsuko, though Aston suggests those were just translations, and the Yamato court was probably using the On'yomi for the names as this was an attempt to copy continental governance.  For these positions, you were expected to be not just good, but of “unblemished” character.  They were assisted by clerks and others who were skilled in writing and arithmetic.  I suspect a lot of this was also applied to the governors discussed in the previous episode, though we did not see such a clear list of qualifications for them and their staff at the time. So that set up the governance of the capital and the capital region, in a model that would be followed elsewhere. The third of the four articles provided for drawing up accounts of the land and people—much as the governors were doing in the east.  They also create The Books, as in the accounting books for the government.  These were to record the state of, well, the State.  How many people, what land was out there, in what condition, and to whom did it belong.  It would be the official register of receipts telling everyone what land belonged to whom. It also defined the townships, or Ri, as being made up of 50 households, with one magistrate per township, as above.  However, given that these townships were in the countryside, the magistrate was also responsible for the direction of sowing the crops and the cultivation of mulberry trees, used primarily for silk production.  It also fell to the magistrate to enforce the payment of taxes, both in rice and forced labor. And here we see just how much those taxes were.  Rice fields were measured by “tan”, sometimes translated as “kida”, which was an area of thirty paces by twelve paces.  That comes out to somewhere between 9,000 to 11,000 square feet, depending on the size of the pace—a modern “tan” is figured at 10,800 square feet, or a little over one thousand square meters or a bit under one quarter of an acre.  From there, ten tan would make a CHO, the largest land unit mentioned here.  All of this was only true of flat land, however.  For steep and wooded land, the various officials in charge would need to make special arrangements.  Afterall, a thousand square meters of cliff face wasn't exactly producing a ton of rice—or mulberry trees, for that matter.  The tax for each tan of cultivated land  was 22 bundles of rice on the stalk.  A single bundle was the amount that a person could reasonably grasp in one hand.  Ten bundles made up a sheaf, so actually it was 2 sheafs and 2 bundles.  The edicts then laid out the math to verify that for a CHO it was 22 sheafs, or ten times that of a TAN.  And all of this can be pretty boring and, well, academic, but it starts to get us a glimpse into life outside of the elite courtiers.  We can see that they assumed a community was about 50 households in rural areas, and you likely would have gotten to know your neighbors, as they were the ones you were planting and harvesting with.  While I'm not sure that a TAN was equivalent to a single field, we can see that four TAN would have been roughly an acre of land—an acre itself being an agricultural unit that was about as much land as a single individual could work in a day. What isn't clear from all of this is what was the expected gross yield of the field—in other words, how much of the crop would the farmers themselves be able to keep?  In later centuries, farmers often couldn't afford to keep their own crop of rice, and had to settle for eating millet and other, cheaper grains, with almost all of the rice they grew going to pay their taxes Besides taxes on the fields, there were also other taxes to be considered, but these were dealt with in the fourth and final article of the reforms of 646.  Up front, this article abolished any earlier taxes that may have been imposed, clearing the way for a new tax structure.  From there, it first laid out a series of alternatives to rice for paying your taxes.  One was the ability to pay in cloth, so for instance, if you had a single TAN of land, you could pay the 2 sheafs and 2 bundles of rice OR you could pay 10 feet of fine silk, 2.5 feet in width—the width of most home looms at the time.  Alternatively there were conversions into coarse silk (double it to 20 feet) or another bast fiber cloth (double again, to 40 feet).  Silk thread or silk floss are not mentioned as a substitute for the rice tax on land. But: this Article also laid out additional taxes to those on the fields.  Each household would have to also produce at least 12 shaku—roughly 12 feet—of bast fiber cloth each year.  There were also other taxes such as salt, etc., all depending on what was locally produced.  And on top of that, for every 2 townships of 100 people, they had to produce a single horse for the government.  A particularly fine horse could be used to cover the taxes for up to 4 townships.  And if they could not produce a horse, they would need to provide up to 12 feet of cloth per household to offset the cost of the government buying one.  That is 12 feet of cloth in addition to what they already had to pay. In addition to that, every person was expected to supply a sword, armor, bow and arrows, a flag, and a drum.  This may have only been for those able-bodied men called up for service, though—it isn't exactly clear. And then, when there were public works to be done, each township had the responsibility to offer up a single, able-bodied individual, and to provide 22 feet of cloth and 5 masu of rice for their service, to keep them clothed and fed.  This was actually an improvement on previous corvee labor requirements, which required one person per thirty households, who were all supposed to support them. Finally, there is a note about Uneme—the handmaidens at the court.  Uneme were drawn from the sisters or daughters of district officials of the rank of shorei and upwards.  Each Uneme was expected to be furnished with one male and two female servants to attend to their needs.  They would be provided cloth and rice similar to laborers, except that the cost was to be spread out across one hundred households, not just fifty. Again, we get a glimpse of what life under the new regime was like—or at least what it was supposed to be like.  We saw mention of taxes and other such things early on in the Chronicles, but this is the first time we really get to see what kinds of taxes would be levied on the common households.  A single agricultural household would likely be responsible for some portion of the town's field-tax, as well as a tax of cloth on their own home, and possibly supporting a laborer or even the purchase of a government horse.  Finally, they could also be responsible for providing for one of the handmaidens of the court. It was clear that the state was extending its reach in new ways.  In some cases this would have clearly been an improvement: there was a reduction in the amount of labor that people had to provide, and things were being standardized.  There were bureaucratic lines being built from the townships and wards up through to the sovereign, providing a clear connection between sovereign and vassal.  On the other hand, this trod on the ancestral traditions of certain groups.  We saw the attempted revolt around Prince Furubito no Ohoye, but after his death, the opposition didn't really have a central figure to rally around.  And so the reforms would continue. Although the reforms at the start of 646 may have been some of the most formal, there is still a lot of change to come and we'll deal with that in the next few episodes. Until then, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we continue looking at the Taika reforms, covering only 3 months, but with edicts about mounded tombs, the labor due to the state vice individuals, and a variety of "offenses", often countering current practices such as forcing people to undergo "harai" in many instances. For more, check out the blog at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-110 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 110: Manual Labor, Mounded Tombs, and Marital Missteps. Maro sat by the small campfire he had made along the river's edge.  The water nearby was going to be the catalyst for the gruel that he was making with some of the last bit of food that he had.  As he stirred the pot, he looked over at his friend, lying out, his head propped up against the rock. Maro and Sumi had been working on one of the large tombs in Asuka at the commandof their lord, who had built it for his deceased father.  Now they were released and headed back to their village, still two days out.  Unlike their superiors, they didn't get horses to ride across the landscape, so it would be a few days before they returned home.  Unfortunately, Sumi had grown ill, and he was now almost delirious with fever.  Maro couldn't bear to leave his friend, but he also cursed his luck. What if Sumi were to die?  It was one thing to die at home, or even when they were working on the tomb.  But now they were travelers—strangers on the road.  If something happened to Sumi, Maro knew he couldn't just leave him, but neither could he go trudging through the countryside with a dead body.  Even association with death would bring problems for him, and if local villagers were to find out, they could force him to pay for the necessary ritual purification—or worse.  Heck, even something as simple as cooking rice on the side of the road could bring problems for a poor traveler—hence why Maro had found some place off the beaten path and away from prying eyes. Under his breath he prayed to whatever powers were listening to help Sumi recover.  If they could only make it back to their village, then everything would be alright. Once again, we are looking at the second year of Taika, 646.  As we heard in the past couple of episodes, the first year of Taika saw a plethora of edicts that would bring radical change to the way that the sovereign interacted with the land and the people.  These provided the start of  much more direct rule,   and yet also set the stage for a new bureaucratic state, with various new officials up and down the hierarchy. This episode we are continuing to look at what happened in the first several months of 646, largely because there was so much going on that it's worth focusing in on this short time period.   For one thing, we really should talk a little bit more about how this entire Taika era is reflecting the culmination of what appears to have been a major change to Yamato's cultural identity over the preceding century or so—a change in perspective that may not have even been entirely apparent to them, but which allowed Naka no Oe and the sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, to get away with these pronouncements that restructured the basic foundations of the Yamato state.  These changes include the death knell of the kofun period, with new restrictions on how mounded tombs were to be created, including how large they were allowed to be.  We'll also look at a litany of items being called out in the third month of the year—many of which directly affected people at the lowest ends of the economic spectrum and which give us a view of some of the practices that had presumably been going on prior to the edict. As we've already discussed, the early part of the year 646 saw quite a few quote-unquote “normal” things happening.  The sovereign moved into a new detached palace, perhaps while the Toyosaki Palace was being built.  This was the Koshiro Palace of Sayabe, in Naniwa.  Emissaries were sent out to restore—or possibly build—the arsenals; you may recall that the governors were supposed to gather up all of the weapons and armor in a single place so that it could be available, just in case.  Envoys from the Emishi came to do homage, and there was another round of envoys from Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla.  Apparently, this time, there were no complaints about the tribute.  That was all in the first two months.  By the third, the governors had been called to account for their misdeeds, but also pardoned – we talked about this two episodes ago, when we explored the new system of governors, but this is when their pardons happen – and the sovereign moved out of the Koshiro Palace, presumably to take up residence in the shiny new Toyosaki palace that was just getting blessed and which was the nominal reason for the general amnesty across the land. And with all of that over… well, it was time to get back to figuring out what part of the traditional order they would overthrow next.  And apparently, Karu, our sovereign, had an idea.  He sent a question to the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, to see what he thought about it, and we are given the Prince's response in a letter back to the crown on the 20th day of the 3rd month of 646.    The question Karu had askedwas roughly: what should be done about a group of families called the Iribe, including the Koshiro no Iribe of the Omi, Muraji, the Tomo no Miyatsuko, and the Kuni no Miyatsuko; and the Mina no Iribe of the Royal Princes.  Karu had also evidently asked what should be done about the Miyake. Now the question reading as “what should be done about these people” sounds a bit ominous, so before we get to Naka no Oe's suggestions, let's explore just who were the “Iribe” mentioned here.  As far as I can find, there doesn't appear to be another use of that word in the Chronicles, but the other terms around it provide clues and we have a general consensus about what this is all about.  “Koshiro”—the Child's Generation—and the “Mina”—the exalted name—suggest that the Iribe were those families set up in the name of a given prince or person.  As we've talked about on the podcast in the past, from the start of the various “Be” families, there was a longstanding tradition of creating specific families to support given individuals: for former queens, princes, and more. These families often took the name of the palace where these individuals  resided.  The output of these families and worker groups would then go to support that individual and their relatives. The language used in Naka no Oe's letter, here, suggests that various other elites had set up similar groups for themselves or their own relatives This is supported by the fact that the Miyake are also mentioned.  The Miyake were the royal granaries, and while they had a political significance in extending the presence of the Yamato throne, they were also supplying income, in the form of rice, to the throne and various members of the royal family. So, Karu's question basically boiled down to: what do we do about all of these groups that exist purely to support elite families?  Naka no Oe's response reflects the new order that he was pushing for in this period.  He notes that there is only one sovereign, and only the sovereign was owed the labor of the populace—suggesting that the labor of the Iribe and those otherwise conscripted into labor should be done according to the new labor laws they had just enacted.  This also suggested that even the Miyake should be abolished. This was another Big Change in the Taika era, and once again, this would have large ramifications, as it suggested, once again, that the traditions of people providing labor to these elite families would go away—although not entirely.  As we will see, elites would still get an income, but it would no longer be based on your hereditary rank and position and provided by groups bound to your service alone, but instead based on your appointed rank and position in the new government.  Those serving in government would continue to receive a stipend based on the labor of agricultural workers on land allotted to such purpose by the state, and in fact we've already seen where stipends were increased for some officers.  This goes along with the idea, at least, of a more merit-based society.  Those who worked hard and proved themselves would find their way to the highest positions and thus the greatest income for themselves and their families.  In reality, these promotions were highly political affairs, and most likely to go to those who came from the families already in power.  How that was envisioned, though, changed in this period, and it really emphasizes the shift that must have occurred within the cultural imaginary of the time. I've mentioned before the concept of the cultural imaginary, and it is something that I think we really need to talk about during this period—during the Great Change.  It is clear that, even if the term “Taika” was applied after the fact, people recognized that there was a sea change going on.  That change is externally represented by the edicts and the change going on in the way the government was operating.  However, this couldn't have happened without at least the tacit approval of the rest of the elites.  If Naka no Oe had just been a lone voice preaching the benefits of a more centralized state, with the sovereign at the top of a bureaucratic system that had never before been seen in the archipelago, then he could easily have been dismissed.  The other members of the court could have effectively revolted, refusing to comply and possibly even forcing a change in government.  And of course, that may have been part of what was behind the attempted revolt around Prince Furubito no Ohoye, which we talked about last episode. However, enough people continued to side with Naka no Oe and Nakatomi no Kamatari and their ideas that any opposition was unable to overcome their momentum.  So why? I would suggest that this was the result and culmination of a new way of envisioning—of imagining, if you will—the Yamato state.  It is an image that would have been familiar to the Chroniclers, and we see it throughout their narrative: the image of an imperial state, with the sovereign—known to the Chroniclers as the Sumera no Mikoto, or Tennou—at the very top.  The Sumera no Mikoto, as the sovereign would eventually be known, held authority not only in the secular realm, but also in the spiritual—in the Buddhist and in matters of the kami.  It envisioned the sovereign as the natural ruler of all of the archipelago, and even beyond. This was an image that is very much in line with the thinking of continental scholars.  It conforms, to a point, with Confucian and Buddhist ideas of what a Good Ruler should be, and, by extension, what the role of the State was and how the people should operate within that realm. Prior to the 6th century, there had been another image of the sovereign—the image of the Oho-kimi.  There are similarities—after all, power is power and humans are going to human.  But there were clearly other prevailing ideas in play back then.  We've talked about the idea of co-rulers, who ruled in tandem.  And we've seen examples of female and male rulers at various levels of society.  Spiritual authority came from the ability to intercede with the kami, and there were no native Buddhist traditions prior to 538—despite attempts by the Chroniclers to paint prior generations with the brush of Buddhist and Confucian morality.  One's place in society wasn't dictated by their own personal accomplishments as much as it was the accomplishments of their extended family, though even some of that may have come about as late as the 5th or 6th centuries.  Perhaps more importantly, prior to the 6th century, the sovereign's direct control only extended so far.  They were the sovereign of Yamato, and though they may have had influence over others in the archipelago, they did not necessarily have direct control over their lands and people.  By all accounts, the people owed their service not to the sovereign in Yamato, but to their local elites, who in turn may have had duties to those above them. But along with books and immigrants from the continent, the people of the archipelago got new ideas of what the government should look like.  These may have been foreign ideas, but over time we had new generations growing up with new and different examples of how things should work.  These new ideas worked their way into their thinking about how elited should behave and act, and colored their image for what a proper State should look like.  Sure, they understood how their own traditions worked, and that is still the mode under which they operated, but they were ready to change. Some of this change started back in the era of Prince Umayado and the sovereign, Kashikiya Hime.  Umayado's purported 17 article constitution, as we noted, didn't exactly lay out specific laws and punishments.  It wasn't a true legal code, though it was accompanied by a few legal changes, including the first attempt at a rank system for individuals.  More importantly, though, it articulated a set of values on which the government should be founded.  Whether or not these values were actually articulated to Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, or even whether they were written down before the Chronicles were put together is debatable, but that whole episode certainly suggests that these kinds of ideas, which were rife with continental thought, were making their way into society. And thus, Naka no Oe was able to suggest his and Karu's reforms based on arguments that no doubt resonated with the people of the time, as many of those in government would have been reading similar texts.  So even while it was seemingly against their immediate interests to give up control of labor or production, they had already been provided an exemplar of how this would work.  They had a new imagination of what their culture should be and look like. And that's why I bring up the idea of a new cultural imaginary taking hold.  A cultural imaginary is the collection of various shared values and concepts that a group envisions for themselves. If we think of modern countries, one can look at American culture, where there are shared values of freedom, individuality, etc.  These are backed by common, shared ideas and stories—stories of the Founding Fathers, separating themselves from Great Britain, but also ideas of the Old West and concepts of the rugged cowboy on his horse.  These stories and images help us to determine our shared values and understanding.  It also tends to define the “us” versus “them”.  Why are *we* the way we are and why are *they* different? To be clear, these stories are not always true, and can change over time.  Early visions of America included some people, but not everyone.  Stories turned George Washington into an almost mythical figure, with an emphasis on his heroic qualities and his honesty.  Our modern version of the Old West is often driven by what we saw in movies, which in turn were influenced by dime novels of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  The historical Old West tended to be quite different—and much more complex and diverse—than our modern visions of it. We can see similar forces at work in the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki.  These were written with the cultural values of the 8th century, and deliberately or not, their values are reflected back into the past, which is then what later generations would hold onto, defining their own image of who they were and how things should be. When the cultural imaginary of what your society or culture *should* be conflicts with what people actually see happening, that often creates tension.  That tension can be resolved in a variety of ways, but it often requires something to change.  In this case, the cultural imaginaries of the elite had been flooded with examples of Confucian and Buddhist morals.  The stories and values had been passed along with knowledge of astronomy, mathematics, and more, in the media they were consuming from the continent.  There were also those who had come from the continent—from Baekje, Silla, and beyond—who no doubt also had absorbed some of these stories and values and were passing them on, as well. And so it wouldn't have taken that much for Naka no Oe to point out how the system that they were laboring under differed from what a so-called “good” government should look like.  So in a way, there was already buy-in for a change, at least at the top.  And thus it appears as though Naka no Oe and Karu were able to get many of the elites to give up a measure of their own autonomy under the old system for the benefits of the new system that was being created.  Mind you, it likely didn't hurt that the throne was also ensuring that they gave out lavish gifts of silk, gold ingots, and hefty stipends to many of the more influential members of society as well. There are still questions as to how much actually changed, initially.  Sure, we see the edicts and an intent to change, and the local elites of Yamato seem to have been going along with it, but we don't quite see how quickly these edicts were accepted in places like Izumo or Kibi, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that, at least initially, many people just paid the edicts lip service, waiting to see whether or not they would actually be enforced.  Still, these are definite changes away from the previous cultural norms. Which leads into the next big edict, which focused on regulating tombs. While the ancient burial mounds which could be called “kofun” continued to be built into the 8th century in one form or another, by most timelines, the Kofun period ended around 538 with the introduction of Buddhism and the start of what is known as the Asuka period.  As we've noted, even the kingly tombs of the royal family from the end of the 6th century stopped relying on the round-keyhole shaped tomb shape.  By the early 7th century the building of temples had become the new memorial for the ultra-wealthy of Yamato—a temple being a memorial that could be built before you passed and carry on your memory to later generations as a place of worship.  This was no doubt helped by the idea that you would also accrue a fair bit of karma, the spiritual capital of the Buddhist worldview. However, a mounded burial was still de rigeur for the elites and certain families, including those who had come over from the continent.  The last keyhole style tombs known to have been built appear to be out in modern Chiba prefecture, in the Kanto region, in the first half of the 7th century.  From then on, we largely see round, square, or octagonal tombs.  Some of the latest tombs that we know of, in the late 7th and early 8th centuries, show clear signs of continental influence.  Kitora kofun and Takamatsuzuka Kofun, both in the Asuka area, are decorated in ways similar to tombs in Goguryeo, including paintings of the four directional animals mentioned in the Liji, the Confucian Book of Rites: Suzaku, the red bird of the south; Byakko, the white tiger of the west; Genbu, the black tortoise of the north; and Seiryuu, the blue dragon of the east.  Takamatsuzuka also contains murals of courtiers dressed in clothing that would be quite at home on the continent and which looks quite different from the clothing seen on haniwa figures from only a century or so earlier. Tombs were also more likely to be clustered together, and often only contained a single burial, rather than evidence of a double burial.  This was likely influenced by the edict of 646.  That edict also gives us ideas on what was considered to be reasonable for that era, and provides some of our best descriptions in the written record to help us better understand tomb construction. I would also note that the court had moved to Naniwa, and near to Naniwa were some of the largest of the kofun, including Daisen-ryo, the largest kofun in Japan and one of the largest mausoleums in the entire world.  So perhaps that was also influencing their thoughts. The edict starts out noting that large, mounded tombs are wasteful.  This shouldn't be a surprise:  large tombs were always about conspicuous consumption as a sign of the wealth and power of the occupant and their family.  As noted earlier, however, a lot of that seems to have shifted to the building of temples, and as such, tombs were no longer seen as something to waste resources on.  However, since it was still tradition, it was still happening, hence the edict. And so it goes on to limit the size of the tombs.  At the largest, it says a tomb should be no more than about nine shaku wide and 5 shaku wide on the inside—one shaku being approximately 1 foot—and no more then 9 hiro to a side and 5 hiro in height.  A “Hiro” was an ancient measure that was generally the length of two outspread arms.  This was about 5 shaku, or 5 feet.    That means that we are still talking about a mound 45 feet on a side, which is nothing to sneeze at.  But this size was reserved for princes and up.  The Daijin—the great ministers of State—could have similar inner dimensions for their sarcophagus, but the outside was limited to only seven hiro to a side and three hiro in height.  Lesser ministers only got 5 hiro to a side and 2.5 hiro in height, while others were allocated no mound at all, and a smaller inner chamber. In addition, the number of laborers and how long they could work on a tomb was also capped.  The largest tombs were allotted 1,000 laborers for 7 days.  The Daijin received 500 laborers over 5 days.  Other ministers received 250 laborers for 3 days, while below that you received 100 laborers for 1 day or 50 laborers for no more than 1 day.  Here we see the state once again asserting itself into the relationship between the various individuals and the laborers—previously, an elite family would have just used as many laborers as they had private access to, but now things were being regulated and it was all based on your rank and position within the civil service of the new government. In addition, how the deceased was delivered to the monument also was regulated.  A carriage was permitted for the highest ranked individuals—the members of the royal family.  Ministers could be placed on a bier and carried by pall-bearers.  No mention is made of people of the lower class, with the assumption that they likely didn't get such a ceremony. White cloth hangings were allowed in many cases—white is practical, in that it isn't dyed and so it wouldn't be as expensive, but it was also considered the color of death in Buddhist and continental tradition, so not surprising.  They also allowed small stones to be used for princes down to the rank of “sho-chi”—that was the lowest official rank.  These stones could refer to several things, and we aren't quite sure.  According to Aston, the compilers of the “shukai” edition of the Nihon Shoki attributed this to memorial stones set up with inscriptions about the deceased, but as he points out, we haven't found anything that really correlates to that.  Aston instead suggests that what is meant are the stones used to build the roof of the main chamber.  If you look at tombs like Ishibutai kofun, you can see the large stones used there, but this may be referring to something similar, possibly using smaller stones that took less effort to haul into place.  There were also stones used on the outside to decorate the kofun back in the day, and I suppose that they could have meant that as well. More than just regulations, there were prohibitions placed on burials.  For one thing, the concept of a temporary interment was discontinued for everyone.  In the past, a body would be buried or even placed in a hut for some time and then the burial would take place at a later date.  There are several reasons this may have been done in the past, from the purely ritual to the more practical.  However, that was no longer considered to be appropriate.  Likewise, commoners were required to be buried within a day of their death.  This goes along with talk about reducing “pollution”, which may have referred to spiritual as much as physical pollution, and so plots of ground were set aside specifically for burials, and people were not allowed to be buried outside of those official locations.  That could certainly help explain why we see more clusters of burials in this later period.  Using the sides of hills and ridges may have also meant that the tombs didn't take up important agricultural lands. There were also prohibitions on sacrifices to the dead.  For one thing, nobody was permitted to sacrifice themselves through strangulation—which apparently had been a thing even though we are told that human sacrifice was prohibited back in the time of Mimaki Iribiko, and the reason that haniwa were invented.  You also weren't allowed to sacrifice someone's horse or bury valuables along with the dead.  These are all things that we see in the early mounded tomb culture, including burials in the Kara, or Gaya, region of the Korean peninsula, and we certainly find plenty of grave goods in the archipelago.  It makes me wonder if this is one of the reasons that painted tombs, like Kitora and Takamatsuzuka, were used, perhaps in place of more lavish grave goods going into the burial.  There was also a prohibition on an apparent custom where people would cut their hair and stab themselves in the thigh prior to pronouncing a eulogy.  Similar traditions are found elsewhere, often to emphasize that people were grieving the dead. And since you can't punish the dead, if there were any problems then it would be the dead person's relatives who would be punished, instead. Speaking of punishments, this starts to get into a part of the Taika reforms that really focuses on the various offenses that people were apparently committing and needed to be stopped.  It is unclear to me how often these offenses occurred, and in some cases I wonder if they were things that were actually happening or if they were carryovers from the continental tradition.  Still, I tend to come down on the idea that these were likely things that were actually happening, and didn't fit in with the social norms and values that Naka no Oe and his cohorts were attempting to put in place.  Some of these will likely resonate with us, today, but others are a bit more difficult to fully grasp. One of the things that is perhaps most difficult for us to grasp today is the concept of “harai”, which Aston translates as “purgation” and is most commonly translated, today, as “purification”.  “Harai” is an important concept in Shinto, and has been something that seems to have been there in some form from the earliest times. In Shinto there is a concept of “pollution” or “tsumi” that can occur, and it may or may not be something that a person has control over.  For example, blood and death are forms of pollution—which also means that, by extension, birth also includes pollution in the form of blood.  “Tsumi” can also be something that occurs because of things that a person does, where they break the social mores or norms.  A number of examples are contained in the stories provided during the Age of the Gods.  In particular, you can see in the tales of Izanagi and Izanami, where Izanagi, coming back from the land of the dead, dips himself into the ocean to wash away any impurities—any pollution.  We talked about that back in episode 14.  In episode 15, we talked about some of the not-so-great actions of Susano'o.  Some of these, like the backwards flaying of the colt and flinging it through the roof of his sister's building is somewhat obvious.  But then there were things like moving the stakes delineating the rice fields, or letting livestock in to trample the young growth.  Those were some other examples of tsumi that were part of the many things that got him kicked out of Takamagahara, the High Plain of Heaven. An important thing here is that tsumi is not necessarily about a person's intentions, motives, nor responsibility.  For all types of tsumi, some form of harai, or purification, is called for.  Today, there are various ceremonies that can be performed by Shinto priests to help remove the effects of tsumi, and that seems to have been the case back in the Kofun and Asuka periods as well, but there was a catch: it wasn't without costs.  And apparently those costs could be significant—significant enough that it was almost like a kind of punishment.  Aston suggests that harai could include various payments, perhaps seen as a kind of sacrifice, but that could be more than some people could afford.  If we look back on the story of Susano'o, he had to have his hair and nails cut as part of his penance—his harai.  There is also some thought that this may have just been a literal payment to the community, like a fine.  I would note that “harai” can mean either purification or payment, depending on the kanji used.  So just keep that in mind when we talk about “harai”. Now here are some of the things that, according to the new edicts, people were to stop doing. First, there were people who saw or heard something—presumably something important—and yet they wouldn't say anything.  That wasn't going to fly anymore.  So I guess this is the pro-snitching rule—if you see something, say something. Then there were enslaved people who apparently would leave poor masters to find someone wealthier to serve, hoping to improve their lot.  Again, this was right out.  We are reminded that Yamato was a slave-holding society, and they weren't going to allow that. On the other hand, the new rules also put a stop to husbands who would dismiss their wives and then, when the wives remarried, try to make a claim on the new husband's property.  Similarly, there were some men who demanded a family's daughter for his wife, but before they consummate the marriage, she marries someone else.  In some of those cases, the men would, again, make demands on the property of the new husband's family as well as the wife's family.  The new edict put that strictly out of bounds. Following on a theme of women and marriage: there was a tradition in some places that widows who, when they married after 10 or 20 years, or even unmarried women got married for the first time, they would be forced by the community to pay for some kind of “harai”.  This, along with the other practice mentioned, was forbidden.  No longer would they have to pay for getting married. Now in some cases, it looks like men who wanted to divorce their wives wouldn't just let them out of the arrangement. Rather, they would sell their wives into slavery—another thing that the new edicts said would no longer be tolerated. And then there was the case of a man who believed his wife was having an affair.  In that case he now had to obtain at least three credible witnesses before bringing it up to the authorities.  One presumes this was to protect women from men simply making a baseless claim with no proof.  Not that a determined man couldn't find—or even bribe—three witnesses to come forward and accuse his wife, but it at least upped the ante a little bit.  Whether this was to provide protection to women or whether it was just to reduce the amount of work on government officials who would have to investigate and come to a decision isn't exactly clear. I would note that while many of these new rules were coming down on the side of protecting women, to some degree, there is still a very heavy patriarchal bias demonstrated throughout. In addition to all the information on marital affairs,  there were a few other, unrelated issues, but all of them were connected to the need to do harai.  And now we come back to our story about poor Maro and Sumi from the beginning of the episode: let's say a man, finishing his forced labor, is returning back when he falls ill on the road and dies in some village.  According to established traditions, the people there could then require his companions or even family members to perform harai—presumably meaning that they would have to pay the village something or at least pay for the ritual cleansing, to compensate for the tsumi that the death caused.  Similarly, if someone were to drown, his companions would be held responsible.  Even if someone were to stop and cook rice by the roadside while traveling, they could be made to perform harai.  And the harai for all of this was so onerous that we are told that even a younger brother might completely ignore the body of his elder brother, just to avoid being associated with him and thus forced to perform harai. In all of these cases, the edict said that this would no longer be acceptable.  You couldn't just put the squeeze on someone to perform harai just because their companion happened to pass away. Being on the road and traveling—especially for official government service—was clearly something that was on their mind.  Moving on from the list of things that were to be discontinued without exception, there were a few other cases that were dealt with in the same edict. First, there was the case where peasants, heading to the capital, would leave their horses with someone in Owari or Mikawa, for example.  They would leave cloth and bundles of hemp as payment for the person to look after their horses, and even procure a spade as a gift when they returned.  However, when they got back, they would find that their horse had died, or else the horse had been sold, but the owner was told it had died.  The last trick, if it was a mare, was to get the mare pregnant and then claim that the pregnancy had polluted their house, therefore the owner would have to do harai, meaning that the horse usually ended up staying with the person who was supposed to be holding onto it. The solution was to use the new bureaucracy.  