Podcasts about Tang

Last time we spoke about the Japanese encirclement of Nanjing. As battles erupted around Lake Tai, the Chinese troops used guerrilla tactics and artillery to resist the technologically superior Japanese. However, internal strife and logistical issues began to weaken their defense. On December 1st, Japan's Central China Area Army was ordered to assault Nanjing, and despite heavy resistance, the Japanese forces swiftly captured key towns. By December 7th, with Japanese troops closing in, Chiang Kai-Shek prepared to evacuate the capital. Anxiety and fear gripped the city as civilians witnessed horrific atrocities in the countryside, where Japanese soldiers unleashed violence against unarmed populations. The defense of Nanjing became symbolic of Chinese perseverance against oppression. As the city faced inevitable destruction, hope rested on the courage of its defenders and the belief that they could rally against the relentless tide of attack, knowing their plight was drawing the world's attention amidst a brutal conflict.   #166 Enemy at the Gates of Nanjing  Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. War was steadily creeping toward Nanjing, and the remaining residents understood this grim reality. Starting December 8, the distant sounds of artillery began to echo through the city. The following day, the first shell from a Japanese battery struck downtown, detonating at Xinjiekou square. Amid the chaos and anarchy engulfing much of Nanjing as the population dwindled, looting became rampant. Chinese soldiers were reportedly seen stealing from abandoned stores. Daily life had largely ground to a halt. To this desolate and partially lawless city, refugees from the war continued to arrive. However, on December 8, the influx of refugees came to an abrupt halt. All gates in the city wall were locked, only to be opened for urgent military needs. Even soldiers injured in battles near the city were reportedly denied entry, left to perish just minutes away from desperately needed medical care. As the Japanese forces tightened their grip around Nanjing, more civilians sought refuge in the safety zone. American missionary Ernest Forster wrote in a letter to his wife “I wish you could witness the influx of people into this area from other parts of the city. All the roads leading here are lined with groups transporting whatever possessions they can carry, tireless rickshaws, some even pulled by students, wheelbarrows, trucks, baby carriages, anything with wheels.” On the evening of December 7, bonfires lit by soldiers of Japan's 16th Infantry Division near Unicorn Gate were clearly visible from Purple Mountain, which was defended by the elite Training Division of the Chinese Army. The bonfires presented an enticing target for this division, established as a model to inspire the rest of the Chinese forces, who remained eager to prove themselves even as defeat loomed. Commander Zhou Zhenqiang of the Training Division's 1st Brigade suggested a counterattack and had a plan in place. His brigade would launch a frontal assault while the 3rd Brigade, stationed to his left, would execute a flanking maneuver to encircle the unsuspecting adversary. Although this strategy had potential, it was never put into action. The Nanjing garrison dismissed the proposal, citing that “too many of our troops are already worn down,” according to Tang Shengzhi's staff. They warned that if the counterattack failed, there wouldn't be enough soldiers left to defend Nanjing. Consequently, the Training Division was compelled to dig in and await the enemy's arrival. While Chinese defenders were ordered to hold their ground, the 16th Japanese Infantry Division approached Purple Mountain. The slopes of the mountain were cloaked in conifers, interspersed with dense bamboo thickets that created almost jungle-like combat conditions. As one Japanese soldier of the 20th regiment noted  “Just a few paces ahead, you couldn't see anything. Even worse, you didn't know where the enemy was. When we heard gunfire, we shot back at random. Bullets were flying everywhere.” As the Japanese soldiers ascended the slope, they were halfway to the mountain's summit when they encountered white smoke and the characteristic cracking of burning bamboo. The Chinese troops, benefiting from a favorable wind, had set fire to the bamboo. Swiftly, the Japanese soldiers drew their swords and bayonets, cutting a wide firebreak through the bamboo to halt the flames. At the forefront of Purple Mountain was a key defensive position known as Old Tiger's Cave, located just east of the mountain. As long as this location remained in Chinese control, the Japanese could not capture the mountain itself. Understanding its significance, Chinese commanders stationed a battalion of well-equipped and highly motivated soldiers from the Training Division's 5th Regiment there. Fighting erupted in the afternoon of December 8, when the Japanese commenced a fierce artillery barrage on Old Tiger's Cave, followed by an infantry assault aimed at taking the hill. Under the cold-blooded command of their leaders, the Chinese battalion employed disciplined and concentrated fire, inflicting heavy casualties on the advancing Japanese troops, who were unable to advance that day. The following morning, the Japanese intensified their assault, combining artillery fire and aerial bombardment on Old Tiger's Cave. Their infantry again attempted the treacherous climb, hoping smoke grenades would obscure the defenders' line of sight. Once more, they were thwarted, facing additional pressure as a neighboring Chinese unit launched a counterattack against the Japanese right flank. The successful defense came at a significant cost; by the afternoon, over half of the battalion defending Old Tiger's Cave had become casualties. Given the hill's exposed position and difficulties in resupply, the officers of the Training Division reluctantly decided to abandon the position. The battered battalion, now without its commander, retreated to the second-highest peak of Purple Mountain. While the loss of Old Tiger's Cave was a setback for the Training Division, it also conferred certain advantages. The Chinese soldiers withdrew to a series of prepared defensive lines through terrain they knew intimately. This stronghold centered on Xiaolingwei, a town where the Training Division had moved into new barracks over four years prior. The battalion's soldiers were familiar with every creek, hamlet, bamboo grove, and pond in the region. The Japanese faced a daunting challenge ahead. Due south of Nanjing, the 6th Japanese Division had finally caught up with the 114th Division and was deployed to its left for the final push toward Nanjing. Between the division and the city wall lay a terrain of hills and low mountains dominated by two prominent features known as General's Peak and Ox Head Peak. The task fell to the division's 13th Regiment to proceed north along the highway, while the 23rd Regiment maneuvered left around the mountains before advancing north along the Yangtze River. The division's artillery regiment, functioning at only half its typical strength due to two of its four battalions remaining in the Hangzhou Bay area, was ordered to concentrate its firepower in support of the 13th Regiment as it navigated the terrain beneath the mountain peaks. Unfortunately, the regiment's advance became mired in unexpected Chinese resistance, and with the artillery deployed too far behind to provide adequate support, divisional command decided to halt the advance until the following day, December 9. Under the cover of darkness, the artillery units were repositioned closer to the front, and the artillery commanders established their command on a hill nearby. At dawn, they began firing at the Chinese positions with much greater precision than the previous day. Meanwhile, a column of tankettes rolled down the road between General's Peak and Ox Head Peak in support of the 13th Regiment. The first tank when it came under attack from hidden mountain guns. The enemy scored several hits on the tank, forcing the driver to crawl out of the burning vehicle. The driver's pants were engulfed in flames, and as men attempted to extinguish the