The owner and the person who agreed to keep the horse would make their statement to the village elder and the owner would hand over the renumeration to the elder as the third party.  This payment would be held by the elder until the owner returned, at which point it was handed over to the person who had kept the horse.  This way the person keeping the horse knew that he would be paid for his troubles, but only if the horse was still around when the owner returned. So they effectively invented the concept of escrow.  I suspect that such a system could be applied to many other such endeavors as well, where there was otherwise no guarantee of payment at the end of a task nor guarantee that the task would completed as agreed if they got the money up front. Besides that, the edict also had a short note about dues payable to Market Commissioners for main roads and to ferrymen—likely various fees.  Instead, these kinds of positions would be granted rice-land which could be cultivated and they could receive a stipend from that. Finally, during the key agricultural months, everybody was to be working on cultivating rice-land.  The edict specifically calls out that they should not eat dainty food nor drink sake, I suspect because dainty food wouldn't give you enough energy and drinking sake would impair your ability in the field.  Each quarter, the Kuni no Miyatsuko were to send messengers to remind the people of this edict—a kind of human public service announcement. So all of that was part of an edict on the 22nd day of the 3rd month of 646.  I am not sure that there is a clear theme to all of it, other than calling out old practices and describing how things would be done from here on out.  There is clearly a concern with harai and how it would affect people's willingness to do the right thing. The next set of pronouncements would come almost five months later, and a lot of that had to do with names, as well as further work on the creation of the government bureaucracy, but that is going to take a lot more time, and so I think that for now we'll end this here:  The link between the state and laborers has been changed, the tomb-building has been strictly regulated, and a series of rather specific pronouncements and prohibitions has been issued. And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Hitting the last of the Taika reforms, including talk about names, ranks, official duties, and new sumptuary laws for officials. For more, check out:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-111 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 111:  Names, ranks, and court caps. In the early hours of the morning, the locked gates of the palace were dark against the sky.  A few torches provided flickering illumination, as a crowd of officials gathered to the left and right of the doors.  As they waited outside, a low murmur could be heard as they made small talk with their co-workers.  Stragglers continued to join the crowd as the sky itself began to lighten, and though the sun still rested below the horizon, the stars had already given way.  As the light grew, and the torches were extinguished, a few late arrivals rushed up just as sun began to peek over the horizon.  At that, the doors were opened from inside, and the officials streamed in, heading to their offices where they would get to work running the country—their main tool in this task being little more than brush and paper, as they worked to bring order to the chaos. Here we are, still in the second year of Taika, aka 646, and still going through the changes being made to the Yamato government.  Last episode we went through many of the edicts made in and around the third month of the year.  These include proscriptions on the size and content of various tombs, down to how many people they could have work on them and for how long.  Other edicts impacted who could actually control the labor of the people.  While it is likely that local officials remained in charge, there was at least a nominal understanding that the people's labor—whether in the form of corvee labor or rice and similar products of the agricultural labor of the people working the fields—all that labor belonged to the State and, by extension, the sovereign.  There were many other, specific edicts, many having to do with marriage and various instances of harai—not to mention the invention of “escrow”. One of the themes through much of this was at least the nominal extension of the sovereign's direct authority down to the lowest levels of society.  This was accomplished by setting up offices down to the village level that would report up the chain all the way to the court.  These “officers” were likely pulled from individuals who were already part of the elites, but instead of being paid by income from their own lands, they now had stipends coming directly from the court. That was a theme that continued in the edicts that came out in the 8th month, which is where we're going to start with today's episode.  Before we get into that, though, a quick caveat:  I am still not convinced that I fully understand what is going on with some of these edicts, especially around names.  I'm not even sure the Chroniclers fully comprehended what they had put together and pulled from various sources at times, which occasionally seems like it is contradictory or repetitive.  So I'll do my best to explain it as I see it, but if you really want to get into this topic you probably will want to dig into it for yourself. Now I want to start with Aston's translation of part of the edict as recorded in the Nihon Shoki.  Following a rather flowery introduction talking about sage kings—a topic we should touch on at some point—they get to the heart of the matter: “Now as to the names of the early Princes: the Omi, Muraji, Tomo no Miyatsuko and Kuni no Miyatsuko have divided their various Be and allotted them severally to their various titles (or surnames). They afterwards took the various Be of the people, and made them reside in the provinces and districts, one mixed up with another. The consequence has been to make father and child to bear different surnames, and brothers to be reckoned of distinct families, while husbands and wives have names different from one another. One family is divided into five or split up into six, and both Court and country are therefore filled with contentious suits. No settlement has been come to, and the mutual confusion grows worse and worse. Let the various Be, therefore, beginning with those of the reigning Sovereign and including those in the possession of the Omi, Muraji, etc., be, without exception, abolished, and let them become subjects of the State. Those who have become Tomo no Miyatsuko by borrowing the names of princes, and those who have become Omi or Muraji on the strength of the names of ancestors, may not fully apprehend our purport, and might think, if they heard this announcement without warning, that the names borrowed by their ancestors would become extinct. We therefore make this announcement beforehand, so that they may understand what are our intentions. The children of rulers succeed one another in the government of the Realm, and it is well known that the names of the actual Sovereign and of his Royal ancestors will not be forgotten by the world. But the names of sovereigns are lightly given to rivers and plains, or common people are called by them. This is a truly fearful state of things. The appellations of sovereigns, like the sun and moon, will float afar: the names of those of the Royal line will last for ever, like unto Heaven and Earth. Such being our opinion, we announce as follows:--'Do ye all, from those of the Royal line down to the Ministers, the Daibu, Omi, Muraji, and Tomo no Miyatsuko, who do Us service, (in short) all persons of whatever Uji [One book has 'royal subjects of whatever name'], give ear to what We say. With regard to the form of your service, We now abolish the former offices and constitute afresh the hundred bureaus. We shall, moreover, grant grades of rank and confer official dignities.” Whew.  That is a lot, and I want to try to break it down as best I can. First off, I believe this ties in to the earlier edict, in the third month, that we mentioned last episode.  In that edict, the sovereign abolished the “Iribe”—those families made for the princes and ostensibly around to keep certain names alive, though quite probably they were family groups meant to keep previous princes and others rolling in their rice payments.  This new edict is continuing that trend – of abolishing the Be – but is coming at it from a different perspective. As a reminder, the “Be” and the various “Uji”, while they were longstanding Yamato tradition by this point, were originally imported traditions from the continent.  By all accounts the “Be” were the first to be created, with the “family” system creating a hereditary structure through which people would be born into particular jobs, with a familial “head” that would then organize the various members across the realm.  The more aristocratic “uji” formed out of that. Based on this edict, it seems that not only the sovereign of Yamato was using this system.  In fact, I suspect that the various local “sovereigns” of other lands had adopted it for their own purposes as well, and it sounds like even the Yamato courtiers had taken to using a version of this system within the lands that they controlled.  The Be and Uji system were, by this point, ubiquitous across the archipelago, at all levels, from what we can tell. Family *names*, however, were not a native system in Yamato.  Prior to the introduction of the Be and Uji, as best we can tell people were known by where they were from, what they did and the titles they held, and by their given names.  A father and son would not necessarily have shared a name, other than those other factors that they held in common by way of ancestry. I further suspect that ancestor worship was not so much a thing, either.  Not that people  in Yamato didn't revere their parents or remember those that passed on, but there weren't the same ideas about family as among, say, the ethnic Han, for whom ancestor worship was important, and carrying a family name was tied to larger cultural and ritual implications.  In early Yamato, names were tied to jobs and position in society.  If that changed, then someone could easily create a new family—a new “Be”—and people placed in that group would have both a new name and new responsibilities. If a particular elite uji, like the Abe, the Ohotomo, the Nakatomi, or the Mononobe, needed people to set up a new income stream for a particular person—perhaps a son or daughter—or they wanted to start a new industry in their territory, they might just have easily called up various people and reassigned them from one Be to a newly created one.  That would surely explain the breaking up of fathers and sons, such that each had a different name. At the same time, this would have likely been anathema to the Confucian dogma that underlay much of the reasoning behind the reforms.  Confucian theory gives much weight to the concept of filial piety, that a son should be loyal to the father.  Thus to cause a father and son to be split into different families without good reason was likely at odds with what the elite were telling themselves was the proper way of Heaven. So now we come back to the edict, which treats the entire traditional naming system as though it was in line with Confucian ideals. Moreover it places the  authority to regulate these families and family names in the sovereign.  This wasn't actually a new thing: the Chronicles previously had mentioned regulating names under the reign of Woasatsuma no Ohokimi, aka Ingyou Tennou, in the 5th century.  This was covered back in episode 56, where we talked about the importance of names, how they determined who you were and your position in society.  This was changing, as was the concept of family, which was, once again, much more closely tied to Confucian notions of family.  So controlling the names of the families was another form of power that further emphasized the position of the sovereign.  Through the regulation of these corporate families, their labor, was now being brought under the nominal control of the sovereign and the state.  This edict also removed the tradition of naming corporate groups after a person.  Previously that traditions seems to have started as a way to create groups that actually supported a given individual with their labor.  Those groups would often persist beyond the individual, however, and I suspect that's where they became thought of as a kind of memorial, maintaining the memory of that individual.  And I can see the power in that kind of thing, especially prior to having any kind of decent written records.  It is interesting to see how the practice had come to be viewed by the 7th century. There is a mention in the edict of something that runs contrary to how we understand things actually happened, and that was in the comment that lakes and rivers and more had been named after sovereigns.  The Chroniclers here are referring to the way that placenames, such as Hatsuse, or Hase, as well as Okinaga or Katsuraki, show up in the names of various sovereigns.  Aston notes something that seems obvious to me, when you think about it:  These places weren't named after the sovereigns, but the other way around.  Assuming that many of the names we see in the Chronicles were actually titles, they told you things about the person they were attached to, possibly where they were from.  Of course, that interpretation doesn't fit as well into the narrative of the 7th and 8th centuries and the idea that the royal lineage was a largely unbroken line back to the earliest ancestors, instead of a broken lineage of different people from different places.So with all of that, the court abolished the practice of creating all of these different family names.  The edict almost makes it sound like they were abolishing those families, as well, though they make a clarifying point about that: there is a note about how some of the tomo no miyatsuko—a general name for those families that served in court—took their position by ‘borrowing the name of a prince', and how the court didn't want those people to be worried about how this change would affect them.  The meaning would appear to be that courtly families would be unaffected, and this only affected families going forward or those that were created that were apparently below the level of the Tomo no Miyatsuko. That said, this is where it is good to remember that we are reading a Sinified version of the ancient Japanese as told by biased Chroniclers and trying to interpret it through a modern lens, often going through yet another translation in the process. The second part of the edict mentions abolishing the former offices and constituting afresh the hundred bureaus.  This is a bit difficult to parse, but Aston suggests that it refers to abolishing any actual authority attached to the old titles, many of which had become nothing more than names.  So when we see things like Wake and Mimi and other such things that appear to be old titles, the court was likely making sure that everyone now understood that those no longer had any actual authority.  The kabane or family ranks stayed, at least for now,  greater emphasis was placed on the newly established positions that were set up as part of the new state bureaucracy, as well as the rank and stipend that was likewise given out.  Aston also suggests that this change means that the rank and the title were not necessarily one and the same, though high rank often did come with a high position. The edict doesn't stop there, however.  After talking about names and families, it goes on to talk about governors and the kuni-no-miyatsuko handing out rice land per previous edicts.  It is noted that the rice land should be handed out equally to the people, and that those who live on or next to the land should be the ones to get it.  I wonder about the actual execution, but at first blush, at least, this seems to make sense—don't make families hike all the way across the village or region to till the field, but try to locate their land near their home. It also notes that alternate taxes—when it is labor or something else in lieu of rice—should only be collected from men, presumably the head of the household.  This was likely part of the shaping of patriarchal attitudes that assumed the men were the head of household and the chief laborers. The edict went on to call up corvee labor—one from every fifty houses, as had been previously mentioned—to help survey the various provinces and create maps of the provinces and districts.  This is a rather monumental task, and it is unfortunate that no actual map survives from this time as far as I'm aware, but it is one more effort to try to bring the entire realm under the control of the state.  In this case you are, in a way, capturing the realm on paper and setting up a basis on which to discuss later things like land ownership and use even though the actual land might be far away from the political and administrative center. Finally, the edict makes note that uniform provision would be made for any canals, embankments, or rice land that needed to be brought into cultivation.  This likely varied in each district and province, so there is just a general note that would have required local officers of the court to determine exactly what was needed. And that was it for the 8th month, and for edicts that year.  There was more that we will cover in later episodes—rats marching to the east, the last gasps (perhaps) of Nimna as a consideration, and other such things.  But no more edicts. At least not that year.  The following year, Taika 3, or 647, we see the issue of names comes up again.  This time the edict came out in the fourth month, and the claims now seem similar but slightly different from before.  The issue in the 4th month appears to be that some family names were derived from the names of kami or even sovereigns.  Moreover, people were apparently using that connection to claim that they had certain authorities to continue to make people their slaves or to avail themselves of their labor. In the case of the names related to sovereigns, I suspect that ties in directly with the previous discussions of creating corporate groups to support a given prince or other royal family member.  As for the kami, there seems to be some idea that groups that claimed descent from a particular kami would take that kami's name.  So those claiming descent from Oho-kuni-nushi, the Lord of the Great Land, used the name “Oho-kuni-nushi” as their family name.  We aren't given specific examples, however. There are numerous possible explanations I could see for these, especially given the way that early power structures tied themselves to the ability to appease powerful spirits.  The Ohomiwa family name, for example, likely refers to their connection to the religious activities on Mt. Miwa.   I also would not be surprised to learn that some of these families were ancient royalty in their own lands—the lands that Yamato now claimed as provinces.  There is the possibility, though, that all of this is just people taking names for themselves and putting on airs—trying to be important.  After all, in a time before documentation, whos to say when you actually arrived at a particular name and how.  This is a phenomenon seen in parts of America, especially in the early days, when many people struck off to make a life, often without the baggage attached to a previous identity.  Prior to more rigorous systems of documentation, how would you know if the person you met really was “Mr. Underhill” and not someone entirely different? Most important, to me, is the act of the sovereign, as head of the state, in actively claiming authority over these issues as well as putting a stop to the way that people were using such names to apparently make claims to certain entitlements.  The message seems clear:  Moving forward, everything has to go through the sovereign and the court.  The previous systems of rule and governance will no longer be tolerated. Of course, it isn't exactly clear how this was enforced.  Was it purely through the court?  Or was there also some threat of force and violence if people didn't conform?  Or was it enough to make the edict and then have local governors handle it?  Other than the example that was made of several of the governors, which we talked about over the last couple of episodes, I'm not sure that we fully know how it all went down. There were a few other edicts mentioned that year, but apparently the chroniclers didn't know exactly when they had been instituted, and so just claimed that it occurred during that year.  It seems that there was a new palace built, replacing the old government offices at Wogohori, in Naniwa, and there were new rules for how the court would operate.  That entry is placed between the entries of the 4th and 10th month, suggesting it was instituted around the summer period.  Then, after a few more entries, including one for the last day of the year, there was the the institution of a new rank system.  As for the new court rules: all courtiers were to show up to work at the Hour of the Tiger—the period of roughly 3 to 5 AM by modern standards—and they were to stand at the gates of the palace until dawn, at which point the doors would be open and people would be allowed in.  Once everyone was in, the doors would be shut, and anyone who was late, well, I guess you were calling out for the day. We talked a little bit about this practice back in Episode 95, when we were going over Umayado's 17 article constitution, which exhorted the court officials to arrive early and stay late.  This was clearly based on continental models, and as I mentioned back in that episode, it was likely done to make sure that officials had the most daylight possible to complete their tasks. Not that there were so many tasks.  The workday ended around noon—the Hour of the Horse, which technically spanned 11 AM to 1 PM.  A bell would be rung, letting everyone know that it was time to go home.  Realistically this means that you are lining up at 4 AM and going home at noon—roughly an 8 hour day, not including the commute.  And if 4 AM seems early, this was not an uncommon time for people to get up and prepare for the day when they didn't have artificial light to keep them going so much later.  In Medieval Europe it wasn't uncommon for servants to be up and about by 3 or 4 am to go get food to start cooking.  If you consider that it was dark by 6 or 7 pm, and you go to bed around 8 pm, you just might wake up at 4 in the morning—going to bed a little earlier, or just going with a bit less sleep, and you can be up and about by that time. This also gave the court officials time for everything else they would need to do.  From noon until sunset would have been time for the social functions; what we might consider “networking” in a modern corporate environment.  Today we can shift these considerations to much later due to electricity, but when light meant fire and fire meant the possibility of burning down your entire house, then using the light you had makes sense.  In fact, one has to wonder if this is what led to the fire that destroyed Naka no Oe's own mansion—but we'll probably want to save the rest of that story for another episode. The other thing happening this year, and in many ways closely tied with the new court ceremonies, was the implementation of a new rank and cap system. The previous rank system from the time of Umayado was replaced with a system of seven kinds of court caps and 17 grades.  It is often assumed that court caps and clothing were instituted for the earlier system, though there isn't a clear mention of uniforms and colors associated with the earlier ranks are largely conjecture.  It isn't clear that the court had yet picked up the continental clothing styles.  By 647, however, it seems that the court was considering official court clothing. The Tang Dynasty had instituted color regulations for clothing in the the 4th year of Zhen Guan.  The style of robe, the panling lanshan, was borrowed from the Xianbei—a robe with a round-necked collar that originally appeared in the Northern dynasties.  It had been previously adopted by scholars and officials in the Tang dynasty, and in the edict of 630 the Tang emperor dictated specific colors that could be worn based on the rank of the individual.  Coincidentally, 630-632 is when Inugami no Mitasuki was there as an envoy of the Yamato court.  He would have seen the style of the imperial Tang court. Uniforms at the Tang court would have been quite the sight, especially if you weren't used to it.  People in the same style and cut of robe, not just for fashion purposes, but coordinated, like a modern sports team.  You could immediately tell someone's rank, and when they lined up, it would have been particularly striking. It is unclear to me just how similar the Yamato implementation of this system was to the continental version. This may have been more like the “we have a rank system at home” version of courtly outfits.  It also must have been quite the task to have all of the proper caps made from different materials for all of the various ranks and individuals.  And these weren't caps you wore all the time—only at major court ceremonies, including when official dignitaries were visiting or during various Buddhist ceremonies. What's more, only two years later they would change it again.  This time we have the edict pegged to the second month of the year 649, with 19 court cap-ranks initiated.  I'll put the ranks themselves up on the podcast blog at sengokudaimyo.com if anyone is interested in the specifics, but a few notes. First, the names of the ranks were based on various things, such as the color of the cloth of the cap itself and whether it was plain or embroidered.  Some of the classes are based on things like “Flower”, “Mountain”, or “Tiger”, though they possibly meant “Kingfisher” for that last one.  The first three classes are broken up into Greater and Lesser, or Dai and Shou, while the lower classes—ranks 7 to 18—were further broken into Upper and Lower.  So you would have Upper Daikwa, Lower Daikwa, Upper Shoukwa, and Lower Shoukwa, as an example.  That method of breaking the lower classes of ranks into more was something that would persist into later rank systems.  The last rank, “Risshin”, just meant “Advancement” and seems to refer to the lowest grade on the scale. In addition to the ranks, in the 2nd month of 649 Takamuku no Kuromaro and the Buddhist Priest Bin presented their work on the 8 Ministries—or Departments—and the 100 bureaus.  This is work they had been tasked with at the beginning, and the eventual structure is definitely based closely on the Tang dynasty's court, but is not necessarily a one for one adoption.  At the top of it all are the 8 Ministries, or Shou, which oversaw the various bureaus—the text says one hundred, but they aren't actually enumerated and so I think we can assume that they just meant that there were a lot of them. The actual 8 Ministries are as follows: Nakatsukasa Shou – the Ministry of Central Affairs Shikibu Shou – the Ministry of Civil Office Jibu Shou – the Ministry of Ceremonies Mimbu Shou – the Ministry of Popular Affairs Hyoubu Shou – the Ministry of War Gyoubu Shou – the Ministry of Justice Ohokura Shou – the Ministry of the Treasury Kunai Shou – the Ministry Imperial Household Many of these ministries would last for centuries, even as their power was eclipsed by other government institutions.  Still, they would continue to be important, and today the Kunai Shou still exists, though now it is the “Kunai CHO”, often translated as the Imperial Household Agency. These ministries each had officials at their head who reported up to the Ministers of the Left and Right.  These 8 ministries would make up the core of what would come to be known as the Daijo-kan, sometimes referred to as the Great Council of State, which operated the secular government, as opposed to the Jingi-kan, which would come to oversee national Shinto, or kami-related, affairs and ritual. And with that, we largely come to the end of what appears to be the Taika reforms.  The rest of the reign could be thought of as a “burn in” period, I guess, as we assume that they continued to implement these reforms and build up this new government.  It is likely relevant that the following year, in 650, they changed the era name, something that we'll eventually want to talk about. For now, I think we should call it here. Next episode we'll backtrack a bit and go back to some of the other, non-edict related events in this period.  It wasn't exactly clean.  There was intrigue, murder, and more.  Politics at the time were anything but dull. Still, the reforms had brought about a real change in the administration of Yamato, a change that would influence the entire nation for centuries to come.  The centralization of power and the adoption of continental models would not stop simply at administrative tasks, but would find their way into many different facets of life.  Naka no Oe himself would continue to refine the system, as would those who came after him.  The reforms touched just about every facet of life across the archipelago, and in many ways it finally brought the archipelago under the control of the State, with the sovereign at its head. And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

So the year 649 was so bad that they went and changed the whole calendar to forget about it!  In 650 a white pheasant is brought to the court, and they sieze on that as a chance to rename the era from Taika to Hakuchi.  That should make things better, right? This episode we talk about this event--their reasoning, as well as what is recorded as having happened.  We also take a look at the completion of the Ajifu no Miya and how it was renamed to the Naniwa no Toyosaki no Nagara no Miya, or the Toyosaki Nagara Palace of Naniwa.  This is thought to be what we know today as the Early Naniwa Palace, and it was a real change, and, in many ways, the physical manifestation of the Taika era reforms. For photos and more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-113 Rough Transcript: Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 113: The White Pheasant.   The officials of the court stood sentinel at the palace gates, a formidable line of authority draped in flowing, vibrant robes that signified their rank. Each step down the line revealed a cascade of colors, a living tapestry of power and prestige. Only the envoys from distant shores stood apart, their unique uniforms adding an exotic flair to the proceedings, as well as a certain legitimacy as outside witnesses.   The air crackled with anticipation as the crowd waited, their breath held, until four figures emerged, bearing aloft a magnificent litter adorned with intricate decorations that shimmered as they caught the sun's rays.   Upon that litter rested a cage, and within it,a dazzling white pheasant, plucked from the untamed wilds of Anato. Whispers rippled through the throng; some questioned the significance of this fragile creature, while others dared to see it as a divine omen. Was this bird as pure as the tales had promised? The capital had buzzed with rumors ever since its unexpected arrival, and those in the back stretched their necks, desperate for a glimpse of this rare marvel.   The past year had cast a shadow over the Yamato court, leaving the air thick with uncertainty. Yet, this ethereal bird, shimmering with the promise of renewal, seemed to herald a shift—an opportunity for rebirth that everyone craved.  At the very least it was a much needed distraction from everything that had previously occurred.   As the litter glided past, the courtiers bowed deeply in reverence, forming two disciplined lines that followed through the grand gates. Together, they marched into the palace, hearts pounding with hope. They were not just entering a building; they were stepping into a new era, one that, with a whisper of fate, could rise above the struggles of the past.     This episode we kick off the start of a new era—the Hakuchi era, or the era of the White Pheasant.  It followed the Taika era, and it does have a different feel.  It is less about new edicts and more about how things were shaking out and coming together.  And one of the things that was coming together was the Nagara no Toyosaki palace, which is believed to be the same one known to archaeologists as the “Early Naniwa Palace” unearthed in Ohosaka and dated to the mid-7th century.  We'll actually start with a look at this palace, continuing our discussion from last episode, as our sovereign, Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, seems to have been a bit crazy about all of his palaces, and figuring out just which is which can be an issue in and of itself. We'll also touch on the start of this new era, and look at why and what it meant to come up with a new era name—a new “nengou”—in the middle of a reign like this.  And so we catch ourselves at the start of the year 650, still, technically, in the Taika era.  The year started well enough, with the sovereign celebrating the new year at the Ajifu palace and then coming straight back—the Ajifu palace was apparently yet another new palace and it seems construction had only recently begun.  Now, There is some confusion between the Ajifu palace and the Toyosaki palace.  The Ajifu palace is traditionally thought to have been located on the opposite side o f the Yodo river, in the area of modern Settsu city, on the site of what became the Ajifu Shrine.  Others have suggested that it was actually on the Kanimachi plateau, which is where the Toyosaki palace was.  Notably the “Toyosaki” palace is not located anywhere near the modern area of “Toyosaki” with which it seems to share a name.  From what little information we have, it seems to have been quite the complex.  As to why he would need yet another palace, I could not say.  And yet, later we see that the Ajifu Palace is eventually named the Nagara Toyosaki Palace.  So are they one and the same?  Did they move the Toyosaki Palace?  Or did they build the Toyosaki Palace and then *rebuild* it as the Ajifu Palace—aka the Nagara Toyosaki Palace? At this point the way that the Chronicles talk about it, the Ajifu palace site seems to have been almost purely conceptual, while previous accounts seem to indicate that the Toyosaki Palace was already in use.  That would have made for an interesting New Year's celebration, probably in temporary buildings erected quickly amongst the grass and fields, with some nearby tomb mounds that would need to be leveled or moved to make room, we are later told.  It seems they were still surveying the site, but I guess Karu really was looking for a change.  And so he celebrated the new year at the Ajifu palace, but quickly returned back to wherever the work of the government was actually occurring. As to where that was, well, we talked last episode about all of Karu's meanderings from one palace to the other.  The Nihon Shoki text itself is not exactly clear, as I read it.  It doesn't help that the term for palace, or “miya”, appears to refer to both a complex and a single residence, without a clear distinction given between the two.  And so, though I mentioned it last episode, let's recap what we know about the palaces this reign. So in 645, we are told that Karu decided upon Naniwa and we are told that this is the “Toyosaki” palace.  Then in 646, Karu took up residence in the “detached” palace of Koshiro in Sayabe, Naniwa.  This was likely him repurposing the Miyake, the government offices with the royal granaries.  He was only there for about two months, though, before he returned.  Then, in the third month of 646, he issues an amnesty claiming to have taken up residence in the new palace—but we aren't told which one. In 647, two years into the reign, the government offices at Wogohori are torn down and a palace was built there.  Now this is somewhat confusing because there appear to be two government districts:  Wogohori and Ohogohori.  You'll probably notice how similar these two sound, though it may have been more like “wogopori” and “opogopori”. Back in the day.  Wo-gohori, or the “Small District”, is mentioned once, but mainly just as a place name.  Ohogohori, or the “Big District” has previously shown up as the place with government offices for the envoys from overseas.   Confusing matters, in a later entry, Karu eventually moves out of the palace at Oho-gohori and into the palace that would be known as the Nagara Toyosaki palace.  So was he at Wogohori and then later at Ohogohori?  Or was there some scribal error such that the two got confused? And then in 648 we are told that Karu moved into the Toyosaki palace in Naniwa.  Two years later, in 650, and he is now celebrating New Year's at the Ajifu palace, which may refer to a location on the other side of the Yodo river, but is likely in the spot we now think of as the Nagara Toyosaki Palace.  We then know that in 651 they were still building a palace.  And it isn't until the last day of 651 that Karu would formally move from Ohogori into the Ajifu palace, which we are told was then renamed the Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya---the Nagara Toyosaki Palace. I have several thoughts on all of this.  One, is that there may have been two “Toyosaki” palaces—there was the Toyosaki palace that he first moved into, and then there is the Nagara Toyosaki Palace.  “Nagara” appears to mean something like “Long Handle”, but other than that, I don't know that there is a good translation.  It may refer to the fact that it was meant to last longer, or that it was even larger than the previous palace.  It may even be that the original Toyosaki Palace was just a few of the buildings, and that eventually it grew into the larger Nagara Toyosaki Palace, but if that is the case, what is up with term “Ajifu”?  Was that just one building in the larger palace?  Or are earlier mentions of “Toyosaki” anachronistic, and perhaps it wasn't until the entire thing was complete that they gave it that name?  Many modern accounts appear to conflate the Toyosaki palace with the Nagara no Toyosaki Palace, saying it just took that long to build.  That would imply that the Ajifu palace really was there on the Kamimachi plateau, at the known Naniwa palace site.  Alternatively, “Nagara” could possibly have been a reference to the fact that the Ajifu palace was an extension of the larger Toyosaki complex, possibly built out of the government offices of either Wogohori or Ohogohori. For all that we don't know exactly what was happening here, we have a pretty good idea in the archaeological record about at least one of the palace sites on the Kamimachi plateau.  This site has been identified as the Toyosaki palace of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, and it would actually be reused at a later date.  Sure enough, there are remains of at least two palace complexes on the site, with the one from our period known as the “Early Naniwa Palace” site. Based on its size and layout, this Early Naniwa palace was the first of its kind.  Previous palaces in Asuka had not dissimilar designs in terms of the general arrangement, but this clearly made use of the structure of continental style palace complexes, and was likely intended to be a new, permanent capital. The north of the palace complex consisted of a rectangular, walled section 185 meters east to west and 200 meters north to south, making up the “dairi”.  That's almost 10 acres of enclosed space, set aside as the sovereign's personal living quarters. South of that was a smaller area with the front hall, one of the largest for its time.  It was 36 meters east to west and 19 meters north to south.  This would have been the hall called the “Daigokuden” in later palaces, where official rituals would take place.  There was a gate between it and the Dairi, to the north, as well as a gate to the south, flanked by two octagonal buildings, which led to the Chodoin, the main working area of the court complex. This is part of what sets this palace apart from others, and why it likely took a while to build.  It may also explain all the different palace names as there was probably a lot of construction for a long time.  In previous instances, as far as we can tell, the sovereign's palace was both their home and the building where state business was conducted.  Think, perhaps, of the White House, in the US, and then imagine that the White House, the Capitol Building, and the Supreme Court were all part of the same compound, with only the barest of concessions to privacy between them.  In this new layout, the dairi was reserved to the sovereign, there was a small area for the official throne room, and then south of that was the Chodoin, the court hall complex. This was a huge change to how things had operated in the past.  While the main audience hall was still nominally part of the dairi, so the “private” areas of the palace weren't entirely “private”, it was still leaps and bounds more separated than in the previous palaces we've uncovered.  