fire, enemy machine gun fire ripped into the driver's chest, killing him instantly. The second vehicle also came under fire from shells and burst into flames. The commander and his driver attempted to escape the turret but were trapped when another shell hit, engulfing them in flames. Unaware of the unfolding disaster, the column continued its advance, and two more tankettes were destroyed. This skirmish proved costly, resulting in the loss of four vehicles and seven men. Despite the heavy losses, the coordinated operations involving infantry, armored vehicles, and artillery gradually succeeded in dislodging the Chinese from their positions. By nightfall on December 9, the first Japanese soldiers arrived in the town of Tiexinqiao, just south of Nanjing. Meanwhile, the 23rd Regiment continued its advance north along routes west of the mountain range. This maneuver required the regiment to abandon the relatively solid road it had used thus far, opting instead for primitive trails ill-suited for wheeled transport. The major drawback of this shift was the slow transportation of artillery. The consequences became evident when one of the regiment's battalions was ordered to dislodge enemy positions on a low peak known as Hill 154, situated astride the main route of advancement. With no artillery support available, half the battalion's strength, two companies remained in the rear to safeguard the artillery pieces as they were being repositioned. The battalion ordered the remaining two infantry companies to mount an assault on Hill 154. In place of artillery, they were instructed to utilize small-caliber knee mortars. As the Japanese forces advanced towards Hill 154, the Chinese defenders opened fire with everything at their disposal, heavy and light machine guns, rifles, and mortars. The Japanese were quickly pinned down, moving slowly toward the summit under the cover of fire from the knee mortars. A breakthrough occurred when a Japanese light machine gun crew spotted a large group of Chinese soldiers repositioning on the hill. A sustained burst of fire from their weapon struck true, sending dead and wounded Chinese soldiers tumbling down the slope. Seizing the opportunity, the Japanese platoon commander sprang to his feet and charged up the hill, followed closely by the machine gunner, with the rest of the platoon trailing 10 to 20 yards behind. As they advanced, they encountered four Chinese soldiers raising their rifles to shoot. The Japanese machine gunner was quicker, firing from the hip and killing all four in an instant. The remainder of the skirmish descended into chaos. The Japanese soldiers captured the hill and took aim, firing carefully and lethally at the backs of the defeated Chinese as they fled northward. Other Japanese troops swept through the trenches with fixed bayonets, mercilessly killing all Chinese soldiers present, those who were injured, those who attempted to surrender, and even those feigning death. As Japan's 10th Army advanced on Nanjing from the south, the Shanghai Expeditionary Force was making its way in from the east. The tactical situation was fluid, fast-changing, and unpredictable, with Japanese spearheads penetrating deep into Chinese-held territory, often bypassing large enemy troop formations that would then courageously launch counterattacks from the rear. On December 8th, the 16th Division was advancing into some mountainous terrain north of Jurang where their vanguard ran into an ambush. 200 Japanese soldiers were having lunch over a 300 foot hilltop position when suddenly Captain Akao Junzo heard his comrade shout “Thousands of enemies are coming up from behind! They are heading right towards you!” Rushing outside, Akao witnessed what appeared to be a wall of Chinese soldiers marching down the valley from the rear. He dashed to the next building, bursting through the door to find his soldiers preparing lunch, he shouted at them “The enemy is here! Come with me!” The soldiers dropped their cooking utensils, grabbed their rifles, and followed Akao up the hillside behind the farm buildings. Initially, the fighting seemed evenly matched. However, the Japanese quickly brought up their two heavy machine guns, set up just 50 yards apart. Firing at a rate of 500 rounds per minute, they caught the Chinese troops in a devastating crossfire. Nine light machine guns soon joined the fray. Within moments, the cohesion of the Chinese formation collapsed, and as some soldiers broke ranks and began to retreat, Akao's men eagerly pursued them with fixed bayonets. A young, aggressive officer led the charge, wildly swinging his sword until it snapped in two. Akao watched with satisfaction. This was the kind of warfare he and his men had trained for tirelessly, month after month, and they executed their tactics with precision. However, his attention soon shifted to the hill across the valley where he had previously posted the observation squad. The entire hill was now crawling with Chinese soldiers, all firing at the peak where the small group of Japanese soldiers was entrenched in what appeared to be a desperate battle. Determined to reclaim the hill, Akao led part of his men in a charge uphill but found themselves pinned down by Chinese gunfire halfway up. A force of three squads had arrived, bringing with them what was urgently needed: knee mortars. They were accompanied by the officer with the broken sword. Akao directed the mortar fire towards the top of the hill, watching as each explosive shell detonated among the dense cluster of Chinese soldiers. Taking advantage of this momentary confusion and disarray, Akao and his men rapidly climbed the hill with swords drawn. Upon reaching the peak, they found only a few Chinese soldiers remaining. One of them pointed a handgun at the officer with the broken sword. Realizing he had no means of defending himself, the officer could only shout, “Bastard!” This unexpected outburst caused the Chinese soldier to hesitate for a brief moment before pulling the trigger. That split second marked the difference between life and death. Another Japanese officer, whose sword remained intact, lunged forward and cut down the would-be shooter. Following this, Akao and his men discovered the beleaguered Japanese squad. The soldiers' bodies had been mutilated almost beyond recognition. Some had their eyes gouged out, others had their noses or ears sliced off, and many were missing hands and feet. There were no survivors. In the early hours of December 9, just before dawn, advance units of the Japanese Army's 36th Regiment, consisting of infantry and light tanks, encountered fierce resistance from a battalion of the Chinese Training Division stationed at Hongmaoshan Hill, located southeast of the Nanjing city wall. A prolonged exchange of fire ensued, forcing the Chinese defenders to withdraw after sustaining heavy casualties. The Japanese, eager to capitalize on their advantage, followed closely. As the first light of dawn cut the horizon, they faced the imposing silhouette of the Nanjing city wall, which appeared more like a natural formation than a man-made structure. Despite their exhaustion, the soldiers erupted in victorious cries of "Banzai" and advanced energetically toward an enormous gate in the wall, this was the “Guanghua Men” or “the Gate of Enlightenment”. The Chinese defenders reigned fire, and artillery upon the Japanese columns. At that time, the gate remained shut; the moat surrounding the city was 500 feet wide and up to 15 feet deep, while the city wall towered 40 feet high. The approach to the gate was obstructed by an antitank ditch and five rows of Spanish riders, these are portable wooden frames wrapped in barbed wire. Along the road from the gate to the moat, additional rows of barbed wire further fortified the defenses. Two mountain guns, hastily transported through the rugged terrain during the 36th regiment's rapid advance to Nanjing, were positioned at the Antiaircraft Academy and commenced firing directly at the gate. While they succeeded in damaging the heavy wooden doors, it quickly became apparent that the gate had been reinforced from behind with solid beams and densely packed sandbags, so robust that, as one Japanese soldier noted, “even a row of ants wouldn't be able to make it through.” Shelling alone would not suffice to break through the defenses, prompting the call for engineers to venture into the open, exposed to enemy fire from the top of the wall, to attempt clearing the obstacles and detonating explosives at the base of the gate. While their comrades provided cover fire to keep the defenders suppressed, the engineers maneuvered past the Spanish riders to plant their explosives at the foot of the gates. An ear-splitting explosion shattered the morning air, but when the dust settled, the gate remained largely intact. To the Japanese attackers, the Chinese defenders appeared firmly entrenched; however, the reality was that they were nearing a breaking point. The artillery shelling, coupled with several Japanese air raids earlier in the day, had resulted in over 100 casualties surrounding the gate. Reinforcements were hastily summoned from nearby city sectors, including a platoon of military police cadets led by Lieutenant Xiang Hongyuan. Armed with six ZB vz 26 machine guns, the cadets commandeered a series of buses and made their way to the Gate of Enlightenment.  