Sure, the idea of lining up buildings from the front gate to the larger buildings towards the back, making people approach successively larger and more impressive buildings, generally seems to have been a thing as far back as the Makimuku Palace near Mt. Miwa, back in the third century, but even then, there is no clearly defined separation between the public and private spaces of the sovereign.  There does seem to have been restrictions on who could enter what parts of the compound, with the sovereign's personal quarters being the most restricted, but now there were walls and gates and guards separating one area from another. The Chodoin itself, the main “business” or “public” area of the court, appears to have been about 262.8 meters north to south and 233.6 meters east to west—a little over 15 acres.  Most of that was open space between the 14 “choudou” halls lined up symmetrically, 7 on either side.  These were the individual buildings where the various government officials were to meet and conduct business, as well as conduct rituals, feasts, etc.  There was a southern gate that provided the entrance to the Chodoin and led to another large area with the Choshuden, the buildings where officials could change into and out of their formal court uniforms, and otherwise prepare for or close out the day.  South of that was the main gate for the entire compound, the Suzaku gate, named for Suzaku, the red bird of the south, one of the four directional guardian spirits. We know the buildings largely from their post holes.  They were made of wood, and it is likely that most of them were thatched.  They may have been painted white, vermillion, and green—classic paints that were based on continental styles and which were said to help prevent the wooden pillars from rotting too quickly.  It is unsurprising that this would have taken years—but it is also possible that they built some quarters for the sovereign and then built out from there.  This also would have been key to a lot of the governmental reforms, providing an actual location for the work that the reforms were directing. Of course, there was a lot of work to be done, and the halls in the palace were limited, so two areas to the east and west of the complex were set aside and appear to have been built up with other government offices, suitable for carrying out the day to day minutiae that was required. There is still a question of whether or not they also instituted the larger grid system city layout around the palace complex.  Currently we have no evidence for that, though perhaps they were considering it, eventually.  Unfortunately, with all of the construction in Osaka over time, I don't know if we could be able to find or discern such a layout if we did find it.  For now, we will stick with what we know:  an absolute unit of a court complex that took them several years to build. Getting back to the Chronicles: Our next entry in the Nihon Shoki, after the New Years celebration, tells us that in the second month, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato Province, brought a white pheasant to the court.  The report claimed that it had been caught by Nihe, a relative of Obito, the Kuni no Miyatsuko of Anato, on the 9th day of the first month, on Mt. Wonoyama. For reference, the land of Anato was at the far western end of Honshu, part of the San'yodo, itself a designation for the lands along the Seto Inland Sea coast from Harima, modern Hyogo prefecture, out to Anato, modern Yamaguchi prefecture.  It was on the Honshu side of the Shimonoseki strait, which was the main entrance from the Korean Strait and the Japan Sea to the Seto Inland Sea.  The area would later be known as Nagato, which would eventually be called Choshu, an area which any students of the fall of the Tokugawa shogunate are sure to recognize. We discussed back in Episode 94 how white or albino animals—assuming they weren't normally white—were considered particularly auspicious.  So in 598, the land of Koshi sent a white deer they had found to the court of Kashikiya Hime, which is to say Suiko Tenno.  And so the white pheasant from Anato was clearly seen as an omen—but was it truly auspicious.  Here we see the court investigating this, and how exactly they go about that is somewhat enlightening as to how the court thought in general. First, they made inquiry of the lords of Baekje—I would suspect this referred to those recognized as Baekje nobility residing in the archipelago, rather than sending a correspondence to the peninsula and back.  That they went to someone from Baekje would seem to indicate the importance they placed on Baekje as a conduit for continental learning.  Indeed, the answer they got back—whether from a single, unnamed individual or a group of Baekje nobility—was that White Pheasants were recorded in the 11th year of Yongping, which would be 68 CE to us, during the reign of Ming of the later Han dynasty.  Han Mingdi, aka Emperor Ming of Han was born Liu Yang and also known as Liu Zhang, reigned from 57 to 75 CE.  Ming and his son, Emperor Zhang oversaw a period of particular prosperity for the Eastern Han dynasty.  On the other hand, there was an attempt to curse Emperor Ming in 67 CE, which ended with the death of the ambitious Prince Jing of Guanglin.  Then, in 70, Prince Ying of Chu was also convicted of using magic to try and secure blessings while he fomented revolution against the emperor, and he was exiled, where he committed suicide.  So I don't know if this marks the pheasant as particularly auspicious or not. Asking the Buddhist priests, who frequently studied not just Buddhist canon, but other continental texts, they mostly drew a blank—at least on the specifics of a white pheasant.  They did recommend that a general amnesty would not be amiss, as it would bring joy to the people.  I guess if you aren't sure about the nature of an omen you can certainly do something to help it out. And while they weren't specifically sure about a white pheasant in Buddhist scripture, a couple of priests did have suggestions. The Priest Doutou recounted a story from Goguryeo, when the court there wished to build a new Buddhist temple, but could not divine a suitable and auspicious site.  When someone witnessed a white deer, they chose that spot for the temple, which was then called the Temple of the Park of the White Deer.  According to Doutou, this temple established Buddhism in Goguryeo. Furthermore, he recounted, when a white sparrow was seen on the farmstead of another temple, or when a dead crow with three legs had been brought back from the Tang dynasty, the people had proclaimed both of these to be good omens.  So given all of that, Priest Doutou concluded, a white pheasant must be especially auspicious. The Priest Bin agreed.  Bin, you may recall, had been heavily relied upon for his knowledge in setting up the new governmental structure, which would seem to indicate that he was quite well-versed in continental ideas, and he had even traveled there himself.  He provided the court several different reasons that a white pheasant might appear. First, it might appear when a ruler extended his influence to all four quarters. Second, it might appear when the sovereign's sacrifices are appropriate, and when his banquets and clothing are in due measure. Third, it might appear when the sovereign cultivates frugality. Finally, it might appear when the sovereign was humane. He didn't provide any specific examples of how he arrived as his conclusions—at least nothing was recorded—and so he may have been relying on his own expertise.  However, he did recount one tale in particular.  It was a story from the time of Emperor Cheng Wang of the Zhou dynasty.  Cheng Wang is said to have reigned in the 11th century BCE, from 1042 to 1021, and so take that how you will.  Important to us is not what happened so much as what the Yamato court believed had happened—what was the historical truth that they were workin with at the time? According to Bin, during Cheng Wang's reign, the Yuehshang family brought a white pheasant to the court.  Apparently it had been three years without any exceptional storms or rains, and neither the rivers nor seas had flooded.  Apparently the old men found this an extremely long time to go without some kind of disaster, indicating that the pheasant was clearly an auspicious omen in deed. Priest Bin also mentioned other accounts, but the Chroniclers omitted them from the record. Whatever they were, the court had heard enough.  The White Pheasant was declared auspicious, and a new era was declared:  the Hakuchi, or White Pheasant, era.  They let the white pheasant loose in the royal garden, presumably with clipped wings or otherwise kept from flying off, and then preparations were made  immediately to officially inaugurate the new era 6 days later, on the 15th day of the 2nd month of 650. Before we get into that, though, I want to pause and take a look at something here:  The authority of precedent.  Time, as conceived of in the continental model, was cyclical.  There was the cycle of day and night.  The cycle of the year and the repeating seasons.  Likewise the planets and heavens all had their own cyclical periods.  In addition, there was the idea that the Yin and Yang forces in the universe likewise cycled through predictable patterns—the sexagenary cycle, or cycle of 60 years, being an example of a longer term cycle.  And then there was the Buddhist cycle or death and rebirth, at least as long as one remained tied to this mortal plane of existence. If time is cyclical, then one can look to the past to predict the present.   Stories of the past were seen as holding authority over similar events in the present.  Understanding these historical stories and being able to pull from them provided its own kind of power and authority.  Rather than attempting to reason from first principles, precedent was often a more convincing argument. Being able to read and write and recall all of these stories gave scholars the ability to influence events.  Of course, who had time to do all that other than people like Buddhist priests or the doctors of the court? This is also one of the reasons that people would have had to write down histories and, eventually, to keep diaries and accounts of what happened.  Those accounts would, over time, become essential records to invoke for moments like this—and even a record like the Nihon Shoki or the Kojiki would have similar significance.  In many ways, it is propaganda, but not just in how it describes the past as the Chroniclers wished it to be, but it set the precedent for succeeding eras to look back on.  While we may challenge that view, today, for many from the 8th century onward the events described in the Nihon Shoki were considered the gospel truth in more ways than one. Of course, all that aside, we've had plenty of auspicious events before, but why, now, would they be enough to trigger a new era?  Why not just note them and move on? Well, to start with, let's face it, nobody is likely to name 649 as the greatest year ever, any time soon, and certainly not the Yamato court.  The Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, had been tricked into thinking that his co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, was a traitor.  To be fair, Maro had been more than complicit in the murderous takedown of his own relatives to set up the current government, and history has time and again suggested that those who put someone on the throne can just as easily take them off it.  That's why they are often either brought deeper into the inner circle, or removed—either physically or more euphemistically.  In this case, though, it seems that fears of Naka no Oe and others were unjustified, and they sent the royal troops after an innocent man; or at least a man as innocent as any of the other elites at that time.  After all, the wealth of the elites came from the rice fields that they owned—or that were at least designated for their stipends—and they certainly weren't working those fields themselves, so make of that what you will. All of that had led to the death of Maro, his family, and the rest of his household.  That, in turn, led to the death of his daughter, Miyatsuko Hime, who was married to Naka no Oe himself.  When they finally did realize what had happened, the best justice they could figure out was to send the scandal-mongering Soga no Musa out to Tsukushi in a form of luxurious banishment.  Demotion by promotion, as he was made the Viceroy of Tsukushi, the top man of the court at the edge of the archipelago. To say that the year 649 had been a bust is an understatement.  Don't get me wrong, it was a far cry from the worst year that the archipelago had ever experienced—or would in the future, for that matter.  But that was scant comfort to the folks living in it. And so it was with some relief, I suspect, that the court welcomed news from the far flung land of Anato, because they really needed a distraction. With that in mind, let us move on to the events of the 15th day of the 2nd month of the year 650, describing how they inaugurated the new era.  Now, if the Chronicles are to be believed, this is not the first time they inaugurated a new era—we are told that year 645 was considered the first year of Taika, or Great Change.  But, assuming that did happen, and that it wasn't just named after the fact, the era would have started at the same time as a new reign.  Previously, from everything we can tell, dates were based regnal years.  Things are recorded as happening in the X year of Y sovereign.  Some of the oldest accounts seem to even note it more as X year of the sovereign who reigned from the Y palace, as the palace was likely more distinct a feature than the names and titles that they used, and the posthumous names, like “Koutoku Tennou” were not actually used until the end of the 7th or early 8th century. It is possible that Hakuchi is actually the first true nengo—or era name—and the first one that appears in the middle of a reign—though even here some say that the instantiation of “Hakuchi” is anachronistic. Personally, I see no harm in taking it at face value, at least for now, while acknowledging that everything in the Nihon Shoki is suspect.  Still, we are approaching a time when the events being written down may have still been in the living memory of people alive at that time.  720 is only 70 years away, and the project started even before then, so unless there are obvious discrepancies or supernatural events, we can probably assume that the Chronicles at this point are largely truthful, if possibly embellished. And so it is we are told of what happened.  To begin with, the court lined the ministers of the left and right and all of the functionaries in four lines outside the “purple” gate, as they would during a New Year's reception, like the one they had just had at the Ajifu palace.  The “Purple” gate was probably a reference to the southern gate The fact that the courtiers lined up at the south gate in the same way that they would have during a New Year's reception would seem to indicate that this was seen as the start of a new year.  It was no longer a Taika year—starting on that day it was now the first year of Hakuchi.  The month and day would not change, however, so it was still the 15th day of the 2nd month.  That means that technically the first year of Hakuchi would only have ten and a half months in the year—maybe eleven and a half, if there was an extranumerary month.  Likewise, the last year of Taika would only have one and a half months.  And if you are thinking that must make Japanese dates really tricky around the start or end of year, you don't know the half of it.  Sometimes events will get placed in the wrong “era” because they happened a few months before or after the change, and people forget that when they are translating to and from western dates.  It also means era names can't just give you the years of the era, but really need to give you the month and date it starts and ends.  Fortunately, most people are quite understanding about the occasional mistake.  But anyway, I digress. The courtiers were lined up as though for new years, and then they watched as Ahata no Omi no Ihimushi and three others bore a litter with the pheasant on it and went ahead through the gates.  The others followed in rank order—with the Ministers of the Left and Right leading the various functionaries.  The Baekje prince Pungjang and his uncle, Sesyeong Chyungseung, whom we mentioned back in Episodes 105 and 107, as well as Mochi, the physician to the King of Goguryeo, a scholar attached to the court of Silla, along with other important persons all advanced as well into the Central court of the palace. The pheasants litter was taken up by Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, Wina no Kimi no Takami, Miwa no Kimi no Mikaho, and Ki no Omi no Maro, who brought it to the front of the hall.  There, the ministers of the left and right then took the front of the litter, while the Prince of Ise, Mikuni no Kimi no Maro, and Kura no Omi no Woguso took hold of the rear.  Together, they placed it in front of the throne.  The sovereign, Kura, and the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, examined the pheasant together. The Crown Prince then backed away, and the new Minister of the Left, Kose no Omi, presented a congratulatory address. He gave thanks to the sovereign and claimed that the pheasant was a sign that the sovereign would rule for one thousand autumns and ten thousand years across the Great Eight Islands—the Ohoyashima—of the archipelago and the four quarters of the earth.  Effectively, this is a long-winded version of “Banzai”, the congratulatory wish of ten thousand years of life for an emperor. Karu responded to this address by quoting auspicious times that white animals had been omens of good rule.  He then gave credit to the ministers and functionaries, and urged them to continue to provide good service.  Then he declared a general amnesty, forgiving various offenses, and noted that the era name would change to “Hakuchi”. Karu then directed presents to be handed out to the Ministers, the Daibu, the officials of lower rank, all the way down to the clerks.  Each received gifts commensurate with their rank.  Finally, Kusakabe no Muraji no Shikofu, the governor of Anato, was commended, and granted the rank of Daisen along with what we are told were a goodly number of presents.  In addition, the commuted taxes and corvees of Anato were remitted for three years, meaning that Anato would be allowed to keep all of the rice and product for themselves—something that was likely quite significant, though it is unclear whether this means that it was felt down at the level of basic workers or it just meant that the governor was able to keep what he taxed from the people for himself. And with that, we enter a new era.  Forget the unfortunate bloodshed and regrettable decisions of the previous year, this was a new start.  And that is often how these eras were seen.  Whether it was a new reign or things were just going so poorly that the court felt there needed to be a new start, future nengo would often follow a similar pattern.   And there was no set time for how long an era would last.  In fact, here's a little trivia for you:  The shortest nengo in Japanese history was “Ryakunin”, and it lasted just under two and a half months from late 1238 to the start of 1239.  It really shows how important it was to come up with a good name of these eras, as “ryakunin”, which seems to mean something like “humane period”, could also be written with characters meaning “abbreviated person”.  So they decided to abbreviate the era, instead, changing the era name again. This first year of the new era of Hakuchi continued relatively normally.  In the fourth month there were envoys from Silla—another source, according to the Nihon Shoki, claimed that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla sent envoys every year from this reign onward.  Then, in the tenth month, we see more work being done on the palace—presumably the Ajifu palace.  We are told that presents were given out in respect to tombs that had been demolished to make room for the new construction, as well as for the people who had been moved off their land.  Then Aratawi no Atahe no Hirafu was sent to place the boundary posts, no doubt marking out the outer extremities of the new palace precincts. In addition, that month work began—no doubt at the court's direction—on a giant tapestry, or mandala, with a sixteen foot tall Buddha image, attendant Boddhisatvas, and figures of all eight classes of beings according to the Buddhist cosmology.  That includes Heavenly beings, such as Devas; dragons; demonic Yaksha, Gandharva, and Asura; the bird-like Garuda and Kimnara; and the snake-like Mahoraga.  All told, there were some 46 figures.  It doesn't seem to say where it was to be installed, though it may have been made for the new palace complex. Also in that year we are told that the court ordered Aya no Yamaguchi no Atahe no Ohoguchi to carve one thousand images of Buddha—but once again, we aren't told where they resided.  We do know that the 16 foot tall embroidered Buddha was completed in the 3rd month of 651: it had taken them approximately five months.  The day after they were completed, the Dowager Queen, Takara no Himemiko, aka the former sovereign, Kougyoku Tennou, who had stepped down in 645, invited ten Buddhist teachers and prepared a feast and entertainment, likely to bless and show off the completed images. At the end of 651, the palace itself was finally complete.  We are told that over 2100 priests were invited to the Ajifu palace to read the Issaikyo on  the last day of the year.  The Issaikyo is the entirety of the Buddhsit canon, and so this was probably done in the abbreviated tendoku style, with priests just reading the chapter headings and flipping through the sutras, though with 2100 it is possible they just each red a different portion, all at the same time.  As it grew dark, the palace courtyard was kept bright with 2700 lights while we are told that the Antaku and Dosoku sutras were read.  Aston notes that these “sutras” of Antaku and Dosoku don't appear to reference any actual sutras that we know of, and posits that they may simply be rituals for home safety and the like.  Given what we know about the fate of so many of these old wooden palaces, it makes sense. After the sutras were read, the sovereign, Karu, formally moved from his residence in Ohogohori into the new palace, which was called Naniwa no Nagara no Toyosaki no Miya.  As I noted at the beginning, it is unclear if this was the Ohogohori or Wogohori, and it is even somewhat murky as to whether or not it was considered a palace.  Not to mention that after the New Year's ceremonies were completed, the royal chariot—which would have been carrying the sovereign—went back to Ohogohori.  I guess things weren't quite ready yet.  He would return on the 9th day of the third month, and even then we don't see a note that the palace was completed until the 9th month of 652.. There is a lot here where we see things that appear to be scheduled so that they can occur on auspicious days, even if everything else isn't quite ready.  So, for example, reading the sutras and formally “moving” into the palace on the last day of the year so that one could host the New Year's celebration there the next day.  That seems like something that was done purely for ceremonial purposes.  You may recall that in 650 they did the same thing. There are a few more references to the palace.  On the 15th of the 4th month of 652, the Buddhist ascetic E'on was invited into the Dairi to explain the Muryouju Sutra, also known as the Sukhavati Vyuha sutra.  E'on was made a lecturer, and there were said to be 1,000 ascetics in the audience, listening to his teachings.  That apparently went on for five days, being discontinued on the 20th day.  And the power of the sutras, and E'on's teachings, is shown in the weather, because the Chronicles claim that large rains began to fall in a monsoon that lasted for nine days.  This wasn't a gentle “water your crops” kind of rain.  This was more like a “demolish your buildings and destroy your fields” kind of rain.  There must have been massive flooding as men, horses, and cattle were caught up in the water and drowned. Given the way this is written, I'm not entirely certain of the takeaway.  Were the sutras that powerful that they brought rain, and E'on didn't understand his own strength?  Or was it a punishment for stopping E'on from continuing his lecture?  Or was it the rains that caused the lectures to stop, perhaps making it untennable for people to sit out in the courtyard and listen as the rains came down?  My rational brain suspects the latter, but I'm not sure how it was read by the people of the 8th century. On the last day of 652, priests and nuns from around the country were invited to the dairi, to the interior of the palace, and entertained and given a feast.  Alms were given and lights kindled to celebrate the new year. But that's the last entry I really see for the palace, as such.  There was plenty more happening through the era, and we'll touch on that.  We start to see Silla and Tang dynasty getting chummy, and we also see some of the reforms still working their way across the land.  We also have Yamato's own expeditions out to the Great Tang dynasty.  But we'll save that for the next episode, as we continue to dive into the Hakuchi era. And so, until next time, thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we look at the Hakuchi era.  Specifically, the implementation of something called the "Equal Fields" system, which seems to be what the court was trying to implement in some of their early Ritsuryo edicts.  And then we'll see why this era is the "Asuka" period and not the "Naniwa" period, despite the grand temple to government erected in that area of ancient Osaka. For more, check out https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-114 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 114: Public Lands and Remote Work   In the early evening, Karu paced through the halls of the inner palace.  The grand scale of the construction was impressive, and it was built and furnished with the finest materials available.  In all aspects it was the shining jewel.  The center of the Yamato world.  The entire thing still felt new. And yet, for all of that, it now felt strangely empty.  So many of those who had previously graced its halls were only memories.  Karu looked over the halls and wondered:  Was it worth it?    He had worked with his nephew and others to build a Kingdom worthy of the name.  They had instituted reforms to model themselves after the major powers of the day.  They had a built a palace to last the test of time.  This wasn't just another place to be abandoned—this was meant to be the bedrock on which the new State would stand.  It was the center of ritual and of the government. But was it?  The government was more than just buildings.  It was the people who made up the offices and the ministries.  It was the entire royal family.  It was the scholars and the officials, debating just how things should work. What would happen when Karu was gone?  Would this system last the test of time?  Or would it disappear, to be replaced by something new?  For centuries, every sovereign had made a new home for themselves every time the previous sovereign passed away.  Is that what would happen to Karu as well? As the sun set, and darkness set in, Karu could only wonder what the future might hold. So here we are in the Hakuchi era, during the reign of Karu, aka Ame Yorodzu Toyohi, which is to say between the years 650 and 654.  The era of Great Change was now the era of the White Pheasant – listen to our last couple of episodes to understand why -- and all of the changes weve been discussing were starting to really come together.  Front and center of those changes was the Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a physical manifestation of the new bureaucratic system of government that the sovereign, Karu; the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe; and others had put into place.  The work of this government was happening on a stage much grander than anything that had previously been seen in the islands. This was the start of what we know as the Ritsuryo Era, and it was finally coalescing.  In this episode we'll talk about how, in the Hakuchi era, we see the implementation of the continental system known as the “Equal Field System”, and how the bureaucratic government was extended down to the individual household.  This was all part of what we've come to know as the Ritsuryo state, which we talked about back in Episode 108 as we started all of these changes.  We are now seeing the foundations of that new state, and we are several years into its implementation, seeing those early edicts finally starting to bear fruit.All of this, of course, was focused on the seat of government in Naniwa. And yet, spoiler alert, this is not called the “Naniwa Era”.  We are still in what many refer to as the Asuka Era.  So what happened?  Towards the end of the episode we'll talk about what happened as the era came to a close, or at least as much as we know. To kick us off, let's talk about where we stand in the Hakuchi era, and look at the culmination of these early Ritsuryo changes we've been talking about. Whatever else had happened, various good omens, crises, and so on – the work of the government was continuing.  Once again, we see records of various envoys from the continent —and we'll get into the international situation, later—but for now, let's focus on what was going on in the archipelago itself.  Specifically, I want to talk about something called the Equal Field System, another innovation that Karu and his administration introduced to Yamato. The Equal Field System goes back to at least the Northern Wei dynasty, over on the continent, in the late 5th century.  It attempted to solve several issues regarding how the government could make sure that land was being worked—and that the government was also getting its cut.  To that end, let's back up a bit and talk about concepts of public versus private land, and how they apply to Yamato at the time. The concept of “private” land may seem simplistic, as we have an idea of what it means today.  Your “private” land is land you own, of course.  “Public” land belongs to the government.  But in Japan—and in much of East Asia—those concepts weren't necessarily the same.  In many early theories of land ownership, all land belonged to the State—individuals were simply using it.  To a certain degree, even today, land is often held only so long as you have a deed or other proof of ownership that is recognized by the State, but concepts like eminent domain can supercede that ownership. So for our purposes, here, Private land was land where all the produce went to a private individual or private interest,  such as a family—or even a temple or shrine.  If it was truly privately-owned land, then all of the produce of that land went to the owner.  Even if the government technically owned the land, the land could still be considered private, meaning that it wasn't  considered taxable by the government – whoever controlled the land got all the produce. In contrast to that, public land was land where the government was owed some or all of the produce.  It might have been worked by individuals, but was still taxable in part or full.  An early system that goes back to at least the Zhou dynasty was known as the Well Field System.  In this system, land was ideally divided into nine squares.  The eight squares of land on the outside of the square would all be held and worked by private farmers, who were able to keep whatever they produced on the land.  In return, they were to provide labor on the public land in the center, the produce of which went to the State, which could then be stashed away in case of famine or used to help increase the State's coffers and thus pay for other amenities. Of course often it just went into the pockets of various aristocrats.  I also wonder just how much effort was actually put in to working the public land in the Well Field System. That name, by the way, comes from how the whole schematic looked when drawn out.  The hanzi, or kanji, for a “well”—as in a place where you draw water—is much like a modern hashtag mark.  Think two horizontal and two vertical lines, like a tic-tac-toe board.  This comes from the fact that wells were often square or rectangular holes, the sides of which could be reinforced with wood.  At the top, the well frame was often formed with overlapping wooden beams, forming a shape similar to a hashtag.  And so in the Well Field System, the center of the tic-tac-toe board was the public land, and everything else was private.  This system fell apart with the fall of the Zhou during the Summer and Autumn periods, though there were attempts to revive it.  After all, it had been mentioned in the Book of Rites, the Liji, and it was praised by Mengzi—the famous scholar and philosopher we known to the West by his latinized name of  “Mencius”.  As such, it was officially documented as a “good idea” and so there were often attempts to revive it. The Northern Wei, however, took a slightly different approach.  In the late 5th century, they were looking for a way to curb the power of aristocratic families.  Since the Qin dynasty and onwards, they had seen the growth of families accumulating land and thus wealth and power.  These powerful families were both necessary and a threat, as they held the power to prop up or tear down a government.  Farmers would need to rent land from the powerful landowners, paying them a portion of their harvest as rent. To counter this, the Northern Wei instituted the Equal Field system.  Under this system, they claimed government ownership of vast swaths of land and then provided equal parts of that government land to every adult person.  Upon a person's death, their land would revert back to the government, who could then redistribute it to others.  The peasants would then be expected to provide a portion of the harvest as tax—they would provide food-rent for the land, as well as payment in cloth and a set number of days of corvee labor.  The key was that all of this payment was due to the government, and not to private aristocratic families. After the Northern Wei fell, the Equal Field system was reinvigorated by the Sui and Tang dynasties, who extended the system across their territories—or at least within the Yellow River and Yangzi River basins.  The system did have some allowances for inheritance—especially in instances like mulberry groves, which would be maintained by successive generations.  In general, however, most of the land was to be reclaimed by the government upon a person's death or at the point that they reached 60 years of age, and then it would be redistributed. This is still a relatively simplistic overview, and there were plenty of different adjustments and changes to the system over the years.  Key for us, though, is looking at the adoption of the Equal Field concept in the archipelago. Up to this point, land ownership in Yamato, such as it was, fell under various family groups.  They would own the land and whatever was produced on it, so it was truly private land.  “Yake” were set up by the families as central storehouses and administrative centers.  In this case, the royal family was, in many ways, just another landowner, and their “yake” are indicated in the Chronicles with the royal “mi” honorific—hence the “miyake”. As the reformers went about making changes in the period between 645-650, they adopted the concept of the Equal Field System.  Prominent figures such as Naka no Oe himself gave up their private fields, and the royal lands were turned into government lands.  They instituted the concept that all land in the archipelago nominally belonged to the State, and that others worked it at the Sovereign's pleasure. As we talked about in the past several episodes, this made the Sovereign and the State more prominent in people's lives, and it built bonds with the peasants in that they were granted land on which to work and make a livelihood.  They didn't necessarily have to work out a separate arrangement with some noble family, and the fields and taxes were “equal” for every person. Of course, surveying the land, taking a census, and distributing the land to the people didn't happen overnight, and it isn't even clear how well it occurred outside of the lands originally owned by the royal family, at least initially.  We are told that even though the project had kicked off years earlier, back in 646, it wasn't until the second month of 652 that we are told that the distribution of rice-land had been completed.  30 paces of land—Aston notes that it was 30 paces long by 12 paces wide—made up a single TAN of rice-land, and 10 TAN made up a CHOU.  Each TAN or land a person was granted was expected to provide back to the government a sheaf and a half of rice, with each CHOU providing 15 sheaves. This effort simplified taxation, in a way—everyone owed the same thing, based on their household and how much land they had been granted.  However, it also would have required an enormous bureaucratic engine.  Scribes would have been in high demand—anyone who could read and write.  Without modern computers, they would need to hand count everything in a given district, then send those numbers up to the governor, and then send them again to the capital.  Hence the giant government complex set up in Naniwa to oversee all of this and to ensure that the government worked as intended. In the fourth month of 652, the work continued.  We are told that the registers of population were prepared—presumably based on the information that had been previously acquired from around the provinces and sent to the court.  The earlier edicts from 646 that outlined this system—which we mentioned back in Episode 109—was finally put in force.  As we noted back in that episode, 50 houses made up a township, or RI—the character used is also pronounced “SATO”, today, and often refers to a village.  Each RI had an appointed elder, or head, using the term “CHOU”.  This term is still found today in modern parlance:  The head of a company, or “KAISHA” is the “SHACHOU”, while the head of a division, or BU, within said company would be the BUCHOU.  KAICHOU is the head of an association, or “KAI” and the “GAKUCHOU” is the head of a “DAIGAKU”, a university—basically the University President.  In this case the “CHOU” of the “RI” would be the “RICHOU”, using the Sino-Japanese On'yomi pronunciation, though in the vernacular they probably would have been called the “Sato-osa”.  All of this just means village head or village chief. So 50 houses made up a RI, with one RICHOU at the head.  In addition, each house would have a senior member appointed as the official head of household, or KACHOU.  From there, houses were associated together in groups of five for mutual protection, with one head, or CHOU, per group of five.  And okay, so they were creating groups of people for administrative purposes?  Who cares?  Well, the thing about this is that it was encoded into the new legal system, and it had several implications.  Chief among them was the implication of primogeniture: Since the most senior person was made the KACHOU or head of household (and by “person” I think we can assume that “man” was a given, unless there were no men in the house for some reason), this meant that the eldest person in the household was automatically the one who inherited that position, along with the status and control that came with it.  As we've seen, up to this point, it was not necessarily the case that the most senior person would inherit in ancient Yamato tradition.  Inheritance could pass from a younger brother to an older brother, or to a younger son of a younger son.  While there was some apparent concern over lineage and making sure that the individual was of the proper bloodline, at least for royal inheritance, there was not an automatic assumption of precedence for who would inherit. Of course, as we've seen, this set off all sorts of disputes and problems, especially among the elite where wealth and power was involved.  However, I think it is fair to assume that these problems weren't relegated purely to the upper levels of society.  Inheritance is always tricky, even in cases where it seems like it should be straightforward. I imagine that the institution of primogeniture as a legal concept would have had consequences beyond just inheritance.  It set up ideas of who was “important” in the family, and the family is often a microcosm of society at large.  Primogeniture meant that age and masculinity were both valued over youth and femininity.  That isn't to say that pre-Taika Ritsuryo was a bastion of equality, but we do see more instances where men and women seem to be on closer to equal footing. In the concept of primogeniture, I believe we can also see the institution of Confucian values—not surprising as this whole thing is cribbed from the continent, with a lot of it being taken from the Tang court.  We've discussed Confucian concepts of filial piety and how that fed into patriarchal—and frankly monarchical—ideas.  The Father and Son, the Ruler and Subject, the Husband and Wife, Elder Brother and Younger Brother, etc.  