The hours before sunset dragged on with a tense stalemate around the Gate of Enlightenment, as neither side managed to achieve a decisive advantage. The Japanese engineers made two more perilous attempts to blow up the gate, only to find their explosives insufficient to breach the strong defenses. In a bold move, the Chinese defenders launched a risky assault outside the wall to incinerate a flour mill taller than the city wall, which, if captured, could provide the Japanese with an excellent observation point. The Chinese infantry, sprinting towards the building with jerry cans and wood, became easy targets for the Japanese fire. Despite suffering heavy losses, enough soldiers managed to reach the mill and set it ablaze. As the battle for the gate intensified on December 9, the elite 88th Division of the Chinese military became increasingly involved. The division's 262nd Brigade, comprising the 523rd and 524th Regiments, was tasked with defending the city wall between the Gate of Enlightenment and the Chinese Gate. One battalion from the 524th Regiment was dispatched to bolster the defenses at the Gate of Enlightenment. As the Japanese attacks escalated, this battalion incurred around 300 casualties. One notable instance saw 17 surviving members of a company withdraw from the battlefield, led by a platoon commander after both the company commander and his deputy had been killed. The 36th Japanese Regiment had two battalions positioned on either side of the gate, with a third held in reserve. However, that reserve battalion soon uncovered that their rear was just as perilous as the front. They were consistently attacked by Chinese stragglers from the countryside, who aimed to break through to the city gate. A Chinese unit also maintained control of a hill southwest of the Antiaircraft Academy, directing fire at Japanese soldiers within the campus. This ongoing threat from Chinese stragglers made it extremely challenging for the forward regimental positions to communicate with brigade headquarters at Qiweng Bridge farther behind. Several messengers lost their lives while trying. Ultimately, all communication shifted to wireless methods. On December 9 at noon, a solitary Japanese bomber appeared above Nanjing, but rather than its usual payload of bombs, it carried leaflets. Signed by General Matsui, the leaflets boldly declared the futility of resistance for the Chinese defenders. With Nanjing surrounded, the message conveyed that the Japanese had the power to bring the conflict directly to the Chinese. Instead, the leaflet urged surrender, stating, “The deadline for a response is tomorrow, that is the 10th”.. The Chinese were instructed to submit their response by noon to the Japanese lines near Sun Yat-sen Gate. The leaflet warned that if the Chinese did not comply, the Japanese would have no choice but to launch an assault. The tone was stern and intimidating: “The Japanese Army shall show no mercy toward those who offer resistance, treating them with extreme severity, but shall harm neither innocent civilians nor Chinese military personnel who manifest no hostility.” It emphasized the dire consequences that awaited anyone who did not lay down their arms. In response, Chinese General Tang Shengzhi reiterated his order for all troops under his command to fight to the last drop of blood. At around noon on December 10, a lone car approached Nanjing's city wall along the road from Jurong. Inside was Muto Akira, the vice chief of staff for the Central China Area Army, accompanied by another senior officer and an interpreter fluent in Chinese. Upon reaching the Japanese line near Sun Yat-sen Gate, they halted and waited. Their mission was to meet with representatives of the encircled Chinese garrison and receive their response to the previous day's request for surrender. As the minutes ticked by, there was no movement from the other side. After an hour of waiting, the three Japanese officials concluded their visit had been in vain. The vehicle turned around and retraced its path. Earlier that  morning, the Japanese had deployed a large balloon over the city wall, carrying a large white banner with a simple message in Chinese: “Give up this hopeless fight. Open the city gates and surrender!” However, this effort seemed to prove useless. As the morning progressed, Chinese shelling intensified, confirming that there was no intention among the defenders to surrender. The absence of a formal reply by the established deadline served as confirmation that the Japanese had no choice but to prepare for a massive frontal assault on the fortified city walls. Matsui wrote in his diary that day “Today at noon, we still hadn't received a reply from the Chinese to my offer of surrender. So I issued an order for the two armies to launch the attack on Nanjing beginning this afternoon. The resistance put up by the enemy is almost symbolic at this stage. It will certainly have no real effect.” The Japanese advance was set to occur along the entire front, targeting Chinese positions at Yuhuatai, the Gate of Enlightenment, Tongji Gate, and the heights of Purple Mountain. Still, one final option remained: the proposal for a three-day truce sent to both the Chinese and Japanese governments by Rabe and other foreign representatives from the day before might still be acceptable. However, this hope was dashed later that afternoon. Tang issued an order at 7:00 pm, calling for a fight to the bitter end. He warned that anyone leaving their post without permission would face severe punishment, and those failing to prevent others from withdrawing would also be penalized. Additionally, he dispatched Song Xilian and his 36th Division, his closest equivalent to a Praetorian Guard, to patrol the Yangtze docks and thwart any attempts to escape across the river. “We must defend the city with all our strength. We cannot give up an inch of our soil.” The battle for the Gate of Enlightenment remained fiercely contested. Soldiers of the 9th Japanese Infantry Division, surrounded by Chinese forces, found themselves questioning whether they were the ones laying siege or if it was the other way around. The division's 36th Regiment, entrenched directly in front of the gate, was effectively cut off from the rest of the division, lacking even a telephone line to the 18th Infantry Brigade's headquarters at Qiweng Bridge in the rear. The area was swarming with Chinese stragglers trying to return to their units. Japanese infantrymen who exposed themselves in the open risked being fired upon from all directions by unseen adversaries. Things changed at 8:00 am when the brigade's deputy commander climbed into an armored vehicle at Qiweng Bridge and led a supply column through terrain that was only partially under Japanese control. The column, carrying 500 artillery shells and machine gun ammunition, arrived without incident, replenishing the 36th Regiment, which was dangerously low on supplies. Soon after, signal troops established a telephone link to the regiment, enabling communication to flow freely. B 4:00 pm a breach had finally appeared in the outer gate. The Japanese artillery units could now see well-fortified sandbag positions inside the gate, which would also need to be destroyed, but for now, they had overcome their first obstacle. Cheers erupted among the batteries. Tang Shengzhi understood the significance of the Gate of Enlightenment in the battle for Nanjing. He had entrusted its defense to remnants of the elite German-trained 87th Infantry Division. He also deployed survivors from the 156th Division and dispatched armored cars to the section of the city wall and rolled artillery near the gate to provide close tactical support. Then suddenly cries of banzai rang out as a Rising Sun flag hoisted above the city gate. Major Ito Yoshimitsu, the commander of the 1st Battalion positioned near the Gate of Enlightenment had ordered his 1st Company to ascend the debris-laden slopes flanking the gate that had accumulated during hours of shelling. As the soldiers of the 1st Company infiltrated the gate, Ito quickly instructed the 4th Company to follow closely behind. By the time the Chinese forces recognized the critical breach in their defenses, it was too late. The two Japanese companies secured the gate and moved up to 100 yards inside the city, establishing positions in several buildings. They had created a foothold. A few miles southwest of the Gate of Enlightenment, the elite german trained 88th Chinese Infantry Division, was embroiled in fierce combat. They were defending the rugged hills in front of the Chinese Gate known as Yuhuatai, which were crucial to holding Nanjing. As General Sun Yuanliang, the division's commander, succinctly put it, “The enemy won't die by himself!” The division deployed its 527th Regiment to Yuhuatai alongside two artillery companies, while keeping the 528th Regiment in reserve. Although the 88th Division had once been part of the pre-war elite, it had suffered significant losses during months of grueling fighting, first in and around Shanghai and then during the retreat to Nanjing. The division now comprised only 6,000 to 7,000 soldiers, of which 3,000 were newcomers brought in to replenish their depleted ranks.  The division did possess one notable advantage over its opponents: the terrain. Yuhuatai was a nightmare for attackers. Military planners had long assumed invaders would assault from the south, leading to the fortification of the area. Consequently, the defenses included extensive antitank ditches, concrete-reinforced pillboxes, and rows of barbed wire, all designed to thwart an invasion. Moreover, Yuhuatai had frequently served as a training ground, allowing the 88th Division's soldiers to jump into prepared trenches during maneuvers. When the 6th Japanese Division arrived at Yuhuatai on December 10, it became immediately clear to its officers that the Chinese had transformed the area into a formidable stronghold. Strategically placed Chinese machine gun nests pinned down Japanese infantry, rendering them unable to advance or retreat. To counter this, the 6th Division set up its artillery to provide close tactical support, even at great risk. A battery commander was killed while maneuvering his guns to target a heavily fortified Chinese position. Despite the added firepower, the Japanese forces advanced slowly through the hilly landscape and sustained heavy casualties. They faced repeated obstacles from barbed wire barricades, which could only be dismantled by soldiers exposing themselves to pinpoint enemy fire. The Chinese defenders often fought to the last man; one Japanese officer noted that a pillbox had been locked from the outside, leaving the soldiers inside with no chance to escape. The experience of a company from the 6th Division's 23rd Regiment was typical. They found themselves pinned down in an antitank ditch, barely able to move. At the slightest motion, a vigilant Chinese machine gunner from a pillbox 50 yards away unleashed carefully aimed bursts of fire. Gradually, however, Japanese shelling began to weaken the Chinese positions, prompting the defenders to retreat one by one, even forcing the machine gunner to withdraw. When the Japanese troops finally emerged from cover, they spotted the fleeing gunner in the distance. Eager for revenge, they fired at him as he crossed a low ridge. He initially collapsed, only to rise again and continue fleeing. This cat-and-mouse chase occurred several times, and the Japanese soldiers couldn't tell whether they had hit him. Later that day, as they advanced further, they discovered him dead, still clutching his machine gun. The 6th Division faced the familiar issue of advancing too rapidly and bypassing Chinese units that still posed a threat. A 1,600-foot hill in the path of the 47th Regiment remained occupied by Chinese soldiers, who continued firing into the backs of the advancing Japanese troops. The Japanese forces managed to take the hill in the evening of December 10 and held it throughout the night despite repeated Chinese counterattacks. On the Chinese side, the 88th Division's 527th Regiment was engaged in particularly heavy fighting, but unlike their Japanese counterparts, they struggled with inadequate artillery support. Reluctant to risk valuable materiel, a concern that was rarely matched by a similar regard for personnel, Chinese commanders had positioned their artillery behind a low hill for protection against direct Japanese fire. However, this placement also meant they had no clear view of the enemy. Equipment lost in battle could not be replaced, but men lost were another matter. By the evening, the battle for the Gate of Enlightenment was reaching a critical point. Chinese commanders deployed every available unit to close the gap in their defenses created by the Japanese 36th Infantry Regiment, which had managed to establish a tenuous foothold near the gate. The pressure was immense, as there was no doubt that dire consequences awaited if the gate were lost. By midnight, a squad of southern Chinese soldiers from the 156th Division devised a ruthless plan to eliminate the remaining Japanese defenders, they intended to burn them out. Climbing the wall overlooking the Japanese positions with timber and cans of gasoline, they dropped burning logs onto the Japanese troops below at 1:00 am, trapping them under the heavy, flaming debris and inflicting devastating injuries. This cruel assault may have been driven by revenge, as many in the 156th Division had witnessed their comrades burned alive on the hilltop outside Nanjing just days earlier. By the morning the fight for the Gate of Enlightenment devolved into a stalemate. Nanjing was facing a siege. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. General Tang Shengzhi led a defiant defense of Nanjing and  despite despair, civilians fortified the city, aware that its fall could shatter Chiang Kai-Shek's government. By early December, the Japanese were gradually surrounding the capital. Assaults were made against her walls and now it seemed the capital was about to face a brutal siege.

En este episodio exploramos a fondo el mutismo acinético, una de las manifestaciones más desconcertantes tras un daño cerebral grave. Hablamos de su base neurofisiológica, su relación con el sistema dopaminérgico y los circuitos prefronto-subcorticales, y cómo se diferencia clínicamente de otros estados de conciencia alterada. Recorremos también las opciones terapéuticas más prometedoras, desde la estimulación multisensorial y la verticalización robótica hasta técnicas de neuromodulación como la estimulación cerebral profunda, la estimulación medular o la tDCS. Un episodio técnico, narrativo y lleno de preguntas clínicas clave, pensado para quienes trabajan día a día con pacientes que aún no responden... pero que podrían hacerlo. Referencias del episodio: 1. Arnts, H., van Erp, W. S., Lavrijsen, J. C. M., van Gaal, S., Groenewegen, H. J., & van den Munckhof, P. (2020). On the pathophysiology and treatment of akinetic mutism. 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TANG.MUSIC（OST）唐鸣 - 原创纯音乐合集

Chính phủ vừa ban hành Nghị định số 237 sửa đổi, bổ sung quy định tổ chức lễ tang cán bộ, công chức, viên chức. Đáng chú ý, lãnh đạo chủ chốt bị kỷ luật hoặc thôi chức do vi phạm sẽ không được tổ chức quốc tang.