These were the relationships that were important and they defined much of the way people were expected to interact. As the new system being instituted copied the form of continental government, it would have also been preaching many of its values, as well.  Scholars will continue to debate how widespread the changes actually were.  Did the equal-fields system exist all the way out to the edge of Emishi territory?  Did it cover the mountainous regions of Honshu?  How about to the West of Yamato?  We don't know, but nonetheless, we do see both the expansion and centralization of Yamato power, so there seems to be something to it. By all accounts, the work that had taken place in this era appears to have been a smashing success.  The Taika reforms had taken hold, and the Ritsuryo state seemed to be off to a roaring start.  At the center of it was the newly built Nagara Toyosaki Palace, a giant stage for carrying out the business and ritual of the State.  One would think that the founders of this new State would have been overjoyed.  Naka no Oe, Nakatomi no Kamatari, and the sovereign, Karu, among them.  And yet, the story doesn't seem quite that simple. The first Ministers of the Right and Left had already passed away.  Abe no Oho-omi had passed of what appears to be natural causes, but Soga no Oho-omi, aka Ishikawa no Maro, was undone by slander, accused of treason, and took his own life rather than being killed by the government forces sent after him.  And in the 6th month of 653, the sovereign was told that the Priest Min had passed away. Min—Aston sometimes transcribes it as “Bin”—was one of the sources for much of the information about the continental systems of government.  We've mentioned him on and off for the last 5 or 6 episodes, though you may not have always caught the reference.  Also, since even Aston switches between pronunciations at times, I apologize if I haven't been consistent.  If I said Priest “Min” or “Bin”, we're talking about the same person.  He was a Buddhist priest who had traveled to the Sui dynasty in 608, spending 24 years there, witnessing the change from the Sui to the Tang, returning to Yamato in 632.  He was consulted on various omens, and he and Takamuko Kuromaro, who had also been made a State Scholar, or Hakase, at the same time, both worked to set up the eight ministries of the state, the core of the Ritsuryo bureaucracy. The death of Min was felt across the organs of state.  Both the Queen Dowager and Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, sent messengers to offer condolences.  The sovereign commanded the painters, Koma no Tachibe no Komaro, Funado no Atahe, and others to make a large number of figures of the Buddha and Boddhisatvas.  They were to be placed in the temple of Kawaradera, though other sources say Yamadadera.  Both of these are in Asuka—although the capital had moved to Naniwa, and there was the temple of Shitennoji there, just south of the palace, I can't help but notice that many of the established temples remained in and around the old capital at Asuka. 653 saw something else, which also seems a bit odd, given the apparent success of the government.  We see that in this year the Crown Prince, Naka no Oe, petitioned his uncle, the Sovereign, to move the royal residence back to the Yamato capital, which is to say Asuka—in the heartland of Yamato as opposed to outside the Nara Basin, like Naniwa.  This is quite the request.  They had just finished establishing a large palace complex in Naniwa.  Why would they pull up stakes and move everything back to Asuka? So the sovereign, Karu, denied Naka no Oe's petition.  Regardless, Naka no Oe took his mother, the Queen Dowager, as well as Karu's own Queen, Hashibito and the younger royal princes, and he moved all of them back to Asuka, moving into the temporary palace of Kawabe.  The ministers and the various Daibu all followed him.  He basically moved the royal family and the court back to Asuka, without Karu's permission, and everyone followed him. We aren't told why this happened.  Was there a falling out between Naka no Oe and the Sovereign?  Was there some other issue that caused Naka no Oe to want to abandon the capital they had worked so hard to build? Karu was understandably upset by this apparent betrayal.  He expressed himself in a poem which he sent to his wife: KANAKITSUKE / AGAKAFU KOMA WA / HIKIDESEZU AGAKAFU KOMA WO / HITO MITSURAMUKA The pony which I keep/ I put shackles on / And led it not out Can anyone have seen / The pony which I keep? And if it wasn't enough that the people had left. We see once more, on the New Year's Day of 654, that the rats likewise left Naniwa and migrated towards Asuka.  This last one I certainly question as to whether or not it happened, but the meaning and symbolism is clear.  The Chroniclers are telling us that the effective capital was moving back to Asuka.  The time in Naniwa was limited. This doesn't appear to have negatively affected the fortunes of Naka no Oe and his supporters.  On the contrary: Nakatomi no Kamatari no Muraji, on this same New Year's Day, was granted the Shikwan, the purple cap, and his fief was increased.  The Toushi Kaden, the History of the Fujiwara House, says that it was increased by 8,000 households. It seems that the business of the government continued apace through 654, though it is a bit unclear just how things worked, given the split between Asuka and Naniwa.  Was Karu left alone in the giant complex he had built?  Or was it still where all of the government work happened?  If so, just how much were the high ministers missed, or were they working remotely, via messenger and post-horse? Whatever the situation, it would resolve by the end of the year.  On the 1st day of the 10th month, Naka no Oe learned that his uncle, the Sovereign, had taken ill.  Naka no Oe and the entire court returned to Naniwa to see him.  Nine days later, on the 10th day of the 10th month, Karu passed away in the state bedchamber he was around 57 or 58 years old.  He was temporarily interred in the southern courtyard, and Mozu no Hashi no Muraji no Doutoko oversaw the palace of temporary interment.  He would be buried in the Ohosaka Shinaga Tomb, which was built near the site of tombs associated with Kashikiyahime and others, south of the Yamato river, on the west side of the mountains that separate the Kawachi plain from the Nara basin. Two months later, Naka no Oe and his mother made it official, and formally moved to the temporary palace of Kawabe in Asuka.  Naka no Oe's mother, Takara Hime, would come to the throne on the third day of the first month of the new year, 655.  It would be her second time on the throne.   Since she reigned twice, the Chroniclers actually gave her two posthumous regnal names.  For the first reign they named her “Kougyoku Tennou”.  In the second reign they named her “Saimei Tennou”, to distinguish from her first reign on the throne.  As far as I know this has only happened twice—the second time being with Kouken, aka Shoutoku, Tennou in the late 8th century. Why she took the throne again is not addressed.  She had been the sovereign, stepping down during the Isshi Incident, when Soga no Iruka was killed in front of her.  At that time, Naka no Oe had been urged to take the throne, but he decided against it.  After all, Furubito no Oe was still around at that time, and seems to have had his own claim.  Naka no Oe couldn't take the throne while Furubito was still alive and, at the same time, claim to be the filial person that Confucian theory said he should be.  And so his uncle, Karu, took the throne, since nobody could really say anything against it.  Now, though, Furubito no Oe and Karu were both deceased.  Why didn't Naka no Oe, the Crown Prince, ascend the throne?  Again, we aren't given an answer.  There is one other thing that is possibly worth noting, however: Karu had a son.  This may be whom they are referring to as the “younger princes” who were brought to Asuka when everyone moved there.  This was Prince Arima.  He is believed to have been born in 640, so he would have been about 15 years old at the time of his father's death.  Naka no Oe was the Crown Prince, but did Arima also have a claim?  He was, after all, the male son of the most recent sovereign, Karu, and his queen, Hashibito hime.  This is something that we will definitely look at in a future episode. It should be noted that Naka no Oe was born in 626.  He would have been 18 or 19 years old during the time of the Isshi incident, and was only ten years old, 29 years old, when his mother took the throne for the second time, in 655.  She, on the other hand, was about 62 years old when she took the throne the second time.  The consensus is that even though she reigned as sovereign, the true power continued to rest with the young Naka no Oe and his clique, and they would continue to direct the government for the next several decades. And with that we largely bring to a close the Hakuchi era.  The era ended with Karu's death, and no new era was declared for Takara Hime's reign.  The period from the Hakuchi era to the start of the Nara period is often referred to as the Hakuho period.  An unofficial name taken from the names of the nengo on either side of it.  It often is used specifically to reference the art of the period, as more and more continental influence continued to pour in. Next episode, we'll take a look at the various interactions with the continent and go a little more into the politics of the time.  Takara Hime's second reign—for which she was posthumously given the name “Saimei Tennou”—dealt a lot with the continent, among other things.  Things on the Korean peninsula were heating up, and the Tang was continuing to push against those on their borders, both along the Silk Road to the West, but also against states like Goguryeo, in the northeast.  And yet it wasn't a time of constant warfare, either.  We'll do our best to look at what was happening. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This episode we go back to the continent for a bit to see how things are going.  Hint:  not well.  While Yamato was building its new bureaucratic state, Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla were battling it out while the Tang empire and their ambitions loomed over them all.  Yamato is about to get pulled into the conflicts, but before that, let's look at what was happening from the point of view of the various penninsular polities. This episode goes back over some of the information in Episodes 107 and 109, but mainly to place it in context of what was happening in Goguryeo, Baekje and Silla as opposed to simply viewing it from the rise of the Tang Empire or the occasional mentions in the Nihon Shoki.  Much of it relies on what we have in the Samguk Sagi, the Korean annals of the Three Kingdoms. For more, check out our blogpost: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-115 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is Episode 115: Red Banquets, Fashion Disasters, and Other Continental Adventures It was the year 642, and the hall was decked out in the finest, with banners hung and tables set.  The scene was awash in gold and silk and silver.  The guests were no less opulently adorned: The crème de la crème of Burana, aka Pyongyang, capital of the state of Goguryeo.  The tables were piled high with food, and there was a low murmur as the assembled guests talked quietly as they waited for their host. These guests were among the highest nobles in the land.  180 members of the most powerful families.  As they mingled, they talked.  Much of it was gossip, the currency of court politicians everywhere. They discussed who was up and down in the constant fight for favor.  Who had made a misstep, or was seen talking to the wrong person?  Or how about that time that someone wore the wrong clothes, or misspoke in court? Other conversations focused outward, on the threats from beyond the border.  But the majority of conversation had to do with their host, a striking individual. The murmurs continued as they waited for him to arrive..  Yeon Gaesomun was a hard-liner, pushing his agenda for stronger defenses against Tang encroachment.  That might be understandable for someone stationed out east, as he had been, but the King himself and his supporters felt that relations needed a more diplomatic touch.  Now that Gaesomun was back in the capital of Pyongyang, would he change his approach? The conversation continued apace as people ate and drank.  The whole time they remained blissfully unaware of what was happening just outside.  Drowned out by the sound of the banquet, troops were quietly assembling just outside, girding themselves for what would soon be an irrevocable step forward.  As orders came down the line, they drew their weapons, and then they burst through the doors… Last episode we talked through much of the Hakuchi era, from 650 to 654.  This episode I want to finish out the era, in order to do so we're once again going to touch on what was happening over on the continent. Some of these events we've talked about already: Last time we did a deep dive into this subject, back in Episode 104, we focused primarily on the Tang dynasty and its rise.  We also talked somewhat about Yamato's conflicts with Tang, Goguryeo, and others in Episode 107.  But at this point it's useful to go back and put that Continental narrative together a little bit more clearly, to set the stage for what will be happening in Yamato in the next reign after Karu. This episode we are going to go back over some of that info, but I want to center the narrative a bit more on the peninsula, rather than on the Tang dynasty. As you may recall, the Tang dynasty started in approximately 618, taking over from the Sui.  By 628, the Tang had defeated the Gökturks, and they continued to expand.  They conquered Turpan and Gaochang, in the Western Regions, and their control over the Silk Road was substantial, opening up tremendous trade routes that brought in wealth and more.  The capital of Chang'an became a true center of learning, and the government instituted a national university that was attended by elites from both in and outside the empire. This episode, though, we are going to focus more on the area of the Korean and Liaodong peninsulas, where the countries of Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla contended with each other.  Goguryeo was the largest and perhaps even the most powerful of the three, but it was also on the border with the Tang empire, who were nothing to sneeze at given their own string of military victories.  So Goguryeo was beset from all sides, and needed a sizeable force on their western border.  Everything was in a tenuous balance, of sorts. When it came to the Tang empire, Goguryeo walked a delicate line.  On the one hand, they wanted access to the trade goods and the knowledge that was accumulating in the Tang empire and making it the envy of most other nations in the region.  On the other hand, they had to be constantly on the lookout for a possible invasion, and so needed to show their strength.  This wasn't without some confidence.  After all, Goguryeo had defeated attempts by the Sui dynasty to invade, and so they had proved up to the challenge—at least so far. In 619, on the eve of the Tang dynasty's founding, King Yeongnyu of Goguryeo, whose personal name was Geonmu, sent a tribute mission to the Tang, to encourage good relations.  By 622, Goguryeo was responding to the Tang dynasty's request to return soldiers captured during the attempted invasions by the Sui.  They kept sending missions on an annual basis, playing the part of a friendly tributary. Further on the peninsula, Baekje and Silla were likewise reaching out to the Tang dynasty, similarly hungry for the trade goods available in the markets of Chang'an.  Baekje, sitting on the coast of the Bohai sea, had direct routes to the mainland; to both the Yellow river and Yangzi river deltas.  They may not have had an overland border, but the sea was open to them. Silla, on the other hand, was not so quite so fortunate.  They were mainly situated on the east side of the peninsula, and though they had some access through the Han river, near modern Seoul, their access was constantly threatened by both Baekje and Goguryeo.  In 626, a Silla mission to the Tang complained about this very thing, claiming that Goguryeo was attacking them.  In response, the Tang requested peace, and Goguryeo apologized and backed down.  That said, it is unclear if the Tang would have taken much action.  They were, at that point, more focused on the Gökturks and others.  That military action ended with the defeat of the Gökturks in 628, however, a victory for which Goguryeo sent congratulations.  One has to imagine, however, that the congratulations were a bit mixed.  After all, without the Gökturks to hold their attention, what was to keep the Tang dynasty from looking at further conquest? The question of how to react to the Tang Empire seems to be one that split the Goguryeo court.  Some members of the court wanted to appease the giant on their doorstep, with offers of tribute and nominal submission, with the goal of making it clear that they were not a threat and that military conquest was unnecessary.  They could all live in harmony, one with the other.  To that end, they would not want to be too blatant about building up their forces or defenses in an act that could be seen as a prelude to military action.  On the other side were the hard-liners: members of the court that felt that they had to maintain a strong military defense against the likely possibility of a Tang offensive.  To these hawks, military strength was the deterrent, as power only truly respected power.  To be seen as weak and submissive would be to seem vulnerable, and an easy target. Still, there seems to have been relative, if uneasy, peace for a time.  Goguryeo continued to build their relation as a tributary state, and most of the action seems to have actually been taking place in the peninsula.  For Silla, 632 was a banner year, as Queen Seondeok came to the throne.  She was the eldest daughter of her father, who had no sons to inherit, and so she came to the throne.  She is said to have been quite intelligent, and the Samguk Sagi gives various accounts of her Holmsian powers of deduction.  For example, upon seeing a picture of flowers, she immediately concluded that, though they were beautiful, they had no fragrance.  She noted the lack of bees and butterflies around the flowers, and based on that observation she deduced that the flowers must have no scent to attract them. Queen Seondeok would oversee Silla in a time when they were growing closer to the Tang and also seeing increased pressure from Baekje and Goguryeo.  We mentioned how, in 626, Goguryeo had blocked Silla's mission to the Tang court.  Then, in 636, a Baekje general led 500 troops to Mt. Doksan, to attack the Silla position there.  Two years later, Silla defeated Goguryeo troops outside Jiljung Fortress. This wasn't constant warfare, but it did mean that the armies had to be on a constant wartime footing.  You never knew when your neighbor might sense a moment of weakness and try to take advantage of it.  Of course, as the old adage goes, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”.  Baekje and Goguryeo were more directly on the Tang Empire's borders.  And so we see Silla cultivating a special relationship with the Tang. This is nothing new, by the way.  Various dynasties in the Yellow River basin had used similar tactics for generations.  Immediate border countries were often treated more severely, with threats of punitive expeditions if they did not fall in line or give themselves over completely to become a direct vassal of the empire.  Countries just beyond the border were often treated with a lighter touch, luring them into complacency and even friendship with access to elite trade goods, and more.  As borders shifted, so too did the relationship between the empire and those on its borders. Goguryeo and Baekje fell into the former category, while Silla seems to have been in the latter—at least for now.  And yet all three were still trying to get what they could.   In 640, Seondeok sent her sons to enroll in the Guoxue, or National University, that Tang Taizong had set up in Chang'an.  This university had gathered Confucian scholars from all corners of the world.  The school is described as having some 1200 bays, with 3,260 students.  Besides Silla, Goguryeo and Baekje also sent their princes, who mingled with elites from Gaochang, Turpan, and elsewhere.  It was opportunities like this that made Chang'an so attractive: a place where the elites of Silla, Goguryeo, and Baekje, could mingle with the members of the Tang Court and the western regions, beyond, sharing ideas and learning about the wider world. The following year, in 641, there are two items of note.  One is the inspection by Chen Dade of the Tang-Goguryeo border.  We talked about this back in episode XXX.  Under the pretense of a diplomatic mission, Dade arrived at the border with numerous gifts of silk, presenting them to the various fortress commanders and then asking to be shown around.  The Commanders were more than happy to show Dade their impressive fortifications, and they were exceedingly polite, but little did they know that Dade's true purpose was to scout for weaknesses in Goguryeo's defensive line.  His report back to Tang Taizong would be critical in what was to come. Also in this year, King Uija of Baekje came to the throne.  We talked about how Uija had sent his son, Prince Pung, to Yamato, and we've touched on him a few times here and there.  Uija was clearly a proponent of the alliance with Yamato, and, as we'll see, he was no friend to Silla.  The following year, in 642, Ujia's forces attacked Silla, capturing 40 strongholds, and pushing Silla's expanding borders back to the Nakdong river, retaking much of the area that had been under the control of the various Kara, or Gaya, confederacy.  This likely included places like Nimna and Ara, though we can't know for certain.  We do know that Baekje forces took Taeya fortress in the south of the peninsula, which gives us an idea of the extent of Baekje's victories. In response to Baekje's brazen attacks, Silla went  to a seemingly unlikely ally.  They reached out to Goguryeo.  In fact, they sent none other than Kim Ch'unch'u. Kim Ch'unch'u was the grandson of the 25th king of Silla, King Jinji.  Though his father, Kim Yonsu, had lost any claim to the throne when King Jinji was overthrown, he was still of “seonggol”, or “Sacred” bone rank, a concept somewhat similar to the kabane of Yamato, though in this case the “Sacred bone rank” indicated nobles specifically descended from the royal family.  These would have likely been the various Royal Princes and their families in the Yamato hierarchy.  Kim Ch'unch'u, in particular, seems to have been well regarded by the Silla court of his day, and since his own daughter had been killed by Baekje, he had a personal stake in the matter.  And so he led the embassy to Goguryeo's capital at Pyongyang to request that they send troops to aid Silla. There was only one problem.  Goguryeo was still fuming about territory that they had lost to Silla many years ago.  They agreed to send troops, but only if Silla would agree to a little quid pro quo.  Silla would need to return the Chungnyung pass and cede everything northwest of it back to Goguryeo.  This would return much of Goguryeo's territory north of the Han river and modern Seoul. Kim Ch'unch'u  rebuked their offer, calling it a threat against Silla.  This angered King Yeongnyu, and Kim Ch'unch'u was jailed for his disrespect.  Ch'unch'u was able to get word out of his imprisonment, however, and Queen Seondeok sent what the Samguk Sagi calls a “Death Squad” of 10,000 soldiers with the aim of breaking him out of prison.  As soon as Goguryeo heard that these troops were on the move, they decided that holding onto Ch'unch'u wouldn't be worth it, and they released him rather than fight.  Kim Ch'unch'u was returned safely, but without the support that he wanted. That said, there may have been other things going on in Goguryeo. The pro-appeasement camp and the hard-liners were fuming, and things in the court were coming to a head.  The two sides pulled against each other in the way that they shaped policy.  For the most part, King Yeongnyu was pro-appeasement, but there were powerful figures in the hard-liner camp, such as Yeon Gaesomun.  At 46 years old, he was a descendant of at least two previous “Magniji” court officials—a title roughly equivalent to that of a Prime Minister, and one of the most powerful roles a non-royal court noble could aspire to.  Gaesomun himself was the Western Governor, directly responsible for the fortresses that defended the border with the territory of the Tang Empire.  As such, it is little wonder that he may have been a bit more focused on the threat that they posed, and he likely held the loyalty of not a few troops. And perhaps this is why King Yeongnyu started to suspect him of being a problem, and why he plotted to have him killed.  Word of the King's plot reached Gaesomun, however, and he decided to take matters into his own hands. Returning to Pyongyang in 642, Gaesomun let it be known that he was throwing a lavish banquet to celebrate his rise to the position of Eastern governor.  He invited over one hundred of the opposing court nobles under this pretence.  But that is all it was. When the nobles had gathered at the banquet site, Gaesomun struck.  He had loyal forces rush in and kill all of his opponents, and then, before an alarm could sound, he rushed his troops over to the palace and murdered King Yeongnyu.  It was the Goguryeo's own Red Wedding, and it would hold a particular place of infamy in Korean history, which said  that the troops dismembered the corpse and discarded it without ceremony. In place of King Yeongnyu, Gaesomun propped up Yeongnyu's nephew, King Bojang.  Gaesomun then appointed himself the Dae Magniji, the Great Prime Minister, or perhaps more fittingly “Generalissimo”.  Though King Bojang sat upon the throne there was no question that it was Gaesomun who now ruled Goguryeo. Gaesomun's legacy is complicated.  Under the Confucian values of the time, many early historians vilified him for murdering the king, and blamed him and his harsh policies for the eventual downfall of the kingdom.  He is portrayed as a man lusting after power. We are given examples of his harsh demeanor, and the Annals state that when he got off of his horse he had high ranking nobles and military officials lie on the ground so that he could step on them, rather than touching the ground.  Of course, some of this we should likely take with a grain of salt, given the Chroniclers' generally dim view of him in general.   On the other hand, some modern histories believe that he wanted Goguryeo to take a tougher stance against the Tang.  Early Korean nationalists rehabilitated him, exalting him for taking such a hard stance against the Tang, or, in their eyes, China.  I suspect that he was a little of both.  A tyrant and a despot—as many rulers of the time were—but also dedicated to the defense of his nation. We mentioned this briefly back in Episode 107, but I wanted to touch on it here in more detail as it really leads to where we want to discuss.  A very brief mention of this lies in the Nihon Shoki, where it says that “Irikasumi” the “Prime Minister” of Goguryeo slew the king and over 180 others.  For the most part it tracks, though it does say that it happened in 641, which may easily just be a simple scribal error. The general narrative from here is that the Tang dynasty used Gaesomun's usurpation as a pretext for war against Goguryeo, but the narrative seems a bit more complex, and when we are reading we should keep in mind that none of the players in this drama knew the outcome beforehand.  And so, as is often the case, things are quite as straightforward as they may seem when we zoom out and take a look at the macro level of historical events, where we've already decide what events we believe to be important and which were less so, often based on knowing the outcomes.  Of course, the Chroniclers would have had similar narratives, but they were still trying to catalogue the events of each year as best they could. And that brings us to the year 643.  In this year, Silla went to the Tang dynasty to ask them for assistance against both Baekje and Goguryeo, who were planning to cut off Silla's access to the Tang court.  Tang Taizong agreed to help, but only if Silla would accept a Tang official who would come and oversee Silla.  Taizong's reasoning is given, which follows a typically misogynistic logic:  “Because your country has a woman as a ruler, neighboring states belittle it.  As you have lost the authority of the ruler, thus inviting the enemy to attack, no year will enjoy peace.”  He basically said that Silla needed a big strong man to help out, and he was willing to send someone—along with troops—to do just that.  Of course, I think we can all see how that was likely to end up, and any thoughts Silla had of being an equal partner in such an arrangement were nothing more than fantasies.  Tang Taizong was agreeing to assist, if Silla became a protectorate of the Tang court. The Silla envoy, for his part, took a very political stance.  No doubt knowing just how bad this was for Silla, but not wanting to disrespect the Tang emperor, whose assistance they still needed, he acknowledged the emperor's words without accepting the terms, returning without the promised help, but also without completely subordinating his country to the Tang empire. Although the troops were not forthcoming, the envoy's mission still had a positive impact.  Having heard that the envoy was traveling to the Tang court, King Uija of Baekje proactively withdrew the troops he had that were planning to attack with Goguryeo and cut off Silla's access to Chang'an.  Thus, Silla's corridor was maintained. Goguryeo, for their part, continued to attack Silla's border, but even though Gaesomun was one of the hard-liners when it came to Goguryeo-Tang relations, his initial envoys to the Tang court took a conciliatory stance towards the Tang empire.  Gaesomun promoted Daoism over Buddhism, and had his emissaries request and bring back 8 Daoist sages from the Tang court. Many historians feel that this was actually something of a show.  Sure, they would get knowledge and learning from the sages, but more importantly was to put the Tang at ease and hopefully allow Goguryeo a chance to annex Silla before the Tang war machine got up and running.  For their part, the Tang were already considering their next moves against Goguryeo, with some suggesting that they use proxies, like the Khitan and the Malgal, to make an attack.  Emperor Taizong's advisors suggested that the best course of action would be to lull Goguryeo into a false sense of security prior to a massive assault.  And so there were no major attacks that year. In 644, however, the Tang sent a message to Baekje and Goguryeo that they would need to stop invading Silla, and that if they didn't do so, the Tang would attack.  Gaesomun was actually leading troops in an attack on Silla when news of the messenger arrived at Goguryeo's court in Pyongyang.  Gaesomun's response was that he was simply trying to reclaim the territory that Silla had previously stolen from them many years earlier.  Along with their excuses, they sent along gold and 50 hostages from the Goguryeo court, but they were refused by the Tang.  It was probably pretty clear at this point that things were coming to a head—and diplomatic relations finally broke down in 645. That year the Tang dynasty—in conjunction with Silla, the Samguk Sagi tells us—launched a massive invasion of Goguryeo.  The pretext of which was, as I mentioned, Gaesomun's usurpation of the throne, but let's not kid ourselves:  The Tang dynasty were not shy about pushing out their borders. The Tang troops, who had been preparing for the past year, invaded in a two prong attack.  An overland attack struck at Gaemo—modern Shenyang—while naval forces landed on the Liaodong peninsula.  These forces initially swept through the border fortresses along the Liaodong penninsula with seeming ease.  Remember Chen Dade and his little factfinding mission?  No doubt all of his work came in quite handy.   Things were going well, and Tang Taizong himself joined the campaign. Still, each fortress took time, so that even though the invasion started in April, they reached Ansi by June. We are told that Goguryeo had amassed over 150,000 forces at Mt. Jipul, near Ansi, a walled fortress town with an estimated population of around 100,000.  Those numbers may be exaggerations, but the context is clear:  This was not just a small fortress and Goguryeo sent a lot of troops to reinforce the area. On the other side, Goguryeo was facing odds that were probably more like 3 to 1, with a massive Tang invasion force, which, since they had split, were attacking from two different directions.  Sure enough, the Tang were able to catch the defenders out of position, with the troops that had crossed the sea assaulting from the front while the overland forces attacked Goguryeo's rear.  It is estimated that over 50,000 Goguryeo troops were killed or captured in the battle. And that left only the fortress of Ansi, with a garrison of maybe 5,000 troops, to face the Tang, who had otherwise swept through previous defenses in relatively short order.  It would have been understandable had they capitulated.  There were still other fortresses between the Tang armies and the capital of Goguryeo at Pyongyang, not to mention the extremely mountainous terrain between the Liaodong and Korean peninsulas.  And yet, the Ansi garrison refused to give in.  The Tang forces, for their part, knew they could not leave an enemy to their rear, and so rather than continuing on, they set a siege to the fortress town. Although we are told that the Tang forces brought siege engines with them, the garrison at Ansi held out.  In fact, they held out for three months, and fall was beginning to turn to winter.  Winter in northeast Asia would bring snow and mud.  Furthermore, the Tang supply lines themselves were fairly long at this point.  Eventually, the defenders won out, and the Tang forces turned back.  On the march back towards Chang'an, Tang Taizong and his troops were caught in an early winter blizzard, which killed more of the soldiers.  Emperor Taizong founded Minzhong Temple—known today as Fayuan Temple, in modern Beijing—to commemorate his fallen soldiers. Although the Tang forces retreated, it is hard to say that Goguryeo was truly victorious in the outcome of the war.  Many Gogouryeo troops perished in the fighting, while Tang could now regroup.  Goguryeo was unlikely to be a major and immediate threat to Silla, as they would need to continue to maintain troops and rebuild the fortresses taken by the Tang, but that didn't mean that Silla was off the hook, either. Through this all, Baekje had taken the opportunity to harass Silla's western border.  They sent wave after wave against Silla, whose forces in that area were under the command of general Kim Yusin.  The Samguk Sagi mentions that his forces would turn back one attack, and he'd be almost back home, when another attack would come and he would have to go back out.  In one particularly poignant moment, he even got so close as to see his house, but he could not stop, and so he marched straight past the gates as he prepared to repel yet another invasion from Baekje. Winter brought a pause to the fighting, and in 646, things seem to have been relatively calm, if still quite tense, as all sides recovered from the events of the previous year.  Nonetheless, this is seen as the start of what is known as the Goguyreo-Tang war, a series of conflicts that would continue for approximately the next 20 years.  Goguryeo, for their part, attempted to normalize relations with the Tang, even sending two women—specifically the Annals state that they were two beautiful women—as a peace offering.  Tang Taizong politely refused them, however, claiming he wouldn't dare to separate them from their families.  In reality, he was rebuilding his forces, preparing for another assault, but that would take time.  In the meantime, diplomatic channels remained open, which really demonstrates the political situation in general, at the time.  Even if two sides were attacking one another, diplomatic envoys were still being exchanged.  Furthermore, though the trade routes may have been slightly less stable, trade continued, regardless.  The following year, 647, Emperor Taizong launched fresh assaults against Goguryeo.  This time, rather than a larger army, he instead had them focus on small-scale attacks that would weaken the kingdom of Goguryeo, forcing them to constantly be on guard and to pour resources into supporting their borders.  At the same time, Silla suffered tragedy as Queen Seondeok died, and Queen Chindeok took the throne.  Later in that year, Baekje troops attacked three Silla fortresses.  They were pushed back, but the Silla troops took heavy casualties.  As we can see, the fighting continued throughout the peninsula. Meanwhile, over on the Japanese archipelago, they were busy incorporating the new reforms.  Envoys from Silla, Baekje, and Goguryeo would continue to travel to the Yamato court, which one imagines made for some rather tense State dinners. The year after that, in 648, while Tang forces continued to harass Goguryeo, Baekje attacked and took ten Silla fortresses.  Upon hearing this, Silla general Kim Yusin rallied the troops, counterattacked, and destroyed the invading forces.  Silla's Prince Ch'unch'u himself, the one who had previously gone to Goguryeo to ask for support against Baekje, traveled to the Tang court in Chang'an.  There he requested assistance against Baekje's continual harassment of Silla's borders. It is unclear how firmly Baekje and Goguryeo were allied together and coordinating attacks, but  it does seem clear that they were aligned in their goals.  Baekje may not have been in direct conflict with the Tang, but their attacks on Silla likely kept Silla from further harassing Goguryeo, who was actively involved in defending against Tang attacks.  So whether there were formal treaties or not, lines were drawn, but these were still independent states with their own goals and aspirations. And so, when Ch'unch'u's ship was returning from Chang'an and ran into a Goguryeo patrol, one can understand their apprehension.  Ch'unch'u was known to Goguryeo, and if we was captured it is unlikely that he would live long enough to be rescued by an elite Silla death squad once again.  And so, his men devised a plan, and a man named On Kunhae put on the clothes of a high official—possibly Ch'unch'u's own.  When the Goguryeo patrol captured the ship, they killed him, believing he was a Silla noble or at least an important envoy.  Unbeknownst to them, Ch'unch'u himself had been transferred to a smaller, less assuming ship, which quietly made its way past the patrol and back to Silla controlled territory. And so, once again, we see us how dangerous things were getting at this point.  Travel was risky at the best of times, but now, with the possibility of being intercepted by a hostile country's forces, who knew what might happen. Hostilities continued until 649.  That year, Tang Taizong passed away, and shortly before he did, he pulled back the troops.  His death only brought a brief pause, however, as his son and heir, Tang Gaozong, took the throne and would launch his own series of wars against both Goguryeo and Baekje.  In 650, Gaozong received Prince Kim Ch'unch'u once again as an ambassador from Silla, this time with a poem penned by Queen Chindeok herself.  In the form of poetic verse, she asked for help against Baekje, who had continued their attacks.  Throughout the previous year attacks had continued back and forth.  Silla general Kim Yusin again managed to push back and defeat the Baekje forces, but one can only imagine the toll this was taking on Silla's ability to defend itself over time.  This was the content of the note.  Prior to this, Silla really had gone all in on strengthening their ties with the Tang dynasty, going so far as to institute Tang court dress—both in their robes and caps.  This point had been specifically negotiated by Prince Ch'unch'u with the previous emperor, Tang Taizong.  It sounds as if Silla was trying to have the Tang court recognize their own court nobles and put themselves in a place to receive Tang court rank, though how, exactly, they received said rank is unclear—did it come from the Tang or was it granted by the Queen of Silla. Either way, it was clearly seen by other nations—or at least Yamato—as an unwelcome statement.  In 651, Silla envoys arrived at Tsukushi—modern day Kyushu—wearing their new Tang style clothing and they were turned away.  Specifically the Dazaifu sent them back claiming that they weren't dressed as envoys from Silla should be.  On top of this, we are told that Kose no Omi then suggested that *rather than go to war* over this, they should just make a show of force when the envoys came back.  And let me reiterate that: according to the Nihon Shoki this was such an affront that Yamato was considering whether they should launch a punitive military strike against Silla for sporting the wrong fit.  