With the end of the Jinshin War, Oama, posthumously known as Temmu Tenno, came to the throne.  And though they would need a new Great Council of State, they continued to build up and bolster the Ritsuryo state.  They were imagining a new Yamato based on continental models of what a state should look like, but also influenced by tradition.  This episode we take a look at that reimagining in broad strokes, asking a few questions--what was Oama's relationship with his brother, and touching on the relationship of Nakatomi no Kamatari and his brother, Nakatomi no Kane.  We also take a look at some of the literary propaganda that also helped to codify this new imaginary--the Nihon Shoki and the Kojiki.  We also touch on other sourcesof information, like the Fudoki and Man'yoshu. For more information, check out our blog:  https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-133   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 133: Reimagining Yamato As the bells of Houkouji tolled, Ohoama and his wife, Uno, surveyed the construction on going in the Asuka valley.  Hordes of workers had been called up, and now they were working furiously towards the deadline of the new year.  Where once stood the later Wokamoto palace of Takara Hime, aka Ohoama's mother, Saimei Tennou, now the land was being prepared for a palace on a much grander scale.  And just as the palace was being remade, Ohoama's thoughts went beyond the valley, to the entire archipelago.  His brother, Naka no Oe, had started something profound.  Now here he was, helming the Ship of State, and Ohoama had plans of his own, built upon his brother's ideas.  He would build a new state, ensuring that the reforms that started back in 645 would continue for generations. Greetings everyone and welcome back.  As we dive back in, let's recap where we are. The year is now 673, and the fighting from the previous year—the Jinshin war—is over.  Prince Ohoama and his Yoshino forces were victorious and he is now poised to ascend the throne in the recently built Palace of Kiyomihara, in Asuka.  He will be known to future generations by his posthumous name:  Temmu Tennou. Ohoama would go ahead and continue to centralize the government under the continental model.  That said, he also would pay a not insignificant amount of attention to local tradition as well.  His reign would lead to the establishment of the first permanent capital city: Fujiwara-kyo.  He is also credited with initiating the projects collecting various historical records, which culminated in the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, the very chronicles on which this podcast is based – and both of which seem to have been designed specifically to promote the authority of the throne, specifically Ohoama and his descendants. Those descendants—the Temmu dynasty—would rule for almost a century, including four of the eight official female sovereigns (those eight become ten if you count the unofficial Himiko and Okinaga Tarashi-hime, aka Jingu Tennou).  This dynasty would reign from the end of the Asuka period up through to the Nara period, and it would see the evolution of the Yamato state into the kingdom of Nihon—which is to say the kingdom of Japan. The politics of this period were also quite something.  It is during this coming period that we see the rise of the famous Fujiwara family, who would come to dominate the political landscape.  We also see the continued contact with the mainland, with numerous trade goods coming over, many of which would be included in the famous Shousouin storehouse of Toudaiji temple, in Nara. Buddhism would also thrive, with Kokubunji, or provincial temples, being set up in a network around the archipelago.  There was also the building of the famous Daibutsu, or Giant Buddha statue, of Toudaiji. Art would also flourish.  The Man'yoshu would be published at this time—a collection of around 4,500 Japanese poems, or waka.  Meanwhile, the court would also focus on continental styles as well.  From this point on, not only do we have more evidence of what was happening through the written record, but the writing itself changed.  Different Sinitic characters were borrowed solely for their sound to help spell out Japanese words.  These would eventually be simplified, and known as “kana”.  The earliest use of these characters is known as “Man'yo-gana” because so many are traced back to the Man'yoshu itself.  They would eventually be standardized and simplified, becoming the hiragana and katakana we know and use today. But in 673, all of this is still on the horizon. So this is a great time to pause for a bit in our journey through the chronicles and set the stage for this next, incredibly transformative period in the archipelago by going over these larger patterns in some depth, so that, as we start to go through this period we get a better idea of just what was happening, and perhaps why.  That's what we'll do this episode. To start with, let's go back to the relationship between Naka no Oe and Ohoama.  As far as we can tell, these brothers were fairly close to one another.  Not only was Ohoama married to one of Naka no Oe's daughters, Princess Uno, he had actually taken as consort at least four of Naka no Oe's other daughters—all of which were Ohoama's nieces.  In turn, one of Ohoama's own daughters, Princess Touchi, had been married off to Ohotomo, aka the ill-fated Koubun Tennou.  On top of that, Naka no Oe and Ohoama both had taken as consorts daughters of Soga no Akaye, and both Ohotomo and Ohoama had consorts from Nakatomi—or Fujiwara—no Kamatari.  This demonstrates just how interrelated everyone was at court, presumably as a means of strengthening the ties between them.  Of course, as we've seen time and again, those ties were more symbolic than anything else, and certainly did not prevent the occasional use of violence, nor did it protect the fathers of those women from political repercussions when they found themselves on the wrong side. On the other hand, beyond the initial mention of their births, we don't see the two brothers together until Naka no Oe came to the throne.  Why?  Well, to be fair, we don't see much of anyone but the sovereign in the Chronicles unless there is a specific thing they are called out for—like an embassy, presenting something to the throne, etc.  Even Naka no Oe often isn't mentioned directly, even when he was the Crown Prince and supposedly helping run the government.  So that could be it. There are two apparent counter arguments to the idea that Naka no Oe and his brother, Ohoama, were tight.  First is a mention in the Toushi Kaden, the Family History of the Fujiwara Family, about Ohoama thrusting a spear into a board, which rattled Naka no Oe enough that he was apparently wondering if he needed to have his own brother taken out.  Then there is Ohoama's resignation at the time of Naka no Oe's death, presumably because he was warned that a plot was afoot, and that if he accepted Naka no Oe's offer to take the reins of the state in his own two hands then something—we aren't told what—would unfold. I can't rule out the idea that neither of those accounts is quite accurate either, however.  It is possible that the Toushi Kaden account is embellished to heighten Fujiwara no Kamatari's own role as peacemaker between the brothers.  I also have to wonder if the warning to Ohoama around Naka no Oe's death wasn't so much about Naka no Oe, but about his ministers.  After all, they seem to have had no problem supporting the much younger—and likely more malleable—Prince Ohotomo.  So it seems to me entirely possible that there were other threats that Ohoama was concerned with. That brings me to one of those ministers:  Nakatomi no Kane.  We talked about him before and during the war.  He first showed up participating in ritual and speaking on kami matters.  He would later rise to be one of the Great Ministers of State, and was one of the six ministers who had pledged themselves to Prince Ohotomo.  At the end of the Jinshin War, he was put to death and his family was banished.  That said, in period leading up to all of that,  we spent a good amount of time with another Nakatomi: Nakatomi no Kamatari. He was the head of the Nakatomi clan and the Naidaijin, the Interior Minister, a special position placing him on par, or even above, the Ministers of the Left and Right, but which did not have a well defined portfolio noted in the literature.  Interestingly, this position also doesn't seem to have survived Kamatari, at least in the short run.  From the time of Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou, to the time of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, it seems that the office of Naidaijin fell out of favor, possibly due, in part, to Prince Ohotomo being raised to a different post, that of Dajou Daijin, placing him in charge of the Great Council of State. The Naidaijin role wouldn't be revived until 717 for Kamatari's grandson, Fujiwara no Fusasaki (interestingly,  only three years before the completion of the Nihon Shoki). Nakatomi no Kane was, as far as we can tell, the brother to Kamatari.  When Kamatari passed away, Kane seems to have taken on the role as head of the Nakatomi family and he was also made Minister of the Right.  This mirrors, in its way, the relationship between Naka no Oe and Ohoama, and the common system of inheritance that would often go brother to brother.  And yet, while Kamatari was a hero of the Taika era, Nakatomi no Kane was executed for his role in the Jinshin War.  So in the context of the rise of the Fujiwaras to greater prominence later on in Ohoama's reign, it is significant that Kamatari's line would be set apart from the rest of the Nakatomi to the extent of giving it the new Fujiwara name.  Although the Chronicles claim that the “Fujiwara” name was actually granted by Naka no Oe, there is a thought that this was granted posthumously, and may have even been retconned by later members of the family, possibly to distance themselves from Nakatomi no Kane and his role on the losing side of the Jinshin War, and tie themselves clearly to Kamatari and his founding role in Naka no Oe's and Ohoama's new vision, instead.  This all brings me to my next point: the creation of the national histories.  The projects that culminated in what we know today as the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki are said to have been started under Ohoama's reign, though they wouldn't be finished until much later, well into the 8th century.  A lot of what went into them was work under Ohoama's wife Uno, who succeeded him as Jitou Tennou, as well as her successors.  Prince Toneri, one of Ohoama's sons, is said to have overseen the Nihon Shoki's compilation. Prince Toneri was son of Ohoama and princess Niitabe, one of Naka no Oe's daughters, and while he never sat the throne, himself, one of his sons would eventually do so.  As such, we can see a strong royal hand on the project, even though the actual composition was probably by several teams of Chroniclers—we touched on this briefly back in Episode 131. The Kojiki, on the other hand, is said to have been written by Oho no Yasumaro based on the oral history that had been maintained by Hieda no Are.  We don't know much about Hieda no Are—there are some that believe they may have been a woman, since a passage in a later work, the Seikyuuki, suggests that they were a member of the Sarume no Kimi family, descended from Ame no Uzume no Mikoto, who is said to have danced and helped lure Amaterasu out of the rock cave.  And so they were particularly known for their role as shrine maidens—a particularly female role.  That said, Are received the title of “toneri”, which is often assumed to be male, and there is nothing else that explicitly says they were not. Either way, Hieda no Are is said to have been commanded by the sovereign, Ohoama, to memorize the history of the nation, presumably to then perform it as needed, for the court.  Only later was Oho no Yasumaro asked to write it down in what became known as the Kojiki. Both of these chronicles were attempts to organize the history of the nation and to put together all the stories in a way that would establish a foundation for the new state that was evolving out of ancient Yamato.  A large part of that effort was going to be to justify those who were in power at the time—including both the royal family and the various noble houses at the time, including the powerful Fujiwara. Now, when we talk about how these histories were created to bolster the state, I want to be careful.  It may not have necessarily been the case that the chroniclers were actively and consciously promoting a fictional account.  From what we can tell, the chroniclers drew from a collection of stories, some written down in diaries and court records, works like the Baekje annals and continental histories, and some that were likely just memorized tales that were part of the general culture.   There were a couple of existing histories—we are told, for example, that there was a Teiki and a Kyuji floating around, both attributed to the legendary Shotoku Taishi, and both supposedly including the royal lineage at least to Toyomike-kashikiya-hime, aka Suikou Tennou.  However, the copies that were being passed around were apparently suspect, and we are told that there were inconsistencies.  Which probably means that the way they told the story did not conform to the way that Ohoama and the royal family wanted it told, though it could also refer to the fact that different accounts had slight variations on the stories, many of which had probably started as oral traditions that were only later written down.  It is also likely that there was only so much detail in those ancient texts, but we can't know for sure.  The Sendai Kuji Hongi purports to be the text of the original Kyuuji, or Kyuujiki, but that claim is dubious, at best, though it may have used an older, no longer extant history to crib its own notes from. So there were probably some writings, already, but there was also so much more.  There were stories from various familial records, stories told by various shrines about their kami and their histories, and stories passed down as local history that had never been captured, previously.  All of this was good material for the project of creating an official national history that aimed to tell the whole story. To get an idea of what the Chroniclers of that time might have been going through, imagine that you have some 2,000 random facts about the United States, or any country of your choice, in no particular order—stories of heroes, presidents, wars, etc.  On top of that, only a few of them ever give you any kind reference dates, and when they do, those dates are only in relationship to the presidents in office – the third year of the presidency of Roosevelt, for example - or maybe they reference another event.  In addition, some of the facts have been lost, or they come from history books with a slightly different format.  Or they come from diaries with different perspectives and takes on the same event.  And then, without the aid of the Internet or any other reference material, you are asked to put all of that together into a coherent narrative. In all likelihood you would be able to generally construct many of the broad strokes.  You would leverage what you know to be true and do your best to put things in place, but there is no guarantee that everything would be in the right order.  And in places where there wasn't any clear through line, you may have needed to come up with your best, most plausible explanation and write that down. Also, imagine you had, in the interests of completeness, thrown in some of the more, shall we say, apocryphal stories.  George Washington cutting down a cherry tree, for instance, or the story of Johnny Appleseed, or even the more fantastical stories of Davy Crockett.  Without other reference points, would you know where they went, or how true they actually were? Add to all of that the lack of a referential calendar.  The sexagesimal system helps for units of 60 years, but there was nothing comparable to a western calendar in use at the time.  Instead, everything was based on the number of years in a given reign.  So instead of thinking about it as “did this happen in 584 or 524?” it was more like “Did this happen in the years of the sovereign reigning from X palace or Y palace?” Now that said, there do appear to have been individuals whose job was to memorize the stories and the histories and recite them.  We have, for example, the Kataribe, the guild of storytellers.  It may have been out of this tradition that we get the eventual commission of the previously mentioned Hieda no Are, who was to memorize all of the historical events and recite them back, which I can only imagine would have been a kind of performance for the court, helping to reinforce the narrative.  But still, as Are was putting everything together, what were the assumptions and guidelines they were working under? After all, there were no doubt certain truths, whether factual or not, that were pushed by the court.  Things like the idea of an unbroken line of sovereigns going all the way back to the mythical founding, just like in continental stories.  Or, the idea that worship centered from the beginning around the sun goddess, Amaterasu. There is plenty of evidence that while the early Wa people practiced various forms of sun worship, with traces found in their language as well as stories, cultural traditions, etc., it was not necessarily Amaterasu who was the primary deity of worship.  