Talk about a fashion disaster! In the end, they took Kose no Omi's advice, which was that the next time Silla arrived they would have ships lined up all along the Seto Inland Sea as the envoys made their way to Yamato so that there was no doubt in the envoys' minds about just what Yamato could do. This is a great demonstration of how something we might consider innocuous was clearly a Big Deal for the people at the time.  I suspect that there were at least two possible reasons for why this was, besides just considering themselves the arbiters of fashion.  For one, remember that Yamato considered Silla to be subordinate to them, at least in their worldview.  Just like they had been concerned about at least maintaining the fiction that Nimna was still an active and independent entity, this broke the illusion that Silla was a tributary of Yamato. At the same time, it may have just been that they were putting on airs and it was seen as impersonating and even speaking for the Tang court.  After all, if a Tang envoy showed up, I doubt that Yamato would turn them away. In either instance, we can see the lines being drawn, with Silla taking a clear stance in connecting themselves with the Tang court while Goguryeo, Baekje, and even Yamato were still in contact with them, but from a more independent capacity.  In 652, for instance, we know that Goguryeo again sent tribute to the Tang court, no doubt in an attempt to normalize relations.  Still, the alliances were firming up. In 653 we have two items of interest:  one from the Samguk Sagi and one from the Nihon Shoki.  In the Samguk Sagi it explicitly mentions that Baekje and Wa formed an alliance.  This is significant in that the Samguk Sagi really doesn't mention Wa nearly as often as we would expect it to, while the Nihon Shoki is constantly discussing Baekje and Yamato relations.  I imagine that there must have been a significant escalation of Wa involvement around this time for the Samguk Sagi to mention it. On the other hand, the Nihon Shoki doesn't really mention it.  Sure, there are annual tributes mentioned from Baekje and Silla—and occasionally Goguryeo—but they were more focused on another event: an embassy that the Yamato court sent to the Tang dynasty.  This was the first embassy to be sent in some time—at least according to the Nihon Shoki—but it was quite the affair.  Two ships were prepared.  The first ship was led by Kishi no Nagani and his assistant, Kishi no Koma, along with the envoy, Nunobara no Mita.  They were accompanied by numerous students and student priesets, all sons of court nobility, including Jou'e, the son of none other than Nakatomi no Kamatari the “Naidaijin” or central prime minister.  In total, there were 121 people on board the ship. The other ship was led by Takada no Nemaro and his assistant, Kamori no Womaro, as well as their accompanying envoy, Hashi no Yatsute.  Along with various students, they had 120 on board the ship.  Two ships, each with an individual in charge of the particular embassy, meant that even if they met with an accident along the way, they would have someone to carry on the mission.  And that foresight proved unfortunately necessary when the ship carrying Takada no Nemaro sank in the straits of Takashima off the coast of Satsuma.  The ship went down and only five men survived, largely by lashing themselves to a plank and drifting ashore at Takashima island.  There, one of the survivors, Kadobe no Kogane, gathered bamboo and made a raft, by which they made it to Shitojishima.  They surived six days and nights without any food, but they made it.  When he heard about it, the sovereign congratulated Kogane and rewarded him with rank and various presents for his work to bring people back home. Another mission, launched the following year, shows that being lost at sea wasn't the only danger for international travelers back in the day.  In the 2nd month of 654, Takamuku no Kuromaro led another embassy to the Tang court.  He was the Controlling Envoy, though the Chief Ambassador was Kahabe no Maro, assisted by Yenichi no Kusushi, a name that Aston suggests translates to something like “Doctor Yenishi”.  A list of other names are given as well of those who were also on the mission.  More sobering is the outcome of the mission, where we are told what happened to everyone.  Though they reached the Tang court, not everyone would make it back.  According to the author Yuki no Hakatoko—an interesting tidbit in that they seem to be giving us the author of one of the accounts that they used in the compilation of the Nihon Shoki, and we'll come back to him in a later episode—according to Hakatoko, the student priest Enmyou died in Tang, while the student priests Chisou and Chikoku both died at sea.  Another person named Chisou, but using different characters, returned in a Silla ship in 690.  Gakusho died in Tang and Gitsu died at sea.  Joye returned in 665 in the ship of Liu Tekao.  And then others—about 12 total—along with two individuals who were considered Japanese born abroad, came back in 654 with returning envoys.  We are even told that Takamuku no Kuromaro, one of the figures who helped set up the government and played a major role in diplomatic relations with the continent, passed away on this mission as well. So going on one of these missions may have given you some awesome opportunities to see the world like nobody else, but they were anything but guaranteed.  For many people, it was a one way ticket, and we should keep that in mind when we hear about the people going on them. There were other intricacies to deal with as well—including navigating the pathways to the Tang court.  You may remember that Yamato was allied with Baekje in some way.  And yet the 654 mission we are told went by way of Silla and then anchored in Laichou, on the Shandong peninsula.  Later that same year, the previous mission, with Kishi no Nagani and others, returned to Yamato escoted by envoys from both Silla and Baekje.  While the narrative largely focuses on what they obtained, one imagines there were probably some tensions in all of that.  After all, just a year before we are told that Baekje and allied with Wa—which is to say Yamato—against Silla.  So had Silla not yet heard about the alliance?  Or was that just considered par for the course at the time? The year 654 would have more direct considerations for all concerned, however.  In that year, Queen Chindeok of Silla died, as did Karu of Yamato.  In Silla, the new King was none other than Prince Kim Ch'unch'u, known to history as King Muyeol.  As we touched on, earlier, Ch'unch'u was intimately familiar with the Tang court and had spoken directly with the Tang emperor, so this likely only further cemented ties between the Tang and Silla.  Meanwhile, in Yamato, Queen Takara Hime, aka Kyougyoku Tennou -slash- Saimei Tennou, was re-ascending the throne, rather than making way for Prince Naka no Oe, a truly interesting state of affairs. Moving forward, the alliances would continue to solidify, though diplomatic missions would continue to travel between the various countries.  After all, they didn't exactly have many other means of communicating with each other—no email or telephones back then. Tang Gaozong would continue to attack and harass Goguryeo, though Yeon Gaesomun would continue to fend off attacks, while Baekje and Silla would continue their struggles as well.  Both Goguryeo and Baekje would ally against Silla, who in turn would call upon the might of the Tang empire.  All in all, it was a time of great conflict, generally known as the Tang-Goguryeo War, and it was a long-term conflict punctuated with times of peace in betwetween the various offensives.   Yamato was less directly involved, but still affected.  After all, they were closely aligned with Baekje, and they had to wonder what would happen if Silla came out victorious.  Would they be cut off from the continent entirely?  Or would they be forced into a new state of having to send tribute to Silla as an inferior country if they wanted access to continental goods and knowledge?  While we know how it played out, today, at the time the outcomes were far from certain. All of that will continue to provide a backdrop for the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou.  A part of me wonders if this wasn't also part of the reason to move the capital back into Asuka, in the Nara Basin.  I imagine that a capital sitting on the edge of the water, relatively speaking, while good for trade and foreign relations, also felt rather exposed if anyone were to sail a fleet down the Seto Inland Sea.  Or it may have just been a return to the more familiar lands of Asuka. As conflict on the continent continued to escalate, Yamato would not be able to stay unaffected.  The question is whether or not they would be ready when and if anything came their way.  It was a tense period, certainly. And we'll get more into that as we move forward in the next episode with the second reign of Takara-hime, aka Saimei Tennou. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.   Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This is the first in a two part series on the people living to the Northeast of Yamato, in the areas of Tohoku and Hokkaido.  They are called in the Chronicles, the Emishi and the Mishihase, and these designations appear to refer to areas that include the Epi-Jomon and later Satsumon cultures as well as members of the Okhotsk Sea Culture, all archaeological designations for various people whom we know primarily through their archaeological remains.  We also discuss a bit about how all of this ties in (or doesn't) with the modern Ainu, and why we don't necessarily use that term until much later in the historical record. For more, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-116   Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 116: The People of the North, Part 1   A soldier stood watch on the Nutari Barrier.  It was only a few years old—built to define and defend the boundaries between the lands under Yamato rule and the untamed wilds, beyond.  Looking behind him, the soldier could see the smoke from the nearby settlement, also newly constructed, which would supply him and his fellow guards with food and clothing while they took their turn at the border. Looking outwards, the soldier wondered what life beyond the barrier was like.  He had seen people crossing through, mostly with various trade goods.  For the most part, they didn't seem all that different, but he had heard stories: stories of wild men and women who lived in caves and slept under the trees.  They were hunters who knew the woods and could easily slip through areas that didn't even have roads. As one traveled further north, things grew only more wild and untamed—or so the stories said.   Giant bears with paws as large as a human head roamed the land—he'd seen a skin once and it was massive.  The people of the north fought with them and, or so he'd heard, even kept them as pets. Further, well beyond the pale, there were people who lived on the sea.  They traveled between islands in the frozen north, and hunted the beasts of the ocean.  They were few, but they were mighty people. A chill went through the soldier's spine.  He'd only ever heard stories of most of these outsiders, and even then it was hard to tell what was truth and what was merely exaggeration.  He had never actually gone out to see it himself, though he'd met some who claimed they had. It gave him some sense of worth that he was out here, defending the settled, civilized lands of his people from the wild, ungoverned tribes beyond the border.  That said, he hoped with all his heart that things remained peaceful.  Yes, it would certainly be better that way for all involved.   We are just starting out the second reign of Takara Hime, which started in the year 655.  For her first reign, the Chroniclers would give her the title of Kougyoku Tennou, but when she retook the throne they named her Saimei.  As we talked about in the last couple of episodes, there was a lot going on at this point, not just on the archipelago, but in the rest of Asia as well.   We'll summarize that briefly just to set the stage for the beginning of Takara Hime's reign, but this episode we're going to primarily focus on the expansion of Yamato authority throughout the rest of the archipelago, or at least the rest of Honshu.  In this context, we'll be talking extensively about the people that the Chronicles call the Emishi, since this section of the Chronicles contains numerous entries that give us our clearest look, to date, at who they were, at least from a Yamato perspective.  We'll also be looking at another group in the north, known to us as the Mishihase, for whom we have even less information. As this whole episode got a bit long, we are going to be doing this in two parts.  This episode, I'd like to introduce you to some of the terms, discuss some of the problems and considerations around these topics, and touch on what we know based largely on the archaeological record.  In the second episode we'll focus on the narrative as it appears in the Nihon Shoki, which hopefully will be something that makes more sense once we have that archaeological context.  While there are certainly some things that appear to coincide between the two narratives, there are a lot of differences.  Archaeology can help us understand the material culture, and give us some insights into the lifeways of a particular group of people, but it doesn't let us know what they said, and rarely gives us information about a particular event. Before we dive into this, I think it would be useful to touch on terms that we are going to be using this episode, and next.  I mention this because while we are dealing with the past, our story of the past is very much affecting the lives of people in the present.  Most specifically, the lives of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, and how their history and experience intertwines with the concept of the “Emishi” that we see in the Chronicles.  So let's explore these terms, and see where it takes us. First, I should probably make a note about the difference between “Wa” and “Yamato”, at least as I'm using it in this episode.  When I use “Wa” I'll be referring to the ethnic group, while “Yamato” refers to the state.  For the most part, as we are focused on the historical state forming in central Honshu, we'll talk about Yamato, or the State of Yamato. That is a political entity that is majority Wa in its make-up, but that doesn't mean that there weren't Wa people outside of the Yamato state, nor that Yamato was made up of only people who identified, ethnically as Wa.  As we've seen, the Yamato state also included immigrants who identified as people of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, and even Emishi. Next, the Emishi.  The term “Emishi” is an exonym used by Yamato to describe those who are outside of Yamato's borders and controls, especially up in Tohoku.  By “exonym”, I mean that it's a term imposed from outside – in this case, by Yamato – on the group of people known as the Emishi, because we really don't know what they called themselves. Moreover, the term “Emishi” is complex, and doesn't necessarily describe a single, monolithic ethnic group or culture – more a group of possible ethnicities, that occupied a particular “slot” relative to Yamato cultural identity, namely that of outsiders.  The Chronicles refer to several different geographic regions as “Emishi”, situated relative to the core of the Yamato polity -- but the archeological evidence is much more nuanced.  A prime example are the studies carried out on the “Emishi” mummies of the Oshu Fujiwara, a 12th century ruling elite who lived in Hiraizumi and who were considered “Emishi” by the court in Heian-kyo—modern Kyoto.  In studying the mummies, it was determined that they were closely related to the Wa people of Japan and the Kinki region.  This finding is important and I'll come back to it in a bit, but the takeaway is that “Emishi” doesn't automatically mean physical or cultural differences like we might assume.  There were likely ethnic Wa Emishi, along with Emishi who were more closely connected with the indigenous people—descendants of the Jomon and possible ancestors to the later Ainu people. Finally, the Ainu.  It's extremely likely that some of the people that the Chroniclers called “Emishi” may have been the ancestors of the Ainu people of today.  But the correspondence is definitely not one-to-one, as some historians used to think.  And since this is a sensitive topic with ongoing patterns of inequity and silenced voices, it's important to lay some groundwork before going further. For my part, I would like to do my best to introduce the people and the history as we know it with as little bias as I can manage, but please realize that there are certainly controversies around this area and open wounds that have not yet healed. The modern Ainu are the indigenous inhabitants of Hokkaido, Sakhalin, and Kuril islands.  They also once inhabited the very northern part of Tohoku.  In their own language, Ainu Itak, these islands are part of Ainu Mosir, the Lands of the Ainu, and “Ainu” itself is simply a word for “humans” or “people”.  While there are many cultural and linguistic ties to the Japanese—they have been neighbors for centuries—they are culturally distinct, and their language, Ainu Itak, is considered a linguistic isolate, with no known relatives outside of the Ainu homelands. The relationship between the Ainu and the Wa people—the general term for ethnic Japanese—has been one of tension and conflict born of colonization.  In the 19th century in particular, the nation of Japan claimed Hokkaido and began to settle it.  The wide open spaces were great for new industries, such as cattle ranching, which could supply dairy and beef, two things that had come into vogue with other aspects of Western culture.  I won't get into the entire history of it, but the Japanese government used tactics similar to those used in the United States against indigenous populations, often forcing people to speak Japanese instead of their native language in a paternalistic attempt to quote-unquote “civilize” the Ainu people.  Only relatively recently have the Ainu been accorded some protections in Japanese law. For our part, the study of Ainu history has long been one conducted by outsiders looking in, which of course has come with all sorts of baggage.  For instance, as I alluded to above, there has long been a tendency to equate the Ainu with the Emishi, which along with everything else cast the Ainu as somewhat less culturally evolved.  Much of this study was also taking place during a time when Marxist concepts of societal evolution were in vogue.  Add to that the generally patronizing and Colonialist concepts that were rampant in Western anthropology at the time—things like the stereotype of the “noble savage” and even the concept of “primitive” societies—and there were definitely some problematic concepts that continue to echo through into modern discussions.  Another complexity in understanding Ainu culture and history has been that the Ainu people do tend to be physically distinct from many other Japanese, which has been linked to outdated ideas about physical types and ethnicity.  Many Ainu people show more tendency towards body and facial hair than mainland Japanese, with bushy beards being common among men, and blue eyes aren't uncommon – which, combined with overall light skin, led to early identification of Ainu people as being of “Caucasian stock” according to outdated racial classifications.  The theory was that they traveled from the west across Asia in the distant past and somehow settled in the islands north of Japan.  This ties into how much of the archaeological fervor of the 19th and 20th centuries in Japan was wrapped around ethno-nationalist ideals and looking to find the origins of the Japanese people, often using concepts of eugenics to seek out physical and cultural differences between the Japanese and “other” people, such as the Ainu, to help better define who are—and who are not—Japanese.  For example, remember those Oshu Fujiwara mummies and how they were from a group described by the Chronicles as “Emishi” but ended up being more physically similar to modern Wa than modern Ainu?  Some scholars took this finding to mean that all of the Emishi were Wa people, effectively denying any ancestral claims or links that Ainu people may have had to Honshu, other than those historically attested to from about the 15th century onwards.  In similar ways, for each instance of some new “finding”, there have often been those who would use it as a further reason to discriminate against the Ainu. There is a lot of important archaeological work that has been done in Tohoku and elsewhere to help shed more light on the people living in areas that the Chronicles associate with the Emishi and beyond.  But while archaeological digs in places like Honshu and Kyushu were often done with great public support, archaeological work in places like Hokkaido often involved investigating burials of potential ancestors without consent, and even today there is some contention over how various artifacts were acquired.  As with too many places in the world, the data was not always gathered under what we may consider, today, the strictest of ethical standards.  So as important as the archeological perspective is – at least we are going off of physical items that we find rather than on the narrative imposed on the region by those in Yamato – it's important to keep that context in mind. Even recent attempts to better contextualize Ainu history at places like the Upopoy National Museum in Shiraoi, while apparently doing their best to provide that context, are still hampered by the weight of previous missteps in the relationship between the Ainu and the government.  Activists have noted that even Upopoy, the first such national museum devoted to the Ainu themselves, is still built on colonialist policies and artifacts and human remains acquired without all of the necessary consent and consultation with local Ainu.  Upopoy, for its part, appears to have reached out to those willing to work with them, and for all that there may be some controversy, it certainly has a lot of information for those interested in it. So, given these caveats, what does the archeological record tell us about the wide range of people and areas called “Emishi” by the Chronicles, including both those areas closer to the Yamato heartland, and the areas we know today as Ainu Mosir? To understand the patterns of settlement and cultural trends that we see up north – in Tohoku and Hokkaido --let's go back to the end of the Jomon period and the very start of the Yayoi.  As wet rice paddy cultivation (and accompanying pottery styles and other material goods) began to make its way into the archipelago, up through about the Kinki region—the original land of Yamato, or Yamateg—it was brought by a people that seem quite strongly connected to other people in east Asia, and these people largely replaced the indigenous Jomon era populations in western Japan.  However, the new material culture traveled faster and farther than the new people themselves, and it appears that in eastern Honshu, at least, much of the new farming technology, pottery, and other lifeways of the Yayoi culture were adopted by people that appear to share a great deal in common, physically, with the previous Jomon populations, suggesting that local populations were, themselves, adopting the new technology and being absorbed into the Yayoi culture.  This expansion of Yayoi culture and rice farming initially exploded all the way up to the very northern edge of Tohoku, but over time it started to decline in the northernmost regions.  Whether due to a change in the climate or simply the fact that the colder, snowier regions in Tohoku were not as hospitable to farming, we see that rice cultivation fell into disuse, and people seem to have once again picked up the lifeways of their ancestors in the region, returning to a more hunter-gatherer style of subsistence.  Indeed, in northern Tohoku and Hokkaido we see the continued evolution of Jomon culture in a phase that is generally known as the Epi-Jomon, or, in Japanese, the Zoku-Jomon period, which generally lasted through the end of the 7th century.  This Epi-Jomon or Zoku-Jomon cultural region lay far outside the “official” Yamato borders according to the Chroniclers in an area considered to be part of “Michinoku” – literally past the end of the road – so it's understandably commonly associated with the Emishi.  But once again, it's not that simple, because we do see Yayoi and Kofun culture extending up into this region.  In fact, there are even keyhole shaped kofun up in Tohoku, the largest of these being Raijinyama kofun, thought to have been built between the late 4th and early 5th centuries.  It sits south of modern Sendai, and there are numerous other tombs there as well, suggesting it was well connected to Yamato and the kofun culture of central Honshu. Another complication is that we have regions officially designated Emishi that were much closer in – on the borders of Yamato itself.  Based on simply the written record, it would seem that “Emishi” resided as close to Yamato as the lands of Koshi and the land of Hitachi, at the very least.  The Emishi in Koshi are mentioned several times in the Chronicles, and both the Nihon Shoki and works like the Hitachi Fudoki mention Emishi or people who are at least outside of the Yamato cultural sphere.  This area bordering Yamato seems to have been the most affected by kofun and even Yamato culture, and also would have likely come into the most direct conflict with Yamato itself.  It is also the area most likely to include those who, for one reason or another, decided to yet themselves outside the growing reach of the Yamato state, a pattern that would continue for centuries to come.  On top of that, there is something else going on in northern Hokkaido, where, starting around the 5th century, we see different archeological assemblages from the south, indicating further cultural distinctiveness from the Tohoku and southern Hokkaido inhabitants.  These are mostly found on the coast in the northern part of Hokkaido, and match closely with the culture we see first in the Sakhalin island, and later the Kurils, along the edges of the Okhotsk Sea.  Hence the name we've given to this unknown culture:  The Okhotsk Sea Culture, or just the Okhotsk culture. From what we can glean, the people of the Okhotsk culture subsisted largely off the hunting of marine mammals, such as seals, sea lions, sea cows, and whales.  In contrast, the Epi-Jomon people appear to have subsisted more on inland hunting strategies, along with coastal fishing, which is represented in their settlement patterns, among other things.  This latter description likewise tracks with descriptions of the Emishi as subsisting largely off of hunted game. It is unclear what exactly happened to the Okhotsk Sea Culture, but they appear to be one of the ancestral groups of the modern Nivkh people, on the northern part of Sakhalin and the lower Amur River and coastal regions, though the Okhotsk Sea Culture also seems to have had a large influence on the development of the people known today as the Ainu.  Modern DNA testing of Ainu demonstrate connections both with the earlier Jomon people of Japan—a connection that is much stronger than in most Japanese—but also with people from the Okhotsk Sea region.  Still, how and in what ways those people came together is not clear. The connection to the Jomon and Epi-Jomon people appears to be strengthened by the fact that throughout Tohoku there are placenames that appear to be more closely related to the Ainu language than to Japanese.  For example, in Ainu itak, terms like “nai” and “pet” refer to rivers and streams, and we find a lot of placenames ending with “nai”, “be”, or “betsu”.  These are often written with kanji that would be understandable to Japanese speakers, but the prevalence and location of these names often make people think that they are likely related to Ainu itak, in some way—possibly a proto-Ainuic language or dialect that is now lost. While I can't discount the fact that some this could be due to false etymologies, we can add to it the fact that the term “Emishi” was eventually changed to “Ezo”, which itself came to be used primarily for Hokkaido and the people there, including the people we know of today as the Ainu.  However, it isn't clear that the term Emishi, or even “Ezo”, was consistently applied to only one group, and its usage may have changed over time, simply being used in each period to refer to the people of the Tohoku and Hokkaido regions outside of the control of the Japanese court. Another aspect of the archaeological record is the change in the Epi-Jomon culture to what we know as the Satsumon culture around the time of our narrative.  Satsumon, like Jomon, is derived from the distinctive pottery styles found.  “Jomon” means “cord-marked”, referring to the use of pressed cords and similar decoration on the pottery, and starting in the 7th century we see a new style using wood to scrape designs, instead.  Thus the term “Satsumon”.  It first pops up in Honshu, but by the 9th century it had spread to Hokkaido and eventually even spread to areas associated with the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It would last until roughly the 13th century, when it was replaced by a culture that is more clearly related to the modern Ainu people. But the Satsumon culture wasn't just new types of pottery.  We see more ironwork appearing in the Satsumon culture, as well as the cultivation of millet and other types of agriculture.  Tohoku and Hokkaido were still a bit cold for the ancient forms of wet rice agriculture that were prevalent in more southern regions, and millet and other crops likely fit more easily into the lifeways of the people in these areas. Likewise, by the 8th century, we also see a new type of stove appearing in Satsumon villages.  This “kamado” seems clearly related to the type of stove that came over to Honshu from the Korean peninsula around the 5th century, reaching Hokkaido by the 8th, and eventually finding purchase on Sakhalin by the 11th, demonstrating a slow yet continuous adoption. Some of these changes might be explained by greater contact with Wa people and the trade networks that extended through Honshu and over to the mainland, but there were also trade routes through Sakhalin island over to the Amur River delta and beyond that should not be overlooked, even if they weren't as prevalent in the written histories of the time. I previously mentioned that in the next episode, we'll dive into more of what the Chronicles have to say about the Emishi, but to give a preview, the Chronicles have already mentioned the Emishi several times as trading and treating with the Yamato state.  Back in the era before the Isshi Incident, Naka no Oe's coup in 645, Soga no Emishi himself had dealings with the Emishi of the land of Koshi, which we covered in episode 107.  Then, in the previous reign, Emishi had attended court, but the court had also erected barriers and barrier towns in Nutari and Ihabune in 647 and 648 to protect the border areas from purported raids by the Emishi.  Hence the episode opener, imagining what it might be like for a soldier at one of these barrier towns.  But, there is also another people that we've already talked about, mentioned in the Chronicles:  The Sushen people, also glossed as either the Mishihase or Ashihase people.  In the Nihon Shoki, they first appeared in an entry in the reign of Kimmei Tennou, when a group of them came ashore on Sado island, which we discussed back in episode 86.  In this period, however, the  appear to be referencing a people who were living in the north of Hokkaido, and who were putting pressure on the people to their south, much as Yamato was putting pressure on the people to their northeast. The Sinitic characters, or kanji, used to name them in the Nihon Shoki uses a term from mainland writings for the Sushen people.  This name is first given to people mentioned in early Warring States documents, such as the Classic of Mountains and Seas, as living on the Shandong peninsula.  Eventually, however, as empires expanded, the term was used to refer to people along the Amur river region and the coast, in modern China and Russia—the eastern areas of what we know as “Manchuria”.  These were probably not the same people originally referred to as living in Shandong, and instead seems to apply to the Yilou people, and likely also is cognate with the later term “Jurchen”. In the ancient Sinic documents, the Sushen are described as hunter-gatherers who live in the open, using caves and other such natural features for temporary shelter.  They hunted with bows and arrows, which were tipped with stone arrowheads.  To the settled cultures of the Yellow River basin, they were considered a primitive and barbaric people. As for the people mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, it is quite likely that the term “Sushen” was used differently.  Rather than referring to Jurchen people, or someone from mainland northeast Asia, it is thought that the characters were used because of the similar role played by the people of northern Hokkaido and Sakhalin island—and possibly because of connection with the Amur river region, including the area referred to in older documents as “Su-shen”.  Still, the people referred to in the Nihon Shoki were probably what we know as the Okhotsk Sea culture, especially based on what we know from later descriptions.  From Yamato's point of view, they were likewise living in the extreme northeast and they were a hunter-gatherer society that used stone arrowheads in their hunting.  The fact that it is glossed as either Mishihase or Ashihase by later commentators suggests that this was the name by which the Yamato knew these people, and the kanji were just borrowed for their meaning of a people in the northeast. And so in the 7th century we have both the Emishi and the Mishihase, at least in the northeast.  There are also the Hayato, another group of people in the southern reaches of Tsukushi.  We are told that they and the Emishi both attended the court in 655 in great numbers.   Discussion of who the Hayato were is probably best left for another episode.  Suffice it to say that they appear to be culturally distinct from the groups in the northeast, at least at this point. And that's where we are going to pause things for now.  The archaeological record gives us some idea of the people inhabiting the areas of Tohoku and up to Hokkaido, but it only tells part of the story—and it is a story that we are continuing to uncover.  Even today people are working on archaeological sites that just may turn up new information that will change how we see things. Next episode, we'll dive into the narrative of the Nihon Shoki and take a look at the actions of individuals—especially the actions of Abe no Hirafu, a key player in what was to happen in the north. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