Back in the Age of the Gods we talked about the creator deities, Izanagi and Izanami, and about the High god of Heaven, Takami Musubi, who seems to at one point been the most prominent central deity, but who had since been eclipsed, if you will, by the likes of Amaterasu. We also see evidence that there were other sun deities.  The language around Sarutahiko no Ohokami suggests that he may have once been worshipped as a sun deity as well.  And there is the early primacy of Mt. Miwa as a place of worship, and the spirit of Ohomononushi.  This is to say nothing of Ohokuninushi, and all of his stories, up in Izumo. Furthermore, it seems telling that Amaterasu is not even central to the rituals conducted in the palace itself, which likely went back to an even earlier period.  If Amaterasu were central, and the ancestral kami of the royal family since its inception, one would expect that Amaterasu would also be central to the rites carried out by her descendants in the royal palace.  And yet most of her worship appears to have continued to be set apart from the palace ritual, and conducted out of Ise shrine (albeit after a certain point ceremonially led by a designated female member of the royal line). Even Ise shrine itself isn't the primary shrine in the Ise area—the Ichi-no-miya, or most important shrine, of Ise is actually said to be Tsubaki shrine, worshipping Saruta Hiko no Ohokami and Ame no Uzume. So how did Amaterasu come to be so central in Ohoama's vision? There are stories that say that worship at Ise Shrine—and worship of Amaterasu—was specifically conducted by Ohoama's wife during the Jinshin campaign.  This is to say Ohoama's wife, primary consort, eventual queen and then queen regnant, Uno, later known as Jitou Tennou.  Remember, Uno had fled with Ohoama and had been on the trail with him at first, but had stayed behind in Ise.  Worship towards Ise seems to have later been counted as foundational to Ohoama and Uno's victory, and many suspect that they themselves may subsequently have encouraged greater worship of Amaterasu and placed her in the central position of sacral authority amongst the various kami. If so, that could explain why their histories focus so much on Amaterasu and her Heavenly descendant, from which the royal line claimed direct lineage.  It might also be around this time that the story of Iwarebiko, aka Jimmu Tennou, and the conquest of Yamato from Himuka may have been introduced: telling how Iwarebiko justifiably took away the land from the descendants of Nigi Hayahi, and then connecting Iwarebiko, in an extremely loose fashion, to Mimaki Iiribiko no Mikoto, aka Sujin Tennou. Another influence on all of this was likely the continental concept that time is a circle, and history repeats itself.  Chroniclers seeking to place events in a narrative context would have likely seen reflections of more recent events and used that to help order their compilation.  And of course, if there were events that seemed to run counter to the truth as known by the court, well, those could be smoothed over.  In this way, co-rulers were probably serialized, inconvenient interim rulers may have been excised altogether, and different dynasties, which may have only had tenuous connections, at best, were written down as direct lineal descendants.  It also seems telling that the Chroniclers may have reduced the role of what appears to be matrilineal succession to a more patriarchal and patrilineal determination of legitimacy.  Similarly, connections could be made for families to ancient ancestors through whom they were able to claim a certain proximity to the royal family.  Likewise, rules for legitimacy could be imposed—or perhaps just assumed—for previous reigns, doing their best to bring them into harmony with the social norms and the cultural imaginaries of the late 7th and early 8th centuries. So that's the general context the Chroniclers were working under. But at this point it's illuminating to take a look at the two histories and how they differ, to see what we can understand about where those differences came from. The work of Hieda no Are, eventually recorded and written down as the Kojiki, seems to have dealt with history that was far enough back that it was likely hard to argue with—it isn't like there was anyone alive who could counter with their own facts.  And the Kojiki reads as a fairly straightforward narrative, relatively speaking. The Nihon Shoki, on the other hand, is a different beast.  While the Kojiki may have captured the official narrative, the Nihon Shoki seems to have been designed to include more—including some of the competing accounts.  Thus you'll get a lot of things like “another source says…” with a different take on the same event.  This is much more prevalent in the Age of the Gods, but still pops up occasionally throughout the rest of the text.  Nonetheless, it is still very much focused on the royal line from Amaterasu down to Naka no Oe and Ohoama.  Even their posthumous names, Tenji and Temmu, specifically reference Ten, also pronounced Ama, at the start of their names, in what appears to be a bid to further connect them to the sun goddess of Heavenly Brightness--Amaterasu. Both of these works have their own character, and while the dates they were presented to the throne—713 for the Kojiki and 720 for the Nihon Shoki—suggest that they were published in succession, there are those that argue that the Kojiki is largely a reaction against the Nihon Shoki. In all likelihood the contents of the Nihon Shoki were known to many people before it was presented.  There were groups of Chroniclers involved, after all -- which meant teams of scribes pouring through sources, seeking out myths and legends, and generally trying to bring everything they could to the table.  And there is no indication that this was done in secret.  So it is quite possible that the writers of the Kojiki had seen some of the early drafts and cribbed from those notes. Some of the ways that the the history differ are in their portrayal of certain accounts.  For example, the Kojiki presents Iwarebiko and the pacification of Yamato and archipelago more generally in terms of that mythical sovereign conversing with the spirits.  And so he converses with, for instance, Ohomononushi, the deity of Mt. Miwa, a spirit whose name might be translated as the Great Lord of the Spirits, or “Mono”.  This idea places the sovereign as an intercessor between the mortal and the spirit world.  It hearkens back to earlier systems of sacral kingship, where power and authority came, at least in part, from supposed power of one's sacred sites and protective spirits. The Kojiki is also written in a much more vernacular style, using kanji and what we know of as man'yogana, the kanji used for their sound, rather than meaning, to provide a syllabary with which to write out Japanese words.  This may have been done for similar reasons to why it was also used in the Man'yoshu itself—because the Kojiki was meant to be recited aloud, not just read for meaning. The Nihon Shoki, in contrast, is clearly attempting to emulate the continental style.  It relies much more heavily on not just the characters but the grammar of Chinese, though not without its own idiosyncrasies.  The Nihon Shoki incorporated classical references that mirrored the references found in the histories of the Tang and earlier dynasties.  I suspect, for instance, that this is one of the main reasons that Naka no Oe and Ohoama are given the posthumous names of “Tenji” and “Temmu”.  Tenji means something like the Wisdom of Heaven while Temmu is more like the Martial Virtue of Heaven.  This immediately brings to mind, for me, the continental concepts of Wen and Wu—Culture and Warefare, or Bunbu in Japanese.  This even mirrors the founding Zhou kings, King Wen and King Wu.  Later, in the Han dynasty, you have Emperor Wu of Han, the grandson of Emperor Wen of Han, and Wu was considered to be one of the greatest emperors of the Han dynasty.  And so I can't help but think that there was a similar attempt at mythmaking going on here, connecting these two reigns with the reigns of famous emperors of the continent.  Of course, “Wu” was a popular name amongst the imperial dynasties from that period onward, with emperors of Jin, Chen, Liang, and others all being given the same name. This all accords with the way that the sovereign in the Nihon Shoki is less of a sacral king, interceding and speaking with the kami, and more along the continental model of an absolute ruler who ruled by divine right and heavenly mandate.  The lands outside of Yamato are subdued and, except for the occasional uprising, stay subdued—or at least that is what the narrative would seemingly have us believe. Now, I would argue that these distinctions are not absolute.  