This is the second of two episodes talking about the people in the north of the Japanese archipelago:  The Emishi and the Mishihase.  Last episode we covered things from an archaeological overview, looking at the traces of the Epi-Jomon, Satsumon, and Okhotsk Sea cultures.  This episode focuses more on what was actually written in the Nihon Shoki, including a journey to introduce Emishi to the Tang Emperor himself! For more information, check out our podcast blog at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-117   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 117: The People of the North, Part 2 Abe no Hirafu gazed out at the sea, waiting for his opponents to appear.  He had traveled with a fleet to the far north, into a land that was unlike anything that most of his men had ever seen.  They were far away from the rice fields of their home villages.  Up here, the people made their way by hunting and fishing, and the land was much more wild.  Besides the people, the land was also home to giant bears, much larger than anything back in the Home Provinces.  Giant beasts with paws the size of a man's head.  They were truly incredible, but they were not his target this time. As he watched the waves, he saw his prey emerge.  They rowed their ships around the cape, coming out from the defensive position they had previously established.  Where Hirafu's men flew banners made of silk, his opponents had created flags made of feathers, which they hoisted high in their boats.  They were small in number, but they knew this land and these waters.  They were comfortable traveling in the cold and unforgiving seas, and they no doubt had reinforcements.  Hirafu may have had the upper hand, but he knew he couldn't get too cocky. It was probably too much to hope for that the size of his fleet alone would cause them to submit.  If they could be bought off, then perhaps that was best, but Hirafu knew that was probably unlikely.  This was going to be a fight, and Hirafu and his men were ready for it. Before we jump into the episode proper, a quick thank you to Hakucho for donating to support Sengoku Daimyo.  We always appreciate any support, and there is information at the end of each episode on how to help out if you would like to join them. Last episode we introduced the Emishi and the Mishihase and talked about them and their connections to the Yamato and Japanese state, as well as to the modern Ainu people.  We went over a lot of the archaeological findings, and talked about how the Jomon period, uninterrupted in northern Honshu and Hokkaido, eventually gave way to the Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, while the Ohokotsk Sea Culture is observed from around the 5th to 9th centuries, and we talked about how these existed in the lands we know as being connected to the Emishi and the Mishihase people mentioned in the Chronicles. This episode we are going to rely a lot more on the narrative found in the Nihon Shoki, but I wanted to make sure that we had that discussion about the archaeology, first, so that people would have a background.  If you haven't already done so, I highly recommend going back and giving Part 1 a listen. So let's back up a bit, and let's set the scene on the peninsula and the archipelago, and see what led up to this moment. In 654, the sovereign of Yamato, Karu, aka Kotoku Tennou, had passed away in his palace in Naniwa.  His sister, Takara Hime, and other members of the royal family had gathered once more in Naniwa when they caught word of his illness, but their visit was brief.  Karu passed away on the 1st day of the 10th month, and a little over two months later he was buried.  After that, rather than taking up residence again in Naniwa, the court moved back to the old capital of Asuka, where Takara Hime re-ascended the throne.  It was now the year 655, almost a decade since Crown Prince Naka no Oe had orchestrated the murderous coup that had seen the powerful scions of the Soga family cut down in front of Takara Hime and others, causing her to abdicate.  And now, well, perhaps Naka no Oe was comfortable controlling things from behind the scenes, because Takara Hime was once again the one in power—or at least the one sitting on the throne.  And there's a LOT that would go on during this reign according to the chronicles. On the peninsula at this point, the Tang-Goguryeo war was in full swing, with the Tang dynasty regularly harassing Goguryeo.  Goguryeo was at least nominally allied with Baekje, whose ruling family also claimed descent from a shared Buyeo ancestor, and Baekje was, of course, a long time ally of Yamato.  Meanwhile, Silla had thrown their lot in with the Tang dynasty, though as alliances went it was not exactly an alliance of equals – and most alliances came and went as the political winds changed throughout the peninsula. Over time, we'll see some resolution coming to the situation on the peninsula.  But overall, one of the biggest trends is that during Takara Hime's second reign, Yamato was reaching out to a much wider world than it had in the past.  This included connections to the south—to those on the Ryukyu islands, and possibly beyond.  And there were continued efforts to reach out to the Tang empire, with varying degrees of success.  Those that did go would sit and learn at the feet of some of the most famous scholars in the world, including the Buddhist priest, scholar, and traveler, Xuanzang, someone I cannot wait to get into in a future episode, as he really demonstrates just how connected the world had become at this time in a way that is often hard for us to comprehend, today. But there is also plenty happening in the archipelago, and even just in Asuka.  In fact, regardless of what the Chronicles say, there are a lot of ancient monuments and archaeological finds in the Asuka region that aren't directly mentioned in any historical record, but can be generally traced to this era - reminders of this period that are literally carved in stone.  We still have plenty of questions as to just what was going on, but we're starting to see more and more lasting physical traces. Our first relevant entry in the Nihon Shoki for the topic of this episode comes from the 7th month of 655, the year that Takara Hime had taken the throne.  We are told that 99 Northern Emishi and 99 Eastern Emishi were entertained at the court of Naniwa—presumably using the government facilities built during Karu's time.  At the same time, there were 150 envoys from Baekje who were likewise feted.  Caps of honor, of two grades in each case, were bestowed on nine Emishi of Kikafu and six Emishi of Tsugaru.  This is an interesting record, and let's explore what it means for Yamato's view of itself and its own authority.  First, the Baekje and the Emishi are being streated similarly—they both appear to be groups that are from *outside* Yamato conducting some kind of diplomacy with the court.  That said, it is quite clear from the way that the Chronicles deal with them that Yamato viewed each group as distinctly different.  Baekje was Yamato's continental ally, and their primary means through which they could access the continent and all that it had to offer.  They had helped bring Buddhism to the archipelago, and were clearly seen as a civilized country.  The Emishi, on the other hand, were Yamato's own “barbarians”.  They were outside and Yamato clearly saw them as less civilized.  In many ways Yamato viewed the Emishi similar to how the Tang court likely viewed Yamato.  After all, just as Tang literature talked about the differences between the quote-unquote “civilized” center of the empire and the so-called “barbaric” lands beyond their borders, Yamato could place itself in a similar position, simply by placing the Nara Basin at the “Center” and with the Emishi helping define that which was outside.  So in an odd way, this may have been uplifting for Yamato's own self-image. And just as the Tang court enticed border states into their sphere of influence with the promise of imperial titles, the Yamato court similarly was bestowing rank upon the Emishi, making themselves the granter of prestige and recognition.  By being a part of the system, you were rewarded with recognition of your status, something that likely appealed to many. As to the places referenced – Kikafu and Tsugaru – Aston isn't certain about Kikafu, but Tsugaru seems quite obvious as the northernmost tip of Honshu, in modern Aomori prefecture, where the islands of Honshu and Hokkaido are separated by none other than the Tsugaru strait. The fact that the Chroniclers differentiated between the Eastern and Northern Emishi likewise suggests that this was not a monolithic state.  Yamato saw a difference between the Emishi in one part of the archipelago versus the other. Three years later, in the 4th month of 658, Yamato sent one of the largest expeditions against the northeast.  Abe no Omi—other entries name him as Abe no Omi no Hirafu—took 180 ships up north on an expedition to the Emishi.  We are told that he met with the Emishi in the districts of Aita and Nushiro, believed to be in modern Akita prefecture.  Akita prefecture is on the western side of Tohoku, towards the very northern tip.  It is opposite Iwate prefecture on the east, and just below Aomori prefecture, which, at the time, was known as Tsugaru.  This was on the extreme end of Honshu. Both Aita and Nushiro quickly submitted to the Yamato mission.  Still, Abe drew up his ships in order of battle in the bay of Aita, where an envoy from the Emishi named Omuka came forward and made an oath.  He swore that they had no ill-intentions.  The fact that the Emishi were armed with bows and arrows was not because they were at war, but because up in that area of Tohoku, they were all hunters, and so it was their regular tool.  They swore to the gods of Aita bay that they had not raised arms against Yamato, but they were willing to submit to Yamato rule. For his part, Omuka was granted court rank, and local governors were established at Nushiro and Tsugaru—likely meaning they recognized local chieftains and made them responsible for representing the others.  Finally, they summoned the Emishi of Watari no Shima to the shores of Arima, and a great feast was provided.  After that, they all returned home. The  term “Watari no Shima” seems to almost undoubtedly refer to the island of Hokkaido.  “Watari” means to cross, so referring to the “Emishi of Watari no Shima” likely referred to the Emishi on Hokkaido vice those in the Tohoku region. The entire entry seems a bit suspect.  Abe no Hirafu takes an armed party up north and then they all… just sit down and have tea together?  There seems to be a lot of missing context.  Of course, from Yamato's perspective, they were the civilized center.  Does that mean that any violence they committed was simply swept under the rug of history?  Or did they truly meet with such quick submission that only a show of force was necessary? There is one other entry for 658, relative to all of this. It isn't given a specific date, so it is unclear when, exactly it occurred, but it may shed some light.  That entry states that Abe no Hikida no Omi no Hirafu, warden of the land of Koshi, went on an expedition not against the Emishi, but against the Mishihase, or Su-shen.  He is said to have brought back from this trip two live “white bears”, or “shiguma”. So was his expedition really against the Emishi, or was his actual goal to fight the Mishihase, which means he didn't just stop at the end of Honshu, but he continued on to Hokkaido—Watari no Shima—and up at least to Central Hokkaido, where he would have met with the people of the Okhotsk Sea culture—likely the Mishihase of the Chronicle?  Or was he sailing against both? This also leads to numerous other theories as to just what was going on.  While Yamato was pushing on the Emishi from the south, were these Mishihase likewise encroaching on the Emishi in the north?  Were they pushing them south or absorbing those in the farthest north?  There seems to have clearly been a difference and some conflict between them, as evidenced by later entries, which we'll cover in a bit. Quickly, though, I do want to touch on the idea that they brought back two “white bears”.  “Shiguma” appears to refer to a “white bear”, and at its most simplistic understanding, this would seem to refer to a polar bear, but that seems quite a stretch.  Today, polar bears largely live in the arctic regions, out on the permanent sea ice, where they are able to hunt.  They are considered an aquatic animal, living mainly in the ocean, though they will come ashore to hunt, on occasion.  Still, they are mostly adapted to life on the sea ice. While the climate of the 700s was different, I don't know that the sea ice extended that far south.  It is possible that polar bears had been captured much further north, and then sold to people further south, through the extensive trade networks that ran up through Kamchatka, Siberia, and even across the Aleutian chain, but as far as I can tell, polar bears would not have been living in Hokkaido or even in the Kuril or Sakhalin islands at that time. It is much more likely that the “Shiguma” was one of the Hokkaido brown bears.   They may have been albino, but more likely it was simply an easy designation to distinguish them from the bears of the rest of the archipelago—the Asian black bear.  These are clearly black bears, though their fur can appear lighter in some instances.  Meanwhile, although brown bears can be a very dark brown, their fur can vary to almost a blond, and if you look at many photos you can see how they might be considered “white”, especially compared to the black bear that was the norm in Yamato.  I suspect that this is actually the species that Hirafu brought back, and which would be referenced in later entries, where “shiguma” furs appear to be have been quite plentiful, suggesting it wasn't just a rare mutation. In addition, I can't help but note that the presence of bears, here, seems to also further connect with modern traditions of the Ainu of Hokkaido.  Most notably in their reverence for bears, including the traditional Iyomante ceremony.  There is also evidence of the importance of bears in what we see of the Okhotsk Sea Culture.  It is hard to tell if there is more from this interaction, but it still raises some questions. But I digress.  While there are still a lot of gaps, we can see that the Emishi were being brought into the fold, as it were, while the Mishihase were apparently the threat that Yamato would be fighting.  In fact, I can't help but wonder if the threat posed by the Mishihase didn't help encourage the Emishi to ally themselves with Yamato in an attempt to protect themselves. Whatever happened, the relationship with the Emishi, from that point, seems to place them as subjects of Yamato.  We are told that three months later, over 200 Emishi visited the Yamato court, bringing presents for the sovereign.  These were not just the Emishi of the far reaches of Tohoku, but seems to have included Emishi from several different regions.  We are also told that the entertainment and largess provided by the court was even greater than any time before, no doubt presenting the carrot in contrast to Abe no Hirafu's stick. One of the carrots handed out was court rank,  We are told that two Emishi of the enigmatic Kikafu region each received one grade of rank while Saniguma, the Senior governor of Nushiro, was granted two steps in rank, making him Lower Shou-otsu in the rank system of the time, and he was given the superintendence of the population register—likely meaning he had a charge similar to the other governors dispatched to take a census and let the court know just how many people there were in the region.  His junior governor, Ubasa, received the rank of Kembu, the lowest rank in the system. Meanwhile, Mamu, the Senior governor of Tsugaru was granted the rank of Upper Dai-otsu and Awohiru, the Junior governor of Tsugaru, was granted the rank of Lower Shou-out. At the same time, two ranks were granted on the Miyatsuko of the Tsukisara Barrier and one rank was granted to Inadzumi Ohotomo no Kimi, Miyatsuko of the Nutari Barrier.  These last two appear to have been members of Yamato rather than Emishi, but clearly all related to the issue of the borders and beyond. And so we are given three different locations.  We are not told the names of the Emishi from Kikafu, but we are given the names of the senior and junior governors—likely local chieftains co-opted into the Yamato polity—of Nushiro and Tsugaru.  Together with the name “Omuka” we have some of our earliest attestations to possible Emishi names—though whether these were names, titles, or something else I could not say.  We have Saniguma, Ubasa, Mamu, and Awohiru.  None of these are given with family names, which seems to track with the fact that formal “family” names appear to have been an innovation of the Kofun culture, rather than an indigenous phenomenon. I would also note that I am not sure if these ranks came with any kind of stipend: after all, much of that region wasn't exactly suited to rice-land, so where would the stipend come from?  That said, there were certainly more practical gifts that were laid out for them as well.  The governors of Nushiro and the governors of Tsugaru were each given 20 cuttle-fish flags—likely a banner similar to the koi nobori, or carp banners, in use today—as well as two drums, two sets of bows and arrows, and two suits of armor.  This seems to be one for the Senior and one for the Junior governor.  In addition, Saniguma was commanded to “investigate” the Emishi population as well as what Aston translates as the “captive” population—by which I suspect they mean those living in bondage within the Emishi communities.   It is interesting to me that even though the senior governor of Tsugaru was given a higher rank, this last duty was only given to the governor of Nushiro. And there you have it.  With all of that the Emishi were at least nominally subject to the Yamato court.  They were still, however, cultural outsiders.  It is quite likely that they spoke a different language, and given the number of placenames in Tohoku that seem to correspond with the modern Ainu language, it is quite likely that a language at least related to modern Ainu was spoken in the Emishi controlled areas. A similar pattern to the year 658 took place in the entries for the following year.  Once again, Abe no Hirafu went north with 180 ships on what we are told, at least in Aston's translation, was an expedition against the Emishi.  He assembled a selection of the Emishi of Akita and Nushiro, totaling 241 people, with 31 of their captives, as well as 112 Emishi of Tsugaru with 4 of their captives, and 20 Emishi of Ifurisahe.  Once he had them all at his mercy he then… feasted them and gave them presents.  Is this really what an expedition *against* the Emishi looked like?  It almost sounds more like a diplomatic mission. We are told that after feasting and giving the assembled Emishi presents, Abe no Hirafu made an offering to the local gods of a boat and silk of various colors. He then proceeded to a place called “Shishiriko”, where two Emishi from a place called Tohiu, named Ikashima and Uhona, came forward and told him that Yamato should create an outpost at Shiribeshi, on the west coast of Hokkaido, which would be the seat of local Yamato government.  This sounds not entirely dissimilar from the idea of the Dazai in Kyushu.  Abe no Hirafu agreed and established a district governor there. Relevant to this, between the 7th and 8th centuries, we see clusters of pit dwellings in Hokkaido largely in the areas corresponding to the modern sub-prefectures of Sorachi, Ishikari, and Iburi, with many of them clustered near modern Sapporo, and a very small number near Rumoi, further north along the western coast. Once more it is another account, not the main narrative of the Nihon Shoki, where we might see what was really going on.  That entry claims that Abe no Hirafu went north to fight with the Mishihase and, on his return, he brought back some 49 captives.  So was this what all of this was really about?  Was he going up there to fight the Emishi, or was he perhaps fighting with the Emishi against the Mishihase? When Abe no Hirafu finally returned, it seems that the provincial governors of Michinoku—pretty much the whole of Touhoku—and Koshi, which was also a land known for being home to Emishi, were granted two grades of rank.  Their subordinates, the district governors and administrators, each received one grade of rank. We are also told that on the 17th day of the 3rd month of 659, that a copy of Mt. Meru was constructed on the riverbank east of Amakashi no Oka and that Emishi of Michonoku and Koshi were both entertained there.  Little more is given, and, again, it isn't clear if this is before or after Hirafu's expedition of that year. Mt. Meru—read as Shumisen, today—is the mountain at the center of the world, according to some Buddhist traditions.  Building a copy would have been a statement, creating a copy of the mountain and bringing the center of the universe to you.  This was probably a feature in a garden—at least that is how it was conceived of during the reign of Kashikiya Hime.  This second one may have been made with a pile of stones, and there have even been found some features in Asuka that some think could be remnants of this ancient model of the universe, but they aren't without controversy. In any case, that same year that the Emishi were brought to Asuka to view this Buddhist monument, in 659, a mission was sent to the Tang court.  We'll talk about the mission at some other time, but for now I want to focus on the fact that they brought with them an Emishi man and a woman to show the Tang emperor.  Regrettably, we don't know their names, and we don't know their status in Emishi society.  Were these captives, possibly enslaved?  Or were these volunteers, who had gone willingly with the envoys to see the lands beyond their home.  They likely had heard of the Tang empire from Yamato, and so it wouldn't be so surprising if they decided to go see it for themselves. Where it is of particular interest to us right now is that we have an apparent eyewitness account of the description given to the Tang Emperor about the Emishi by the Yamato envoys.  Be aware that the envoys were not necessarily experts in Emishi culture, and may not have met any other than their travel companions, but the description, given by none other than Yuki no Hakatoko, who was apparently there, at the Tang court, when it happened, gives us invaluable insight into how Yamato viewed the Emishi. The entire thing is a bit of a question and answer session as the Tang Emperor, Tang Gaozong, inquired about the Emishi and who they were.  In response to his questions, the envoys assured him that Yamato and the Emishi were at peace with each other.  They further noted that there were three different groups of Emishi.  Those farthest from Yamato were the Tsugaru Emishi.  Next, slightly closer to Yamato, were the Ara-Emishi.  “Ara” in this case means “soft”, and was probably a reference to the fact that those Emishi closer to Yamato were seen as more compliant.  Finally ,there are the “Nigi-Emishi”, living right on the borders.  “Nigi” in this case seems to refer to them being the “Gentle” or even “Civilized” Emishi.  I suspect that those living closest to Yamato were also the ones doing things like farming, and possibly building burial mounds.  They may have even mixed with some of the border communities, and may have included Wa communities that were outside of Yamato's influence.  After all, it isn't entirely obvious that “Emishi” referred to a single ethnic identity. In providing further answers to the emperor's questioning, we are told that the Emishi, at least according to the Yamato envoys, didn't farm, but instead they sustained themselves through hunting and fishing.  Furthermore, we are told that they didn't live in houses, but instead they dwelt under trees and in the recesses of the mountains.  This one is a little more questionable, after all, we have evidence of pit houses and villages all the way up to Aomori and back to Jomon times.  However, it is quite possible that Yamato was often encountering hunting parties, which very likely may have been using makeshift shelters or utilizing natural features like caves when they were out traveling.  Some of this, though, may have been built around ideas and concepts of how quote-unquote “barbaric” people lived, focusing on the exceptional, exotic, and sensationalist instances rather than on the more mundane day-to-day details.  Finally, the emperor himself commented on the “unusual appearance” of the Emishi.  We know that the Japanese terms for the Emishi refer to them as hairy barbarians, and if they were anything like modern Ainu, they were likely a good deal more hirsute than their Yamato neighbors.  This was no doubt a stereotype, as, again, Emishi may have also included some members of the Wa in their numbers, but they also appear to have included groups of people that were quite physically distinct.  Some DNA evidence also bears this out, and even today many people with deep ancestral ties to the Tohoku region demonstrate closer ties to ancient Jomon populations than to the succeeding Yayoi population that came over from the continent with their rice farming techniques. And so that gives us mostly what we know about the Emishi, except that they seem to have left out the Emishi of Watari no Shima—the Emishi of Hokkaido.  They would have been beyond the Tsugaru Emishi, unless they were considered similar, and painted with the same brush. And speaking of Watari no Shima, we have one more entry before we bring things to a close, and that is from the third month of the year 660.  Once more, Abe no Omi, who must have been getting his frequent sailor miles in by this point—or at least one hopes he had been invited to the Captain's circle at least.  Anyway, Abe no Omi was sent on yet another expedition, this time with 200 ships, and this time quite specifically against the Mishihase.  He made a stop in Michinoku on the way up where he brought some of the Emishi on his own boat—possibly as translators and guides.  They then continued northern until they reached a large river—Aston suggests that it was possibly the Ishikari river, north of modern Sapporo.  There they found a thousand Emishi of Watari no Shima encamped. Upon seeing the Yamato forces, two men came out from the camp to let Hirafu and his men know that the Mishihase had arrived in their own fleet, threatening to kill all of them.  And so they asked permission to cross the river over to Hirafu and join him.  Specifically we are told they asked to “serve the government” suggesting that they were willing to suborn themselves if Hirafu would assist with driving off the Mishihase. Hirafu had the two spokespersons come aboard his ship and then show him where the enemy was concealed.  They showed him where, telling him that the Mishihase had some 20 ships. Hirafu sent for the Mishihase to come and face him, but they refused.  And so instead he tried a different tactic.  He piled up colored silk cloth, weapons, iron, etc., in sight of the Mishihase, hoping that their curiosity and greed would get the better of them.  Sure enough, they drew up in their boats, which were decorated with feathers tied on poles like a flag.  Their vessels were powered with oars, and they brought them to the shallows.  From there, they sent two older men out to inspect the pile.  The men came out, and when they saw what was there, they exchanged their clothes for some from the pile and took some of the silk cloth and then returned to their ship.  After some time, they came back out, took off the exchanged garments and laid them down with the silk.  With that, they then boarded their ship and departed. Aston suggests that this behavior mimics an aspect of something called an “unseen trade” which he claims had been common in the region of Hokkaido until recently.  I hadn't found anything specifically about that, but it does make a kind of sense, especially if groups are possibly hostile and perhaps don't speak the same language. So does that mean that, for all of his military might, Hirafu was basically just buying off the Mishihase? In any case, it seems they did not take it.  They left the garments and the silk, which seems to have indicated that they had no deal, and they departed.  Hirafu pursued the Mishihase, and tried to get them to come out again—presumably looking for a stand up fight between his 200 ships and the MIshihase's 20, but instead the Mishihase headed to the island of Herobe, in another part of Watari no Shima.  After a while of being holed up, the Mishihase did sue for peace, but by that point, Abe no Hirafu was having none of it.  So they took themselves to their palisades and there they tried to hold out against Abe no Hirafu's forces.  Noto no Omi no Mamukatsu was slain in the fighting, as we can only suspect that others were as well, but over time the Yamato forces began to wear them down. Finally, when it seemed there was no way they could win or escape, the MIshihase took the drastic step of killing their own women and children, perhaps fearing what the Yamato soldiers would do to them if they were caught. And with that, it was over.  There are only a few mentions of the Mishihase, or even the Emishi, in the rest of the Nihon Shoki.  Granted, as we will eventually see, the people of Yamato were no doubt pre-occupied with what was going on to the west, where the Baekje-Tang war would be soon coming to a close.  Abe no Hirafu would be called on, once more, in that famous conflict, but we are going to save that for another day. For now, I think we can end things here.  Or just about.  I would be remiss if I didn't mention that there is a theory that many of these expeditions were actually the same thing, but recorded slightly differently in different ways, with some confusion about the actual dates.  Even if that was the case, it doesn't necessarily discount the overall information provided, and that information seems to at least somewhat conform to what we know about the archaeological record, as far as I can tell.  Granted, this is still the story as told by outsiders.  Since the people labeled “Emishi” didn't leave us with any records of this time, themselves, we don't exactly have their side of things, which is something we should keep in mind. This isn't the last time the Emishi will pop up in Japanese history.  Even if they were being granted rank, the Emishi remained a group apart.  Succeeding generations of Japanese would settle in the Tohoku region, eventually absorbing or pushing out the Emishi, or Ezo, while on Hokkaido, the people we know as the Ainu, who were likely an amalgamation of both Okhotsk Sea people and Epi-Jomon and Satsumon cultures, would eventually become dominant across the island of Hokkaido—at least until the 19th century. But that is for much later episodes.  For now, we'll continue to stick with our small, but active corner of the 7th century.  There is still a lot more to explore in this reign.  Next episode will be our annual New Year's recap, and then we will continue on with more from this episode in the following year. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.

Happy New Year!  This is our 2025 recap episode.  In this case, we actually are recapping a fair bit more than just the year, going over the previous evolution of the Yamato state up to the period of the Great Change, or Taika, which we covered this past year.  There's a lot more that we expect to get into this next year, and this will hopefully tee us up for what is to come. For more, including a full list of our previous references, check out: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-newyear2025   Rough Transcript Shinnen Akemashite!  Happy New Year and Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is the New Year's Recap episode for 2025! It's that time again:  we are going to look back at what happened in the episodes this year.  That was only episodes 101 to 117—we'll skip the travelogue episodes for the time being.  This covered the years of the early to mid-7th century, from roughly 613 to 659.  That is easily within the lifetime of a single individual, and yet a lot was going on. At the start of this year, we were at the height of Soga power. In 2023, we covered how back in 587, Soga no Umako had wrested power away from the powerful Mononobe clan, defeating Mononobe no Moriya.  As you may recall, the sovereign known to posterity as Jimmu Tennou was the descendant of the Heavenly Grandchild known as Ninigi no Mikoto, at least according to the Nihon Shoki.  The Mononobe clan claimed descent from none other than Nigi Hayahi, the Other Heavenly Grandchild, whose offspring were said to have been defeated by Jimmu. You may recall that scholars generally consider the story of Jimmu, and the nine sovereigns that immediately followed him, as almost certainly a later addition to the story of the royal lineage. So when did the story of Nigi no Hayahi's defeat enter the picture? And was its inclusion perhaps related to the defeat of the Mononobe by the Soga family?  A family that successfully intermarried with the Royal House, themselves, such that all later sovereigns would trace their ancestry back to the Soga house? Of course, under Soga dominance we saw the rise of figures like the Soga descended Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno.  During her reign, major reforms were carried out, Buddhism became fully established by the State, and ties with the continent were strengthened.  Politics would continue to be dominated by Soga, even after the death of Soga no Umako and Kashikiya Hime, with Soga no Emishi taking up the mantle of Prime Minister, working closely with his son, Soga no Iruka.  The Soga family was so entwined with the politics of rulership that the main rivals of the Soga were… the Soga.  That is to say different Soga-descended lineages, like that of the Prince Umayado, aka Prince Shotoku. Rather than supporting Umayado's son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, Soga no Emishi backed another candidate to the throne, Prince Tamura.  , of the royal Okinaga lineage. Tamura came to power as Jomei Tenno, but there is little doubt that Soga no Emishi was the one in control. Later, when Tamura passed away in 641, Yamashiro no Oe continued to be passed over.  In fact, Soga no Emishi supported the ascension of Tamura's wife, Takara hime, over Yamashiro no Oe, and there is evidence that he supported a prince known as Furubito no Oe as the Crown Prince and eventual successor.  All of the evidence—which, to be honest, is rather biased—suggests that the Soga family were setting up a series of puppet rulers who would do their bidding, or at least be pliable to their suggestions. There must have been some pushback, though, especially when one considers how strong the cult of Prince Shotoku, aka Umayado, would eventually become.  One imagines that Prince Yamashiro was another pole around which those who opposed the Soga family could rally.  After all, he was the son of Crown Prince Umayado, and likely had just as much of a claim as Tamura and his children.  And so, to counter this threat, Soga no Emishi's son and successor, Soga no Iruka, took matters into his own hands. In a brazen display of the violence of court politics, Soga no Iruka had Yamashiro no Oe accused of plotting against the throne and took an army to arrest him—no doubt in the hope that the prince would resist.  Eventually they cornered Yamashiro and his family, who committed suicide rather than submit. This attack was likely targeted to take out the rival to the Soga family's preferred Crown Prince, Prince Furubito no Oe, but rather than quell any dissent, the move seems to have enflamed the passions of those who wanted to see an end to the Soga house.  Those passions took particular root in none other than Furubito no Oe's younger brother, Prince Naka no Oe.  Together with the support of his uncle, Prince Karu; the head of the Nakatomi house, Nakatomi no Kamatari; as well as another scion of the Soga house, Soga no Kuroyamada, Prince Naka no Oe staged a coup d'etat.  Using the death of Prince Yamashiro no Oe as an excuse, they engineered a plot to assassinate Soga no Iruka in court, in front of Naka no Oe's own mother, Takara Hime no Oho-kimi.  After Iruka's death, Naka no Oe and his supporters then took the fight to Soga no Emishi, who committed suicide and set his own house on fire in what came to be known as the Isshi Incident. This shocking assassination caused Takara hime to step down.  The Soga-backed Prince Furubito no Oe, rather than stepping up and taking the throne, retreated to a Buddhist temple and took holy orders, effectively retiring and theoretically taking himself out of court politics.  That left Prince Naka no Oe and his uncle, Prince Karu, as possible candidates. We are told that Prince Naka no Oe declined to take the throne himself, instead supporting his uncle, Prince Karu.  Prince Karu took the throne, and is known to us as Kotoku Tenno, today.  Prince Naka no Oe stepped up as the Crown Prince, and with the help of his co-conspirators, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, Soga no Kurayamada, and others, they began a project to remake the Yamato government, using continental models—specifically the Sui and Tang courts, which were also influencing the governments of the Korean peninsula, such as those of Baekje and Silla. This is known as the Taika, or Great Change, era.    There had been previous movements to adopt some of the continental trends, but nothing to this extent, which culminated in a tremendous palace complex built in Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  Governors were sent out to the east of the country. The old, decentralized system was being replaced by a centralized bureaucracy. And yet this wasn't entirely a smooth transition.  Early on there was a threat by supporters of the previous Crown Prince, Furubito no Oe.  He was killed to put down any possible revolt.  Later, Naka no Oe was hoodwinked into going after his own co-conspirator, Soga no Kurayamada, resulting in Kurayamada's death and the punishment of his entire family.  A few years later, Naka no Oe moved back to Asuka, taking most of the royal family and the court with him, abandoning the grand government complex that they had built in Naniwa for reasons that remain unclear. Shortly thereafter, Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, passed away.  But rather than Naka no Oe taking the throne—or even Karu's son, Prince Arima—the throne went back to Naka no Oe's mother, Takara Hime.  This is the only case we have of a single sovereign reigning twice, and the Chroniclers gave her two separate regnal names—Kogyoku Tenno to refer to her first reign and Saimei Tenno to refer to her second. And this is the reign that we are going to start the new year with. Beyond what was going on on the archipelago, there was also plenty that we covered on the continent.  We started the year with the Sui dynasty having consolidated control and working to continue to expand their territory north, south, and west, while also connecting the economic areas of the Yangzi and Yellow rivers. Unfortunately, through their wars and public works projects they overextended themselves, and the dynasty fell, replaced, in 619, with the Tang dynasty.  The Tang continued to expand, taking control of important points on the Silk Road and becoming a hub of trade and commerce.  At the same time, they were contesting their borders with the Goguryeo, who, themselves, had come under the control of Yeon Gaesomun, an infamous noble and anti-Tang hard-liner, who had staged a coup, murdered the Goguryeo king and any who stood against him, and who had installed a puppet king on the throne.  It is little wonder that the Tang dynasty was courting Goguryeo's enemy, Silla, to pressure them from the other side.  This eventually kicked off the Tang-Goguryeo war, with the loosely allied Tang and Silla fighting on and off with Goguryeo and their ally, Baekje, who was also invested in stifling Silla's ambitions on the peninsula. So that's where we are:  The Korean peninsula is currently embroiled in conflict between the three kingdoms on the peninsula and the nearby superpower, the Tang Dynasty.  Meanwhile, Yamato, on the archipelago, is going through a whole… thing.  What that is, we'll try to get into over the next year. Given all of this, let's go over some of the themes from the past year.  To start with, let's talk about expanding Yamato influence. From what we can tell, Yamato's influence in the archipelago had peaked around the 5th century, between the creation of giant Daisen Ryo kofun and the reign of Wakatake no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tenno.  Wakatake no Ohokimi had courtiers from as far away as Kyushu and the Kanto plain.  However, from what I can tell, Yamato's influence appears to have temporarily waned, possibly coinciding with the end of Wakatake's own dynasty, with a new dynasty coming to power in the 6th century. It is possible that Wakatake was simply never quite as powerful as the Chronicles make out, but there are a few other things that make me think that the end of the 5th and early half of the 6th century were a low point in Yamato's power.  For one thing, we see a drop off in interactions with the continent after 479—or at least anything beyond the tip of the Korean peninsula.  In addition, we see smaller rooms built in the region of the Nara Basin and the Kawachi plain, while more “royal” tombs continue to appear elsewhere in the archipelago.  It isn't that they stopped, but the size decreased, suggesting that Yamato didn't have the same labor pool it used to. On top of that, we have the dynastic change.  We are told that the line related to Wakatake died out and they had to bring in someone from Afumi and Koshi, who traced their lineage back to the legendary Homuda-wake, aka Ōjin tennō, some five generations back.  Many scholars suggest that this connection was a later merging of the lineages, suggesting that, in reality, an entirely new branch of sovereigns had come to power. Finally, we can see the Chronicles focusing more and more on the areas near to Yamato, the area known as the Home Provinces, possibly because Yamato only held direct control over these areas, while control beyond that was only nominal.  Local elites in those regions had a lot of autonomy, and if Yamato did not have anything in particular to offer them, they would not have a reason to necessarily go along with Yamato's requests. This may have even been part of the impetus for the so-called “rebellion” by Iwai, in Kyushu.  As you may recall, in the early 6th century Iwai attempted to ally with Silla against Yamato and Baekje, with the idea of cutting off Yamato's access to the continent.  This ultimately failed, and Yamato ended up creating what would become the Dazaifu near modern Fukuoka, but the fact that Iwai could contemplate it and gather such support would suggest that Yamato was at least perceived as vulnerable. Now up to this point, we see several different policies that were used for increasing the court's control.  Early on, this was done by doling out various elite goods.  We also see Yamato soft power in the form of spiritual authority and the expansion of local Yamato cultic practices out into the other lands of the archipelago.  There was also the tradition of monumental tombs, and especially the royal keyhole style tombs, which spread out from Yamato and was likely as much an indication that those regions saw Yamato practices as worthy of emulation, at the least, and perhaps saw Yamato as a cultural nexus on the archipelago. To all of this, they eventually added the “Be” system.  This appears to have been copied from systems being used on the Korean peninsula, and it focused on creating familial units to organize various industries, with family heads responsible for reporting and funneling necessary goods up to the court.  This eventually included the noble “uji” clans, with their power bases in various geographic regions. Yamato extended its influence through a variety of methods, including various public works projects.  These included things like the building of ponds, or reservoirs, which would have been critical to the wet-rice paddy agriculture that was the economic backbone of the Yamato government.  Another means of extending government control was the “miyake”, or Royal Granaries.  Originally we see these set up in the Nara basin, but during the current dynasty they had been extended all the way out to Kyushu. Ostensibly, they were there to collect rice for taxes, but they appear to have acted as government offices, providing a presence for Yamato even out in the hinterlands.  Eventually they would turn the area in Kyushu, the Dazai, into its own, semi-autonomous extension of the Yamato government, as well. In the past year of the podcast, we've seen many of those older forms of government control replaced with a new bureaucratic system.  This included an upgrade to the rank system, which was a way for the government to both organize the bureaucracy while also creating a means to award individuals.  Early rank systems had initially been granted at the family level, but following a continental model meant that the new system was based solely on the individual.  Thus they could hand out rank to various kings and chieftains across the archipelago and entice them into the Yamato orbit, a trick they had been doing previously as well with various types of recognition.  Those that took the titles and rank that Yamato handed out gained a certain amount of legitimacy, locally, but since that legitimacy was tied to the Yamato court, it also helped solidify Yamato's own influence on those areas. That doesn't mean that all expansion was peaceful.  Yamato contested on their eastern and northern border with the people referred to as the Emishi, which eventually included contests as far north as the island of Hokkaido with the Mishihase people. There was another form of soft power used by the court in the way that it supported Buddhism, which was still a new religion at this point, having arrived in the early part of the 6th century.  Patronage of Buddhism would lead to the building of temples and otherwise claiming some authority in the spiritual realm, beyond simply the court's control of the Mt. Miwa site.  Furthermore, the state itself took particular interest in Buddhist institutions, and cracked down heavily on the clergy, ensuring that they reported up to the court, formally solidifying the connection between temples and the State. But then they went a bit further and instituted actual governors.  They were appointed by the Yamato government, and they were particularly installed in the Eastern lands—referred to as provinces.  These governors reported to the court, and appear to have initially been separate from locally recognized elites, who were known as the Kuni no Miyatsuko.  The governors were to take stock of the areas under their authority and report up information such as a summary of the lands and local census information.  This meant that Yamato did not need to rely on local elites to administer an area, they would have greater insight into what was actually going on. This was all combined with the institution of new laws on taxes, corvee labor, and more, while eliminating traditional practices such as the Miyake and even royal tomb-building.  The latter was likely affected by the various public works projects, but also the fact that more work was going into the building of things like Buddhist temples. As we noted back in the previous year, Buddhist temple building appears to have had a hand in the end of the prolific kofun building, at least in Yamato proper.  Kofun were memorials—meant to carry on the memory of an individuals well after their death.  They were ritual sites, and families were set up to care for them. Temples, likewise, were erected with certain memorial qualities.  Donating to build a temple was thought to increase one's karma, and thus do wonders for your next life.  Temple patrons would be remembered, and services were carried out, but temples also had a certain public aspect to them, as well.  On top of that, they were new, and no doubt exotic, with their tiled rooves, intricate carvings, and colorful buildings.  Much of the labor that would have built tombs appears to have been co-opted, instead, to build temples. Some of the temples founded in this period include Asuka dera, aka Hokoji, built on or near the Soga family compound, as well as other Asuka temples, such as Yamadadera, Kawaradera, Toyouradera, and Kudaradera.  There was also Houryuji, erected by Prince Umayado near his house, and the ancient temple of Shitennouji, erected in Naniwa.  Of these, both Horyuji and Shitennoji continue, today, at or near their original with some of the oldest extant buildings in Japan.  Asukadera was moved to its modern site of Gangoji, in Nara city proper, but there is still a smaller Asukadera on the original site, with what may be one of the original images, though the buildings have been rebuilt after numerous fires and disasters over the years. Of course, a big part of all of these foreign ideas, such as Buddhism but also Confucian thought as well, was the growing influence of the continent, whether in the form of Baekje, Silla, Goguryeo, or beyond.  While there had been influence ever since the Yayoi period—and arguably even during the Jomon, in some instances—there seems to have been an acceleration once Yamato began to import Buddhism, which was likely connected with all of the learning and texts that were also being imported around that time.  Then, during the Sui and Tang dynasties—both of which the Chronicles simply label as the “Great Tang”—the court sent several embassies to the Sui and Tang emperors, bringing back individuals with actual experience in the way things were happening outside of the archipelago. And we should not discount the various embassies to and from the Korean peninsula.  Yamato was increasing its involvement in peninsular affairs.  They continued to be concerned with the state of Nimna, also known as Imna or Mimana, which had been assimilated by Silla, along with the rest of Gaya, or Kara, by the early to mid-6th century, with many accounts dealing with attempts to reinstate Nimna as a separate and sovereign entity. Along with this, Yamato continued their relationship with Baekje, who sent Prince Pung to reside at the Yamato court.  This continued a long-standing tradition that is portrayed as a type of diplomatic hostage, though there have been several times that princes at the Yamato court came back to Baekje to rule after the king died or was killed.  All of this to say that not only did ambassadors from Yamato go to these countries, but ambassadors also traveled to Yamato, while various immigrants from these areas of Baekje, Silla, and even Goguryeo occasionally settled in Yamato.  This further increased the number of individuals with knowledge and experience of continental concepts and technology, and we can see their influence in numerous different ways. This was all part of what led to the Yamato government's adoption of Tang style law codes, though it should be noted that the law codes were not taken wholecloth.  Rather, they were adapted specifically to the issues of the archipelago.  This was the beginning of what came to be known as the Ritsuryo system, literally the system of laws and punishments. Under this system, the government went from a single Oho-omi, or great minister, to two Great ministers, one of the left and one of the right.  These would come to be known as the Sadaijin and the Udaijin.  Nakatomi no Kamatari was afforded a special place as the third minister, the minister of the center, or Naidaijin, possibly referring to his responsibilities with the interior of the royal household, while the ministers of the left and right would have had particular ministries beneath them - eight ministries in total, with various departments underneath them.  They would be assigned to report either to the Minister of the Left or the Minister of the Right, each one overseeing, effectively, half of the government portfolio. This system, combined with the governors and the Tomo no Miyatsuko in the provinces, meant that Yamato had much more granular control over the workers and the means of production.  They organized households into villages, and villages into districts.  There were lower level officials who reported up the chain all the way to the great ministers, the Daijin, or Oho-omi.  This meant that they effectively abolished the Be and Uji system, at least as it had been set up.  These familial groups continued to operate as families, or perhaps more appropriately as “clans”, given how the groups had come to be. These officials were granted rank and, more importantly, stipends from the government.  A portion of taxes, which were paid in rice, went to various officials.  This meant that officials not only relied on the government for their status, but for their incomes as well. This went along with an attempt to implement something known as the “equal field system”, imported, again, from the continent.  This determined who would work what fields, and was another way that the government was involved down to the actual labor producing the rice that was the economic engine of the State. And that covers most of what we've been up to this past year.  There have been individual accomplishments that we didn't get into, but there is plenty there if you want to listen to it. So that covers the past year in the podcast—a little over half of the 7th century.  It really was a time of dramatic change—whether or not “Taika” was the name given to part of it, it certainly feels appropriate.  Even though the court eventually moved to Naniwa, this is the height of the Asuka period, and the start of the Ritsuryo state.  It would form the foundations for what was to come, and themes from this period will continue to show up again and again. In this next year, we are going to continue to look at Takara Hime's reign and beyond.  We'll see the resolution of the Tang-Goguryeo war, and the impact of all the continental fighting on the archipelago.  We'll also see continued developments within the archipelago itself, hopefully getting through to the end of the 7th century. We are actually reaching the end of the material in the Nihon Shoki.  This does not mean that we are running out of material, though.  The Chronicles end in 697—less than 40 years out from our current place in the Chronicles.  From there, we have the Shoku Nihongi, which covers 95 years, until 797 CE.  Translation of much of the Shoku Nihongi is available through the work of Dr. Ross Bender, and you can find his work online if you want to get a leg up on the reading, though that is a ways out.  For now, we can still comfortably continue with the Nihon Shoki, at least through the reign of Temmu Tennou. Until then, Happy New Year!  As usual, thank you for listening and for all of your support.  Thanks also to my lovely wife, Ellen, for her continued work at helping to edit these episodes! Remember, if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to Tweet at us at @SengokuPodcast, or reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  

Though it may not seem like it on first glance, across Asuka there are various remnants of a much grander period.  Postholes tell the story of palaces built over and over on the same spots.  In addition, there are the various temples and various carved stone statues and other features.  This episode we'll talk about some of the stonework and palace complexes built during Takara Hime's reign, as well as the deadly politics that were still the currency of the court. For more, check out our blogpost at:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-118 Rough Transcription Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 118: Stonework and Treason Before we dive into the episode, a quick shout out to thank Bodil for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com.  For information on how you can also help support the show, we'll have information at the end of the episode or go check out our podcast page at SengokuDaimyo.com. And now, on with the episode:   Soga no Akaye's mansion was busily quiet.  There was plenty of chatter, but it was mostly in hushed tones as servants busied themselves with their work, but wondered what was going on.  They couldn't help but notice the high ranking visitors that had come.  It was to be expected, though.  After all, their master was in charge while the rest of the court was away on a retreat, comforting the sovereign in her grief.  And so why wouldn't people be showing up to meet with him? But nobody was quite sure what all of these visitors were discussing.  They had all gone into an upper story of the building, but the crowd included some powerful figures, including, some said, a royal prince.  Who's who and where people stood in the court were always topics of discussion, but especially now.  After all, what they were dealing with was unprecedented:  who had heard of a sovereign stepping down in the first place, let alone stepping back up because they then outlived their successor?  But she was no spring chicken, either.  Surely it would be her son that would finally ascend the throne next, right?  But that was never guaranteed. Either way, some of the servants grumbled, a change would be nice.  Ever since the royal family had moved back to Asuka, formally making it the capital again, there had been a flurry of activity. Sure, it meant that a certain amount of prestige returned to that region, and houses that had been in disrepair were suddenly occupied again.  But there was so much more.  Just about all of the available labor pool that wasn't working the fields was working on this project or that—there was almost nothing left for anyone else.  How was anyone else supposed to get things done when all of the able-bodied people were already toiling on the sovereign's own vanity projects?  And after building that giant government complex in Naniwa, no less! Such was, I imagine, the hushed rumor-mongering going on in the house when suddenly there came a loud “crack” as of a piece of wood snapping in two.  Later they would learn that an old wooden rest had broken, but that wasn't immediately obvious.  The servants did notice that shortly thereafter, their visitors began to depart, heading back to their own mansions. As for Soga no Akaye, he said nothing, but he seemed drained.  He had a heavy look, as though he was bearing an incredible weight.  Soon thereafter, he requested a brush and some paper, and he began to write out a letter…   So we are talking about the second reign of Takara Hime, who came back to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu, known as Koutoku Tennou.  For the first time she reigned, the Chroniclers gave her the name “Kougyoku Tennou”, but for her second reign she would be known in the Chronicles as “Saimei Tennou”. We already discussed some of what was recorded as happening in the north during Takara Hime's second reign, with the Emishi and the Mishihase and the expeditions by Abe no Omi no Hirafu.  This episode we are going to focus more on what was going on in the Home Provinces of Yamato—and most specifically the impact that Takara Hime's reign would have on Asuka. I've noted in the past how modern Asuka can seem like your typical rural Japanese town.  Roads weave between rice fields, flanked by densely packed neighborhoods at the foot of the green hills or lining the shores of the Asuka river.  To the north, the valley opens onto the vast Nara basin—a largely flat region that is much more heavily populated but still would be considered “inaka”, or rural country, by anyone from a metropolis like Tokyo or Ohosaka.  To the south, the land rises up into mountain peaks.  Beyond that ridge, the land drops into the Yoshino River Valley, but otherwise the rest of the Kii peninsula, to the south, is covered in a sparsely populated mountain range, where small villages carve out a life in the nooks and crannies between the numerous ridges, finding the rare spot of flat land to build houses and plant their fields.  Looking at it today, Asuka might seem idyllic, rural, and calm.  And yet, back in Takara Hime's day, it was anything but. When Takara Hime moved back to Asuka, she went on a building spree.  In fact, the Chronicles actually complain about all of the building that she was doing, and we'll get to that.  Much of this episode is going to revolve around her building projects, as well as her comings and goings.  While we'll talk about what the Chronicles say, I also want to talk about some of what still remains in Asuka.  Certainly the grand palaces are gone, for the most part leaving little more than post-holes, lying beneath the rice fields.  A bit more obvious are the various kofun, scattered across the landscape, but beyond that there we also see stone works, including numerous carved stones, which range from crude statues, which may have been minimally worked, to elaborate fountains, which would have used natural water pressure to create impressive waterworks.  These latter works demonstrate the sophistication of the masons of the time, and hint at the grandeur of the various palaces, gardens, and mansion complexes that once populated the landscape.  And if you want a little feeling of what it is like, I talked a bit about walking through Asuka in a bonus episode back in March of 2024—if you are interested, look up “Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2.   So along with what we see in the Chronicles, I want to talk about some of these other features, even if we aren't entirely sure of when, exactly, they were built.  There are a few, though, that we do suspected were built in this period, by Takara Hime, or at least at her order.  So we'll talk about those as we get there. Her reign wasn't all about building things, though.  Politics in the Yamato court remained as cutthroat as ever.  Although Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime's son, had been designated as “Crown Prince” he had not taken the throne, despite being of age, and we aren't told why, though the fact that Takara Hime had previously abdicated because of the events of the Isshi Incident, back in 645 (see Episode XX) may have meant that she was still considered the senior eligible member of the royal line.  Then there was the case of Prince Arima.  Prince Arima was the son of Karu, aka Koutoku Tenno, which made him Naka no Oe's cousin.  This wouldn't have meant anything had his father not ascended to the throne.  And under the succession practices of the time, although Naka no Oe was designated as the Crown Prince, that wasn't a guarantee that he would be next in line, so Prince Arima may have been a potential candidate.  However, there is at least one source that says Prince Arima was not yet of age, but still a teenager.  Still, that was no doubt old enough for some in the court to support him—and as we'll see in later centuries, age limits could be negotiable.  So we'll also discuss that, as well. So let's get into it. When the royal family first moved back to Asuka, in 653,  they took up residence in the temporary palace of Kahabe no Miya.  Unfortunately, this name doesn't tell us much about where the palace was located.  There is one theory that the Kawabe no Miya might be at what is known as the Asuka Inabuchi Palace site, up in the Asuka river valley, in the modern Iwaido district, a little south of the famous Ishibutai kofun site.  This is believed to have been a palace—or at least the mansion of some very wealthy family—given its layout, including what appears to be a cobblestone courtyard, and the lack of any roof tiles, which would have been reserved for temples, at that time. The term “temporary” palace comes up a lot in the Chronicles.  In most of the cases where it is used, it suggests that there was already a building in place and the sovereign took up residence there, hence the term “temporary” palace.  Often times we see that a temporary palace is said to have been “built”, at which point I have to wonder if that is truly the case—did they actually build a brand new structure to temporarily house the sovereign and the royal family—or does it just refer to the fact that they may have taken an existing compound and perhaps made some slight changes to accommodate the royal dignity?  Unfortunately, the Chronicles don't really go into much detail. Wherever the Kawabe no Miya happened to be, it does seem to have been temporary, as we later see Takara Hime back at the Itabuki palace, and indeed she reascended the throne there in 655.  The Itabuki palace first shows up in Takara hime's first reign, and seems to be one of at least two royal palaces in Asuka at the time, the other one being the Woharida Palace.  The Woharida palace had been around for a while – it was noted as early as 603, in the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tenno, and there is the suggestion that it was still around in the time that Karu, aka Kotoku Tenno, was reigning.  We know that Takara Hime took up residence there at some point during her own reign as well.  But in 643 she had the Itabuki palace built, though apparently that didn't mean that the Oharida palace was completely torn down and abandoned – it just was no longer the primary site of court ritual.  Of course, the Itabuki palace wouldn't be the seat of the government for long, either, as the Isshi Incident took place there in 645, and Karu would subsequently move the capital to Naniwa, building the Toyosaki palace. And so the Itabuki palace remained, but was not exactly kept up, so that when the royal family returned to Asuka, it wasn't ready for them to inhabit, and likely required extensive renovation.  Nonetheless, it was being inhabited two years later, when Takara hime again ascended the throne. A quick note here about the name “Itabuki”, because we think that this likely referred to a very specific style of construction that was used.  Up to this point, as far as we can tell, the primary roofing material for all major buildings was a kind of local thatching – we still see this today on some shrines and other buildings.  “Itabuki”, in contrast, refers to a roof made with wooden boards.  Today, we have buildings with rooves where the roof shingles are overlapping boards of wood or bark from the cypress tree: thin layers stacked one on top of the other.  Even today, the modern Imperial Palace in Kyoto uses wood shingles rather than the curved roof tiles that many people think of when they think of Asian architecture. So that's the Itabuki palace, all spruced up and ready for Takara hime to occupy again.  That said, remember the older Woharida palace, the other one in Asuka? Later in 655, a project was started to update that palace as well.  We are told that as of the 13th day of the 10th month there had been a plan to add roof tiles to one of the buildings at the Woharida palace, but unfortunately much of the timber from the mountains and valleys that was designated for the project was found to be too weak from rot, and so they decided to not go forward with that plan.  I would note here that tiled rooves, while they might seen somewhat easier to put together—after all, you only need a layer of interlocking and overlapping tiles—are extremely heavy.  They are known to deform the wooden structures underneath them, and can weigh hundreds of pounds per square foot.  Much of the classic shape of these tiled rooves developed over time to compensate for some of that weight, so this makes me wonder if the wood the palace craftspeople brought in was really that rotten, or if it was just not strong enough for the work that they were trying to do.  After all, were they applying the same techniques as for a temple, or were they simply trying to replace traditional thatching or shingles with clay tiles?  Either way, the project failed, even after all of the work that had gone into it.  This is a small entry in the Chronicles, but it would have meant levying corvee labor that had to go out to the designated regions to source the timber, not to mention setting up the kilns to make the tiles, as well as other preparations that would have been necessary.  In other words, a lot of work, for apparently no payoff. On top of that, we are told that around that time, in the winter of that year—which would have been the 10th, 11th, or 12th month, roughly corresponding from late November to February of the following year—the Itabuki palace caught fire and burned down, and so the sovereign and her retinue decamped to the temporary palace of Kawara – the River Plain or Field. “Kawara” could theoretically refer to just about any flat area by a river. Aston points out that “Kawara” can also mean “rooftile”, which is interesting given what we just talked about, the entry immediately before that deals with attempting to add new rooftiles to a part of the Oharida palace. However, there is some thought that this refers to the Kawara Temple, Kawaradera, and you can find claims that Kawaradera was built on the site of the temporary palace.  There is a reference to Kawaradera in the previous reign, in the year 653, though another source apparently says it was talking about Yamadadera, instead.  There isn't another mention of “Kawaradera” that I can find until 673, so it is entirely possible that the temple started its life off as a mansion or even a temporary royal palace of some kind, and was later turned into a temple. Kawaradera itself is rather interesting.  If you visit the site, today, you can see large stone bases that help to demonstrate the size of the ancient temple.  It was one of the four Great Temples of Asuka, along with Asukadera, Kudara Ohodera, and Yakushiji.  And yet, unlike the other three, we don't have clear indications about its founding in the Chronicles.  When the capital eventually moved to Heijo-kyo, in Nara city, many of the other temples were removed to the new capital, but not, as far as I can see, Kawaradera.  Donald McCallum suggests that this is because it was replaced, instead, by Koufukuji, a temple with deep ties to the descendants of Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Fujiwara clan.  He suggests that mention of the temple in the official records may have even been suppressed by individuals such as Fujiwara no Fubito.  Kawaradera remained in Asuka.  Eventually it fell to ruin, but there is still a small temple on the site, known as Gu-fuku-ji. As for the Kawara Palace, if Kawaradera really was in operation by 653, it is possible that the sovereign took over some of the buildings at Kawaradera, or perhaps the temporary palace was simply somewhere nearby. In any case, they don't seem to have stayed there for too long—they started work on a new palace the following year.  This was the later Okamoto Palace, and from what we can tell it was built on the same site as the Itabuki Palace, south of Asukadera.  This site would see multiple palaces over the years, and even today you can go and see some of the post-holes that they have found, indicating the size of the complex through the years. Based on the layout and size of the Asuka palaces, it seems that these early palaces focused on the “dairi”, the private quarters of the sovereign.  This seems to have ignored the reforms made with the Toyosaki palace design in Naniwa in the early 650s.  That palace, which was built on an incredibly grand scale, consisted of both the private quarters and the public government offices.  But in Asuka the royal family's “palace” appears to have only consisted of the private quarters, for the most part.  So where was the actual bureaucracy happening?  Were there other facilities we don't know about?  Or perhaps, the Toyosaki palace itself was overly ambitious, and there wasn't actually the staff for such a grand complex?  After all, they were just setting up the bureaucracy and perhaps their reach had exceeded their grasp.  Or was it the case that things werestill being run out of the palace complex in Naniwa while the sovereign lived in Asuka?  That seems to have been roughly 10 hours away, by foot, though perhaps only half that by horse. The northern end of the Asuka valley is not as well suited to a large palace complex.  Not only was it already full of temples and the like, but the ground itself rises to the south, and the hills on either side start to come together.  It certainly isn't the kind of place to layout a grand city.  But perhaps that was not the intent—at least not immediately.  It didn't matter much, though, because the Later Okamoto palace, as it came to be known, was not long for this world.  Scarcely had it been built and occupied but that it caught fire and burned down—another expenditure of funds and labor that were once more counted as nothing. In fact, Takara hime was apparently on a tear, and went ahead and initiated quite a few projects that happened in 656.  We are told that nearby Tamu Peak was crowned with a circular enclosure, close to where two “tsuki” trees grew.  A “lofty” building was erected and called both Futatsuki no Miya (the Palace of the Two Tsuki) and Amatsu Miya (the Palace of Heaven).  She also had a new palace erected in Yoshino, possibly as a seasonal retreat.  And with this she was just getting started. She also had laborers dig a canal all the way from the western end of Mt. Kaguyama all the way to Mt. Isonokami.  We are told that 200 barges were then loaded with stone from Mt. Isonokami and hauled to the mountain east of the palace, where the stones were piled up to form a wall.  This last one had people up in arms.  They called the canal the “mad canal” and said that it wasted the labor of over 30,000 people.  On top of that, she used 70,000 men to build the wall.  To top it all off, the timber for the palace rotted away and the top of the mountain where they were building collapsed.  We are told that people cursed it all, crying out: “May the mound built at Iso no Kami break down of itself as fast as it is built.” So, yeah, people weren't too happy.  We, however, just might be – because all of this building work? It leaves traces in the landscape. We aren't always sure about locations in the Chronicles, as it is very easy for names to shift over time or for things to be renamed at a later date. But what we do know is that there are quite a few examples of stone work in the Asuka region.  There is the kame-ishi stone that looks only vaguely carved—it appears to have two carved eyes, but otherwise appears to use the natural shape of the stone to evoke a tortoise—that sits near the site of Kawaradera and Tachibana-dera.  There are the various saruishi—carved figures that are purportedly based on saru, or monkeys, but are likely meant to represent people.  They may have once adorned an elite family's garden or similar, and they were since moved to the tomb of Kibitsu hime.  There are various fountains and waterworks.  And then there are the Sakafune-ishi ruins, sitting along a ridge east of the palace site.  This consists of a large stone up on the hill, with carved channels that appear to be made to channel water poured into the grooves.  At the bottom of the hill there is a turtle shaped stone basin, filled from a boat-shaped water tank.  Across the hill is example of stone work, including possible walls. Given the apparent age of everything, and its location, it is thought that this may all be part of the Futatsuki no Miya complex that Takara hime built.  Unfortunately, it is still not clear how it was meant to operate.  After Asuka was abandoned as the capital, knowledge of the site also disappeared.  There were some stories that arose about the stone that it was used for some kind of sake-brewing, hence the name, but nothing truly concrete has arisen.  There may have been other structures, perhaps made of wood, that are no longer present, and the stone itself appears to have broken and eroded away over the years.  It may have been meant as a ritual site, or perhaps it was just built as some kind of wonder for the people.  It doesn't fit into any clear model of any Buddhist or even ancient Shinto practice, nor is it clearly connected to other continental practices.  We certainly know that they did plenty with water, given the number of waterworks and other carved stones, including a model of Mt. Sumera, we are told was built to the west of Asukadera on the 15th day of the 7th month of the following year—657. Maybe these are remnants of that project Whatever its purpose, the Sakafune-ishi site does seem to compare favorably with what is described in the Nihon Shoki, and perhaps it was considered such a waste of resources just because it didn't fit in with the prevailing ritual culture.  Maybe Takara hime was too artistically avant-garde for her time. “Wasting resources” would, in fact, become a chief complaint against Takara Hime during her time on the throne.  And that takes us from seemingly harmless construction projects into the court politics of the day.  Now as you should recall, Prince Naka no Oe, Takara Hime's son, was the Crown Prince at this point, and quite influential.  He was supported by various courtiers, such as Nakatomi no Kamatari, the Naidaijin, but his eventual ascendancy to the throne was not entirely assured.  We've seen plenty of examples where someone would seem to be in line for the throne and they didn't ever make it.  We know that there were several other royal princes at this time.  One of the youngest was Prince Takeru, a grandson of Takara Hime, who was born around 651.  Then there was Prince Naka no Oe's brother, Prince Ohoama.  He was also one of Takara Hime's sons, and while we haven't heard much of him in the narrative, we will definitely see more of him in the future.  On top of the two of them, there is Prince Arima, whom I talked about at the beginning of the episode.  Prince Arima was mentioned as the son of Karu and Wotarashi Hime, but his mother was not Karu's Queen—that was Hashibito, daughter of Okinaga Tarashi-hi Hironuka, aka Jomei Tennou, and Takara Hime.  Yup, Karu basically married his own niece, though that may have been an attempt to keep the most direct connection possible to the royal line.  Arima's mom Wotarashi Hime, on the other hand, was the daughter of Abe no Kurahashi no Oho-omi—the Minister of the Left, or Sadaijin, during Karu's reign.  Strictly speaking, based on the way that the succession has been depicted so far, Prince Arima wouldn't technically meet the requirements.  That said, we've seen where that has been bypassed in the past, and no doubt people were aware just how easily it would be to rewrite the history, if they had to.  He was young—but not so young that he couldn't be involved in the politics of the court. Other than a note about his parentage at the start of Karu's reign, Prince Arima isn't mentioned again until the ninth month of 657, and right off the bat you can tell where the Chroniclers fall on his personality.  They describe him as deceitful, and claim that he pretended to be insane—a term that doesn't really show up elsewhere, so it is hard to know what exactly is meant.  Is he the Hamlet of his age?  Arima used this as an excuse to go to Muro Onsen—thought to be modern Shirahama Hot Springs, on the southwestern end of the Kii Peninsula.   When he came back he sang its praises, claiming that “scarce had I seen that region, when my complaint disappeared of itself.”  The Queen wanted to go and see for herself. Overall, this hardly seems to be very “deceitful”, though it is suspected that Arima may have feigned an illness to avoid some of the politics around the start of the new reign.  Given his father Karu's recent death, it would likely have been easy enough to claim that he was greatly depressed.  We aren't told how long he stayed at Muro Onsen, but presumably it was for some time. At the start of the following year, on the 13th day of the first month, Kose no Tokuda no Omi, the Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, passed away.  This would have no doubt created some ripples, but little more is said—we don't even have the name of who succeeded him in the position, at least not in the Nihon Shoki.  Four months later, which is to say in the fifth month of that same year, 658, Prince Takeru passed away.  He was only 8 years old, but as the grandson of Takara Hime a temporary tomb was constructed in the Imaki valley.  Takara Hime lamented his death greatly, and in the 10th month, she took Arima's advice and went to visit the Ki Onsen.  She had several poems composed and handed them to Hata no Ohokura no Miyatsuko no Mari to record them for posterity. While she was away, Soga no Akaye no Omi was the acting official in charge.  And several weeks in, he addressed Prince Arima.  He noted that there were three problems with Takara Hime's government. First – She builds treasuries on a great scale, collecting the riches of the people. Second – She wastes the public grain revenue in digging long canals. Third – She loads barges with stones and transports them to be piled up into a hill. This may have been popular opinion, but it was also rather treasonous talk.  Prince Arima simply smiled and said: “I have only now come to an age where I am fit to bear arms.” So, yeah, he was basically saying that he was old enough to take up arms—and presumably lead others in a rebellion, if that was the case. Two days later, on the fifth day of the 11th month, Prince Arima met Akaye at his mansion.  They went into one of the upper stories, where they wouldn't be interrupted, and there they conspired together.  Others were also involved, it seems—Mori no Kimi no Oho-ishi, Sakahibe no Muraji no Kusuri, and Shihoya no Muraji no Konoshiro.  There are a few different books that claim to record what the plans were.  One says that Soga no Akaye, Shihoya no Konoshiro, Mori no Oho-ishi, and Sakahibe no Kusuri divined the future of their conspiracy by drawing slips of paper, to see how it would turn out.  Another book states that Arima claimed he would burn down the palace and take 500 men to march down south.  There he would waylay Takara Hime at the harbour of Muro.  They were going to exile her to Awaji island, setting up a fleet of ships to ensure she could never leave. As they were discussing what to do—no doubt talking about how the Prince could take the throne, a leg-rest that they were using broke.  Another book claims it was an arm-rest, instead, but otherwise the details are the same.  They both agreed that was a bad omen, and decided not to proceed any further with their plans.  Prince Arima returned home, but apparently Soga no Akaye had a change of heart.  He apparently figured that his only way out was to turn in the others and admit everything.  And so, that night, Akaye sent Mononobe no Enowi no Muraji no Shibi, who was in charge of the labourers working on the palace.  They surrounded the palace and then Akaye sent a mounted courier to inform Takara Hime. That letter must have laid everything out.  Takara hime had the conspirators arrested and brought to Ki Onsen.  Arima's servant, Nihitabe no Muraji no Yonemaro, followed them.  Prince Naka no Oe himself questioned Arima about why he plotted treason.  Arima's answer is a bit cryptic:  “Heaven and Akaye know.” He responded, “I do not understand at all.” In the end, all of the conspirators were found guilty, and executed.  Tajihi no Wosaha no Muraji no Kuniso was sent to do the task.  Prince Arima was strangled at the Fujishiro acclivity, along with Shihoya no Konoshiro and Nihitabe no Yonemaro.  Before being executed, Konoshiro made a rather macabre request, asking that—presumably after he was dead—they cut off his right hand and make it a national treasure.  The other two conspirators, Mori no Oho-ishi and Sakahibe no Kusuri, were merely banished, presumably having played less of a role. Once again, we must remember that we are only getting one side of the story.  It is definitely convenient for Naka no Oe to have a potential rival out of the way.  At the same time, it is certainly plausible that there was more than a little bit of consternation about how Takara Hime had been spending so much on all of these construction projects.  And yet… were these Takara Hime's projects, alone? Remember, Prince Naka no Oe seems to have had a fair bit of clout.  He orchestrated the original coup, where he killed Soga no Iruka and his father.  And then he declined the throne, but became a major part of the new government.  He was apparently powerful enough that he organized the move back to Asuka against the wishes of Karu no Ohokimi. So would all of these projects have been done without his involvement? This is an area where I have to admit that I probably need to check my bias.  On the one hand, it is rare enough in patriarchal accounts to see women with agency and in positions of power, and so it is easy enough to make an assumption that any agency they are given in the record, they likely had more than is mentioned.  At the same time, in this particular instance, at least, Takara Hime's role in this could just as easily be a cover to preserve the image of Naka no Oe, who is certainly portrayed as a hero figure, bringing much needed change and modernization—such as it was—to Yamato.  His enemies are always shown to be in the wrong, and even if he is accused of something horrible—such as the death of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro—it turns out that it was actually the fault of someone else, such as the person who slandered Maro to him in the first place.  So could it be that these unpopular construction projects were actually his doing, all along?  Was the conspiracy simply to overthrow Takara Hime, or was it focused on both her and Naka no Oe, together? To be honest, I couldn't say for certain.  All we have to go on is what the Chroniclers tell us, and they lay the blame fairly firmly at the feet of Takara Hime.  But do remember that Naka no Oe is not necessarily the Shining Prince that he is often made out to be, and that people rarely come to or stay in power in a society like Yamato's by being nice all the time.  We certainly know what he is capable of from the Isshi Incident, and we shouldn't forget that in the narrative. Now when Takara Hime returned from Ki Onsen after winter ended, in the new year.  We are told that she got back on the third day of the first month of 659.  A couple of months later, on the first day of the third month, she went to Yoshino and held a banquet there—no doubt at the palace she had had constructed.  This may have been at the site of Miyataki Ruins, where excavations have revealed numerous examples of roof tiles and other artifacts that may have come from a building from the Asuka or Nara era. The visit to Yoshino must have been quick, however, as we are told that two days later she visited Hira-ura in Afumi, on the shores of Lake Biwa.  Perhaps this only means she left two days later, since that must have been quite the journey back in the day.  Would she have traveled on horseback, or in a carriage or something similar?  No doubt a full procession would take time, and I doubt that the sovereign would push herself.  We also don't have a reason for her to go, that I can see.  It is an odd entry, to say the least. And I think it may be best to end it there.  I do encourage anyone who can to get down to Asuka and plan to spend a couple of days if you really want to get around.  You may want to rent a bike or even a car to get to everything, though you can walk to most things.  There are several museums and cultural centers set up to expound upon Asuka culture, with a focus on the history and archaeology specifically of that period. The palace site where Takara Hime ruled would continue to be the location of at least two more palaces, which we'll talk about in time.  Before that, though, we'll want to cover a few more things.  Most importantly, we'll want to talk about the relationship with lands outside of the archipelago.  We'll discuss the man from Tukhara—who may have simply been from the Ryukyu islands, or possible from as far aways the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern day Thailand, or even from the western edge of India and Pakistan, having traveled the Silk Road.  Some have even suggested that he may be a Tocharian, and we'll talk about what that means.  And then, before we finish, we'll have to talk about everything else going on, including the conclusion of the Tang-Baekje war. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.    

This episode we are taking a trip down the Silk Road--or perhaps even the Spice Road--as we investigate references in this reign to individuals from "Tukara" who seem to have arrived in Yamato and stayed for a while. For photos and more, see our podcast webpage:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-119 Rough Transcript   Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  This is episode 119: The Question of “Tukara”   Traveling upon the ocean was never exactly safe.  Squalls and storms could arise at any time, and there was always a chance that high winds and high waves could capsize a vessel.  Most people who found themselves at the mercy of the ocean could do little but hold on and hope that they could ride out whatever adverse conditions they met with.  Many ships were lost without any explanation or understanding of what happened to them.  They simply left the port and never came back home. And so when the people saw the boat pulling up on the shores of Himuka, on the island of Tsukushi, they no doubt empathized with the voyagers' plight.  The crew looked bedraggled, and their clothing was unfamiliar.  There were both men and women, and this didn't look like your average fishing party.  If anything was clear it was this:  These folk weren't from around here. The locals brought out water and food.  Meanwhile, runners were sent with a message:  foreigners had arrived from a distant place.  They then waited to see what the government was going to do.     We are still in the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tenno.  Last episode we talked about the palaces constructed in Asuka, as well as some of the stone works that have been found from the period, and which appear to be referenced in the Nihon Shoki—at least tangentially.   The episodes before that, we looked at the expeditions the court sent to the far north of Honshu and even past Honshu to Hokkaido. This episode we'll again be looking past the main islands of the archipelago to lands beyond.  Specifically, we are going to focus on particularly intriguing references to people from a place called “Tukara”.  We'll talk about some of the ideas about where that might be, even if they're a bit  far-fetched. That's because Tukara touches on the state of the larger world that Yamato was a part of, given its situation on the far eastern edge of what we know today as the Silk Road.  And is this just an excuse for me to take a detour into some of the more interesting things going on outside the archipelago?  No comment. The first mention of a man from Tukara actually comes at the end of the reign of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou.  We are told that in the fourth month of 654 two men and two women of “Tukara” and one woman of “Sha'e” were driven by a storm to Hiuga.  Then, three years later, the story apparently picks up again, though possibly referring to a different group of people.  On the 3rd day of the 7th month of 657, so during the second reign of Takara Hime, we now hear about two men and four women of the Land of Tukara—no mention of Sha'e—who drifted to Tsukushi, aka Kyushu.  The Chronicles mention that these wayfarers first drifted to the island of Amami, and we'll talk about that in a bit, but let's get these puzzle pieces on the table, first.  After those six people show up, the court sent for them by post-horse.  They must have arrived by the 15th of that same month, because we are told that a model of Mt. Sumi was erected and they—the people from Tukara—were entertained, although there is another account that says they were from “Tora”. The next mention is the 10th day of the 3rd month of 659, when a Man of Tukara and his wife, again woman of Sha'e, arrived.  Then, on the 16th day of the 7th month of 660, we are told that the man of Tukara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, desired to return home and asked for an escort.  He planned to pay his respects at the Great Country, i.e. the Tang court, and so he left his wife behind, taking tens of men with him. All of these entries might refer to people regularly reaching Yamato from the south, from a place called “Tukara”.  Alternately, this is a single event whose story has gotten distributed over several years, as we've seen happen before with the Chronicles.  .  One of the oddities of these entries is that the terms used are not consistent.  “Tukara” is spelled at least two different ways, suggesting that it wasn't a common placename like Silla or Baekje, or even the Mishihase.  That does seem to suggest that the Chronicles were phonetically trying to find kanji, or the Sinitic characters, to match with the name they were hearing.   I would also note that “Tukara” is given the status of a “kuni”—a land, country, or state—while “sha'e”, where some of the women are said to come from, is just that, “Sha'e”. As for the name of at least one person from Tokara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, that certainly sounds like someone trying to fit a non-Japanese name into the orthography of the time.  “Tatsuna” seems plausibly Japanese, but “Kenzuhashi” doesn't fit quite as well into the naming structures we've seen to this point. The location of “Tukara” and “Sha'e” are not clear in any way, and as such there has been a lot of speculation about them.  While today there are placenames that fit those characters, whether or not these were the places being referenced at the time is hard to say. I'll actually start with “Sha'e”, which Aston translates as Shravasti, the capital of the ancient Indian kingdom of Kosala, in modern Uttar Pradesh.  It is also where the Buddha, Siddartha Gautama, is said to have lived most of his life after his enlightenment.  In Japanese this is “Sha'e-jou”, and like many Buddhist terms it likely comes through Sanskrit to Middle Chinese to Japanese.  One—or possibly two—women from Shravasti making the journey to Yamato in the company of a man (or men) from Tukara seems quite the feat.  But then, where is “Tukara”? Well, we have at least three possible locations that I've seen bandied about.  I'll address them from the most distant to the closest option.  These three options were Tokharistan, Dvaravati, and the Tokara islands. We'll start with Tokharistan on the far end of the Silk Road.  And to start, let's define what that “Silk Road” means.  We've talked in past episodes about the “Western Regions”, past the Han-controlled territories of the Yellow River.   The ancient Tang capital of Chang'an was built near to the home of the Qin dynasty, and even today you can go and see both the Tang tombs and the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi and his terracotta warriors, all within a short distance of Xi'an, the modern city built on the site of Chang'an.  That city sits on a tributary of the Yellow River, but the main branch turns north around the border of modern Henan and the similarly sounding provinces of Shanxi and Shaanxi.  Following it upstream, the river heads north into modern Mongolia, turns west, and then heads south again, creating what is known as the Ordos loop.  Inside is the Ordos plateau, also known as the Ordos Basin.  Continuing to follow the Yellow river south, on the western edge of the Ordos, you travel through Ningxia and Gansu—home of the Hexi, or Gansu, Corridor.  That route eventually takes to Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, and Dunhuang.  From there roads head north or south along the edge of the Taklamakan desert in the Tarim basin.  The southern route travels along the edge of the Tibetan plateau, while the northern route traversed various oasis cities through Turpan, Kucha, to the city of Kashgar.  Both routes made their way across the Pamirs and the Hindu Kush into South Asia. We've brought up the Tarim Basin and the Silk Road a few times.  This is the path that Buddhism appears to have taken to get to the Yellow River Basin and eventually to the Korean Peninsula and eastward to the Japanese archipelago.  But I want to go a bit more into detail on things here, as there is an interesting side note about “Tukara” that I personally find rather fascinating, and thought this would be a fun time to share. Back in Episode 79 we talked about how the Tarim basin used to be the home to a vast inland sea, which was fed by the meltwater from the Tianshan and Kunlun mountains.  This sea eventually dwindled, though it was still large enough to be known to the Tang as the Puchang Sea.  Today it has largely dried up, and it is mostly just the salt marshes of Lop Nur that remain.  Evidence for this larger sea, however, can be observed in some of the burials found around the Tarim basin.  These burials include the use of boat-shaped structures—a rather curious feature to be found out in the middle of the desert. And it is the desert that was left behind as the waters receded that is key to much of what we know about life in the Tarim basin, as it has proven to be quite excellent at preserving organic material.  This includes bodies, which dried out and naturally turned into mummies, including not only the wool clothing they were wearing, but also features such as hair and even decoration. These “Tarim mummies”, as they have been collectively called, date from as early as 2100 BCE all the way up through the period of time we're currently talking about, and have been found in several desert sites: Xiaohe, the earliest yet discovered; Loulan, near Lop Nur on the east of the Tarim Basin, dating from around 1800 BCE; Cherchen, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin, dating from roughly 1000 BCE; and too many others to go into in huge detail. The intriguing thing about these burials is that  many of them don't have features typically associated with people of ethnic Han—which is to say traditional Chinese—ancestry, nor do they necessarily have the features associated with the Xiongnu and other steppe nomads.  In addition they have colorful clothing  made from wool and leather, with vivid designs.  Some bodies near Hami, just east of the basin, were reported to have blonde to light brown hair, and their cloth showed radically different patterns from that found at Cherchen and Loulan, with patterns that could reasonably be compared with the plaids now common in places like Scotland and Ireland, and previously found in the Hallstadt salt mine in Central Europe from around 3500 BCE, from which it is thought the Celtic people may have originated. At the same time that people—largely Westerners— were studying these mummies, another discovery in the Tarim basin was also making waves.  This was the discovery of a brand new language.  Actually, it was two languages—or possibly two dialects of a language—in many manuscripts, preserved in Kucha and Turpan.  Once again, the dry desert conditions proved invaluable to maintain these manuscripts, which date from between the late 4th or early 5th century to the 8th century.  They are written with a Brahmic script, similar to that used for Sanskrit, which appears in the Tarim Basin l by about the 2nd century, and we were able to translate them because many of the texts were copies of Buddhist scripture, which greatly helped scholars in deciphering the languages.  These two languages were fascinating because they represented an as-yet undiscovered branch of the Indo-European language family.  Furthermore, when compared to other Indo-European languages, they did not show nearly as much similarity with their neighbors as with languages on the far western end of the Indo-European language family.  That is to say they were thought to be closer to Celtic and Italic languages than something like Indo-Iranian.  And now for a quick diversion within the diversion:  “Centum” and “Satem” are general divisions of the Indo-European language families that was once thought to indicate a geographic divide in the languages.  At its most basic, as Indo-European words changed over time, a labiovelar sound, something like “kw”,  tended to evolve in one of two ways.  In the Celtic and Italic languages, the “kw” went to a hard “k” sound, as represented in the classical pronunciation of the Latin word for 100:  Centum.  That same word, in the Avestan language—of the Indo-Iranian tree—is pronounced as “Satem”, with an “S” sound.  So, you can look at Indo-European languages and divide them generally into “centum” languages, which preserve the hard “k”, or “Satem” languages that preserve the S. With me so far? Getting back to these two newly-found languages in the Tarim Basin, the weird thing is that they were “Centum” languages. Most Centum languages are from pretty far away, though: they are generally found in western Europe or around the Mediterranean, as opposed to the Satem languages, such as Indo-Aryan, Iranian, Armernian, or even Baltic Slavic languages, which are much closer to the Tarim Basin.  So if the theory were true that the “Centum” family of Indo-European languages developed in the West and “Satem” languages developed in the East, then that would seem to indicate that a group of a “Centum” speaking people must have migrated eastward, through the various Satem speaking people, and settled in the Tarim Basin many thousands of years ago. And what evidence do we have of people who look very different from the modern population, living in the Tarim Basin area long before, and wearing clothing similar to what we associated with the progenitors of the Celts?  For many, it seemed to be somewhat obvious, if still incredible, that the speakers of this language were likely the descendants of the mummies who, in the terminology of the time, had been identified as being of Caucasoid ancestry.  A theory developed that these people were an offshoot of a group called the Yamnaya culture, which may have arisen around modern Ukraine as an admixture between the European Hunter Gatherers and the Caucasian Hunter Gatherers, around 3300-2600 BCE.  This was challenged in 2021 when a genetic study was performed on some of the mummies in the Tarim basin, as well as several from the Dzungarian basin, to the northeast.  That study suggested that the people of the Dzungarian basin had genetic ties to the people of the Afanasievo people, from Southern Siberia.  The Afanasievo people are connected to the Yamnayan culture. It should be noted that there has long been a fascination in Western anthropology and related sciences with racial identification—and often not in a healthy way.  As you may recall, the Ainu were identified as “Caucasoid” by some people largely because of things like the men's beards and lighter colored hair, which differ greatly from a large part of the Japanese population.  However, that claim has been repeatedly refuted and debunked. And similarly, the truth is, none of these Tarim mummy burials were in a period of written anything, so we can't conclusively associated them with these fascinating Indo-European languages.  There are thousands of years between the various burials and the manuscripts. These people  left no notes stashed in pockets that give us their life story.   And Language is not Genetics is not Culture.  Any group may adopt a given language for a variety of reasons.  .  Still, given what we know, it is possible that the ancient people of the Tarim basin spoke some form of “Proto-Kuchean”, but it is just as likely that this language was brought in by people from Dzungaria at some point. So why does all this matter to us?  Well, remember how we were talking about someone from Tukara?  The Kuchean language, at least, is referred to in an ancient Turkic source as belonging to “Twgry”, which led several scholars to draw a link between this and the kingdom and people called Tukara and the Tokharoi.  This leads us on another bit of a chase through history. Now if you recall, back in Episode 79, we talked about Zhang Qian.  In 128 BCE, he attempted to cross the Silk Road through the territory of the Xiongnu on a mission for the Han court.  Some fifty years earlier, the Xiongnu had defeated the Yuezhi.  They held territory in the oasis towns along the north of the Taklamakan dessert, from about the Turpan basin west to the Pamirs. The Xiongnu were causing problems for the Han, who thought that if they could contact the remaining Yuezhi they could make common cause with them and harass the Xiongnu from both sides.  Zhang Qian's story is quite remarkable: he started out with an escort of some 99 men and a translator.  Unfortunately, he was captured and enslaved by the Xiongnu during his journey, and he is even said to have had a wife and fathered a child.  He remained a captive for thirteen years, but nonetheless, he was able to escape with his family and he made it to the Great Yuezhi on the far side of the Pamirs, but apparently the Yuezhi weren't interested in a treaty against the Xiongnu.  The Pamirs were apparently enough of a barrier and they were thriving in their new land.  And so Zhang Qian crossed back again through Xiongnu territory, this time taking the southern route around the Tarim basin.  He was still captured by the Xiongnu, who spared his life.  He escaped, again, two years later, returning to the Han court.  Of the original 100 explorers, only two returned: Zhang Qian and his translator.  While he hadn't obtained an alliance, he was able to detail the cultures of the area of the Yuezhi. Many feel that the Kushan Empire, which is generally said to have existed from about 30 to 375 CE,was formed from the Kushana people who were part of the Yuezhi who fled the Xiongnu. In other words, they were originally from further north, around the Tarim Basin, and had been chased out and settled down in regions that included Bactria (as in the Bactrian camel).  Zhang Qian describes reaching the Dayuan Kingdom in the Ferghana valley, then traveling south to an area that was the home of the Great Yuezhi or Da Yuezhi.  And after the Kushan empire fell, we know there was a state in the upper regions of the Oxus river, centered on the city of Balkh, in the former territory of the Kushan empire. known as “Tokara”.  Geographically, this matches up how Zhang Qian described the home of the Da Yuezhi.  Furthermore, some scholars reconstruct the reading of the Sinic characters used for “Yuezhi” as originally having an optional reading of something like “Togwar”, but that is certainly not the most common reconstructed reading of those characters.  Greek sources describe this area as the home of the Tokharoi, or the Tokaran People.  The term “Tukhara” is also found in Sanskrit, and this kingdom  was also said to have sent ambassadors to the Southern Liang and Tang dynasties. We aren't exactly certain of where these Tokharan people came from, but as we've just described, there's a prevailing theory that they were the remnants of the Yuezhi and Kushana people originally from the Tarim Basin.  We know that in the 6th century they came under the rule of the Gokturk Khaganate, which once spanned from the Liao river basin to the Black Sea.  In the 7th and 8th centuries they came under the rule of the Tang Empire, where they were known by very similar characters as those used to write “Tukara” in the Nihon Shoki.  On top of this, we see Tokharans traveling the Silk Road, all the way to the Tang court.  Furthermore, Tokharans that settled in Chang'an took the surname “Zhi” from the ethnonym “Yuezhi”, seemingly laying claim to and giving validation to the identity used back in the Han dynasty.   So, we have a Turkic record describing the Kuchean people (as in, from Kucha in the Tarim Basin) as “Twgry”, and we have a kingdom in Bactria called Tokara and populated (according to the Greeks) by people called Tokharoi.  You can see how this one term has been a fascinating rabbit hole in the study of the Silk Roads and their history.  And some scholars understandably suggested that perhaps the Indo-European languags found in Kucha and Turpan  were actually related to this “Tokhara” – and therefore  should be called “Tocharian”, specifically Tocharian A (Kuchean) or Tocharian B (Turfanian). The problem is that if the Tokharans were speaking “Tocharian” then you wouldn't expect to just see it at Kucha and Turpan, which are about the middle of the road between Tokhara and the Tang dynasty, and which had long been under Gokturk rule.  You would also expect to see it in the areas of Bactria associated with Tokhara.  However, that isn't what we see.  Instead, we see that Bactria was the home of local Bactrian language—an Eastern Iranian language, which, though it is part of the Indo European language family, it is not closely related to Tocharian as far as we can tell. It is possible that the people of Kucha referred to themselves as something similar to “Twgry”, or “Tochari”, but we should also remember that comes from a Turkic source, and it could have been an exonym not related to what they called themselves.  I should also note that language is not people.  It is also possible that a particular ethnonym was maintained separately by two groups that may have been connected politically but which came to speak different languages for whatever reason.   There could be a connection between the names, or it could even be that the same or similar exonym was used for different groups. So, that was a lot and a bit of a ramble, but a lot of things that I find interesting—even if they aren't as connected as they may appear.  We have the Tarim mummies, which are, today, held at a museum in modern Urumqi.  Whether they had any connection with Europe or not, they remain a fascinating study for the wealth of material items found in and around the Tarim basin and similar locations.  And then there is the saga of the Tocharian languages—or perhaps more appropriately the Kuchean-Turfanian languages: Indo-European languages that seem to be well outside of where we would expect to find them. Finally, just past the Pamirs, we get to the land of Tokhara or Tokharistan.  Even without anything else, we know that they had contact with the court.  Perhaps our castaways were from this land?  The name is certainly similar to what we see in the Nihon Shoki, using some of the same characters. All in all, art and other information suggest that the area of the Tarim basin and the Silk Road in general were quite cosmopolitan, with many different people from different regions of the world.  Bactria retained Hellenic influences ever since the conquests of Alexander of Macedonia, aka Alexander the Great, and Sogdian and Persian traders regularly brought their caravans through the region to trade.  And once the Tang dynasty controlled all of the routes, that just made travel that much easier, and many people traveled back and forth. So from that perspective, it is possible that one or more people from Tukhara may have made the crossing from their home all the way to the Tang court, but if they did so, the question still remains: why would they be in a boat? Utilizing overland routes, they would have hit Chang'an or Louyang, the dual capitals of the Tang empire, well before they hit the ocean.  However, the Nihon Shoki says that these voyagers first came ashore at Amami and then later says that they were trying to get to the Tang court. Now there was another “Silk Road” that isn't as often mentioned: the sea route, following the coast of south Asia, around through the Malacca strait and north along the Asian coast.  This route is sometimes viewed more in terms of the “spice” road If these voyagers set out to get to the Tang court by boat, they would have to have traveled south to the Indian Ocean—possibly traveling through Shravasti or Sha'e, depending on the route they chose to take—and then around the Malacca strait—unless they made it on foot all the way to Southeast Asia.  And then they would have taken a boat up the coast. Why do that instead of taking the overland route?  They could likely have traveled directly to the Tang court over the overland silk road.  Even the from Southeast Asia could have traveled up through Yunnan and made their way to the Tang court that way.  In fact, Zhang Qian had wondered something similar when he made it to the site of the new home of the Yuezhi, in Bactria.  Even then, in the 2nd century, he saw products in the marketplace that he identified as coming from around Szechuan.  That would mean south of the Han dynasty, and he couldn't figure out how those trade routes might exist and they weren't already known to the court.  Merchants would have had to traverse the dangerous mountains if they wanted to avoid being caught by the Xiongnu, who controlled the entire region. After returning to the Han court, Zhang Qian actually went out on another expedition to the south, trying to find the southern trade routes, but apparently was not able to do so.  That said, we do see, in later centuries, the trade routes open up between the area of the Sichuan basin and South Asia.  We also see the migrations of people further south, and there may have even been some Roman merchants who traveled up this route to find their way to the Han court, though those accounts are not without their own controversy. In either case, whether by land or sea, these trade routes were not always open.  In some cases, seasonal weather, such as monsoons, might dictate movement back and forth, while political realities were also a factor.  Still, it is worth remembering that even though most people were largely concerned with affairs in their own backyard, the world was still more connected than people give it credit for.  Tang dynasty pottery made its way to the east coast of Africa, and ostriches were brought all the way to Chang'an. As for the travelers from Tukhara and why they would take this long and very round-about method of travel, it is possible that they were just explorers, seeking new routes, or even on some kind of pilgrimage.  Either way, they would have been way off course. But if they did pass through Southeast Asia, that would match up with another theory about what “Tukara” meant: that it actually refers to the Dvaravati kingdom in what is now modern Thailand.  The Dvaravati Kingdom was a Mon political entity that rose up around the 6th century.  It even sent embassies to the Sui and Tang courts.  This is even before the temple complexes in Siem Reap, such as Preah Ko and the more famous Angkor Wat.  And it was during this time that the ethnic Tai people are thought to have started migrating south from Yunnan, possibly due to pressures from the expanding Sui and Tang empires.  Today, most of what remains of the Dvaravati kingdom are the ruins of ancient stone temples, showing a heavy Indic influence, and even early Buddhist practices as well.  “Dvaravati” may not actually be the name of the kingdom but it comes from an inscription on a coin found from about that time.  The Chinese refer to it as  “To-lo-po-ti” in contemporary records.  It may not even have been a kingdom, but  more of a confederation of city-states—it is hard to piece everything together.  That it was well connected, though, is clear from the archaeological record.  In Dvaravati sites, we see coins from as far as Rome, and we even have a lamp found in modern Pong Tuk that appears to match similar examples from the Byzantine Empire in the 6th century.  Note that this doesn't mean it arrived in the 6th century—similarly with the coins—but the Dvaravati state lasted until the 12th century. If that was the case, perhaps there were some women from a place called “Shravasti” or similar, especially given the Indic influence in the region. Now, given the location of the Dvaravati, it wouldn't be so farfetched to think that someone might sail up from the Gulf of Thailand and end up off-course, though it does mean sailing up the entire Ryukyuan chain or really running off course and finding yourself adrift on the East China sea.  And if they were headed to the Tang court, perhaps they did have translators or knew Chinese, since Yamato was unlikely to know the Mon language of Dvaravati and people from Dvaravati probably wouldn't know the Japonic language.  Unless, perhaps, they were communicating through Buddhist priests via Sanskrit. We've now heard two possibilities for Tukara, both pretty far afield: the region of Tokara in Bactria, and the Dvaravati kingdom in Southeast Asia.  That said, the third and simplest explanation—and the one favored by Aston in his translation of the Nihon Shoki—is that Tukara is actually referring to a place in the Ryukyu island chain.  Specifically, there is a “Tokara” archipelago, which spans between Yakushima and Amami-Oshima.  This is part of the Nansei islands, and the closest part of the Ryukyuan island chain to the main Japanese archipelago.  This is the most likely theory, and could account for the entry talking about Amami.  It is easy to see how sailors could end up adrift, too far north, and come to shore in Hyuga, aka Himuka, on the east side of Kyushu.  It certainly would make more sense for them to be from this area of the Ryukyuan archipelago than from anywhere else.  From Yakushima to Amami-Oshima is the closest part of the island chain to Kyushu, and as we see in the entry from the Shoku Nihongi, those three places seem to have been connected as being near to Japan.  So what was going on down there, anyway? Well, first off, let's remember that the Ryukyuan archipelago is not just the island of Okinawa, but a series of islands that go from Kyushu all the way to the island of Taiwan.  Geographically speaking, they are all part of the same volcanic ridge extending southward.  The size of the islands and their distance from each other does vary, however, creating some natural barriers in the form of large stretches of open water, which have shaped how various groups developed on the islands. Humans came to the islands around the same time they were reaching the Japanese mainland.  In fact, some of our only early skeletal remains for early humans in Japan actually come from either the Ryukyuan peninsula in the south or around Hokkaido to the north, and that has to do with the acidity of the soil in much of mainland Japan. Based on genetic studies, we know that at least two groups appear to have inhabited the islands from early times.  One group appears to be related to the Jomon people of Japan, while the other appears to be more related to the indigenous people of Taiwan, who, themselves, appear to have been the ancestors of many Austronesian people.  Just as some groups followed islands to the south of Taiwan, some appear to have headed north.  However, they only made it so far.  As far as I know there is no evidence they made it past Miyakoshima, the northernmost island in the Sakishima islands.  Miyako island is separated from the next large island, Okinawa, by a large strait, known as the Miyako Strait, though sometimes called the Kerama gap in English.  It is a 250km wide stretch of open ocean, which is quite the distance for anyone to travel, even for Austronesian people of Taiwan, who had likely not developed the extraordinary navigational technologies that the people who would become the Pacific Islanders would discover. People on the Ryukyu island chain appear to have been in contact with the people of the Japanese archipelago since at least the Jomon period, and some of the material artifacts demonstrate a cultural connection.  That was likely impacted by the Akahoya eruption, about 3500 years ago, and then re-established at a later date.  We certainly see sea shells and corals trade to the people of the Japanese islands from fairly early on. Unlike the people on the Japanese archipelago, the people of the Ryukyuan archipelago did not really adopt the Yayoi and later Kofun culture.  They weren't building large, mounded tombs, and they retained the character of a hunter-gatherer society, rather than transitioning to a largely agricultural way of life.  The pottery does change in parts of Okinawa, which makes sense given the connections between the regions.  Unfortunately, there is a lot we don't know about life in the islands around this time.  We don't exactly have written records, other than things like the entries in the Nihon Shoki, and those are hardly the most detailed of accounts.  In the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, we see people from Yakushima, which is, along with Tanegashima, one of the largest islands at the northern end of the Ryukyu chain, just before you hit Kagoshima and the Osumi peninsula on the southern tip of Kyushu.  The islands past that would be the Tokara islands, until you hit the large island of Amami. So you can see how it would make sense that the people from “Tokara” would make sense to be from the area between Yakushima and Amami, and in many ways this explanation seems too good to be true.  There are a only a few things that make this a bit peculiar. First, this doesn't really explain the woman from “Sha'e” in any compelling way that I can see.  Second, the name, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna doesn't seem to fit with what we generally know about early Japonic names, and the modern Ryukyuan language certainly is a Japonic language, but there are still plenty of possible explanations.  There is also the connection of Tokara with “Tokan”, which is mentioned in an entry in 699 in the Shoku Nihongi, the Chronicle that follows on, quite literally to the Nihon Shoki.  Why would they call it “Tokan” instead of “Tokara” so soon after?  Also, why would these voyagers go back to their country by way of the Tang court?  Unless, of course, that is where they were headed in the first place.  In which case, did the Man from Tukara intentionally leave his wife in Yamato, or was she something of a hostage while they continued on their mission?   And so those are the theories.  The man from “Tukara” could be from Tokhara, or Tokharistan, at the far end of the Silk Road.  Or it could have been referring to the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern Thailand.  Still, in the end, Occam's razor suggests that the simplest answer is that these were actually individuals from the Tokara islands in the Ryukyuan archipelago.  It is possible that they were from Amami, not that they drifted there.  More likely, a group from Amami drifted ashore in Kyushu as they were trying to find a route to the Tang court, as they claimed.  Instead they found themselves taking a detour to the court of Yamato, instead. And we could have stuck with that story, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be a good time to reflect once again on how connected everything was.  Because even if they weren't from Dvaravati, that Kingdom was still trading with Rome and with the Tang.  And the Tang controlled the majority of the overland silk road through the Tarim basin.  We even know that someone from Tukhara made it to Chang'an, because they were mentioned on a stele that talked about an Asian sect of Christianity, the “Shining Religion”, that was praised and allowed to set up shop in the Tang capital, along with Persian Manicheans and Zoroastrians.  Regardless of where these specific people may have been from, the world was clearly growing only more connected, and prospering, as well. Next episode we'll continue to look at how things were faring between the archipelago and the continent. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support. If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts.  If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website,  SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode. Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page.  You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.  Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast. And that's all for now.  Thank you again, and I'll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.