The Kojiki contains plenty of concepts of imperial trappings, and the Nihon Shoki contains plenty of examples of the sovereign playing a more traditional role.  But it is something to consider in the broad strokes of what they are saying, and I would argue that it also speaks to the duality of what was going on in this period.  Clearly the Ritsuryo State was built on the continental model, with an absolute ruler who ruled through a Heavenly mandate.  And yet at the same time, we see Ohoama patronizing the traditional spiritual sites and kami worship, like the emphasis on Amaterasu and Ise shrine.  Besides the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, we have one more set of official records that were compiled just as the major histories were beginning to be finished.  These were the Fudoki.  Fudoki were texts about the various provinces, and they include information on the various places, population, soil quality, as well as various local myths and legends attached to such things.  Rather than supporting the royal lineage, the Fudoki were more geared towards supporting the process begun under Karu and Naka no Oe with the Ritsuryo system whereby knowledge of the archipelago was being centralized such that the State could know about its territories.  Still, there are many times that the various Fudoki refer to different sovereigns, often to help situate a given event roughly within the historical narrative. The Fudoki were commissioned in 713.  At least 48 chronicles were said to have been compiled, but only a handful of them remain extant today.  Most are only partial texts, though even those can still contain significant information.  We also have purported text from certain fudoki that were reprinted in later histories.  The Shaku Nihongi seems to have been one such work, expressly commissioned to try and compile various older records that were likely aging and in danger of being lost altogether.  However, there is a concern regarding just how faithful those later transcriptions might have been, meaning that we cannot rely on them, entirely.  Still, they are an invaluable addition to our study of the history of this period. I mention all of this because much of this period seems dedicated to remaking the nation of Yamato into what we know as Japan.  This evolution didn't happen overnight, and it seems clear that it started gradually, but had now come to a head.  There is some consideration, though, that many of the things attributed to earlier reigns—the work done by Shotoku Taishi, for example, or even that of Naka no Oe—may have been embellished in this period.  After all, consider the difference between Ohoama trying to institute something entirely new versus pointing back to a previous sovereign and claiming that he wasn't innovating, he was just following tradition. But there are still unmistakable signs of innovation in the following reigns.  The creation of the first permanent capital city, for one.  There was also the blending of Buddhist and local kami-based traditions.  While Buddhism had been ascendant for a while, now, we see Ohoama seemingly paying equal homage to Amaterasu and the local kami.  Even while instituting new fangled continental ideas, he is also hearkening back to traditions that I can only imagine helped assuage some of the fears of any traditionalists who saw the rapid speed at which the archipelago was adopting at least the trappings of continental imperial culture. Speaking of culture, there was one other work that we should probably mention, and that is the famous Man'yoshu—the collection of 10,000 Leaves.  I mentioned this briefly earlier in the episode, but I do want to discuss it a bit, because as much as we may glean from the official histories, as well as the various fudoki texts, the Man'yoshu provides an invaluable view into the minds of the people of the time, and contains some incredibly useful tidbits of information that, when put together, help give us a better idea of what was happening during this period. The Man'yoshu is a collection of more than 4500 poems attributed to various historical figures, from sovereigns, such as Ohoama and Naka no Oe, to common soldiers.  It is remarkable in that the poems are largely in native Japanese and are not using the Sinitic poetry styles that were popular with scholars of the time. These poems are waka, Japanese verse, which typically follows a pattern of repeating verses of 5-7-5 syllables or morae, ending with two lines of 7-7.  The most simple of these are tanka—one top verse of 5-7-5, and one bottom verse of 7-7.  However, the poems in the collection can vary quite a bit. They are also remarkable in that they are written in what we know as Man'yogana.  That is to say they use Sinitic characters—kanji—but for their sound rather than their meaning in many cases.  This practice allowed for much more nuanced writing, such that the author could be more certain that the correct meaning could be taken away, since Japanese grammar differs greatly from various Chinese languages, and leverages particles and suffixes that are non-existent in Sinitic script.  Often times, when reading something like the Nihon Shoki, one has to infer the Japanese word order, particles, and suffixes from the text as a whole.  This is common with any kanbun—a very Japanese style of Chinese writing that often requires its own study to fully understand. Meanwhile, the Man'yogana allowed someone to more easily sound out the letters in the Man'yoshu.  This must have been important when morae or syllable count was important to the art form.  Furthermore, it gives us tremendous insight into how spoken Japanese may have sounded  back in the 8th century. And of course it is great that we have all of these poems, but almost more important is the other information contained in the collection.  Most poems not only are attributed to a particular author, but they often give a brief introduction to lay out the circumstance in which the poem was composed.  These poems are, in many ways, more straightforward than many later poetic styles, which relied much more heavily on so-called “pillow words”, poetic allusions, or callbacks to previous poems—not that they were completely devoid of such references, especially to other, often continental, works. Some poems are actually paired—a type of call and response.  A man would often be expected to send a poem to a lady with whom he had recently had assignations, and she would often respond.  Through such correspondence, preserved in the poetic record, we can see connections that might not be as clear in the various historical texts. Now, 4500 is a lot of poems and I'll be honest, I'm probably not going to be researching all of them for historical tidbits, but it is nonetheless important to understand.  One should also be careful—while the poems are often attributed to various artists and famous persons, this may sometimes be misleading.  The attribution may have been garbled or forgotten, and recreated. Most of the poems in the Man'yoshu are presented with at least some amount of framing around them.  They are grouped loosely by various themes.  We are then told, for each poem, the composer and the occasion for which it was created.  Sometimes this may be as simple as “when they were out hunting”, but that still gives us some context on which to go by as for why the author was writing the poem in the first place. The poems themselves vary in size.  There are short poems, or tanka, but also longer form chōka poems, with multiple verses.  Some may allude to previous poems, but many of the poems are just about the author's feelings.  Unlike haiku, they were not quite so proscribed in terms of “pillow words” or requisite seasonal descriptions. And yet these poems, just as much as the histories, were important in capturing some part of the cultural zeitgeist from that time.  We can see what was considered popular or important, and it was there for future generations down until today. Ultimately the Kojiki would largely be overshadowed by the more comprehensive and prestigious seeming history in the Nihon Shoki.  The Nihon Shoki would become the official history, inspiring future historical records, such as the Shoku Nihongi, the continuation of the records.  The Man'yoshu, likewise, would be emulated, with future compilations like the Kokinshu. These, in turn, would impact the cultural imaginary of the time.  They would shape people's ideas about the past, about art, and even about the nature of the kami themselves.  During this period it is hard to understate just how much they were setting in place a new system.  It is even difficult to tell how much of that system had actually been instituted by previous sovereigns, even though it's hard to tell how much that actually happened as opposed to simple claims by Ohoama and, later, Uno, to justify what they were doing.  Up to this point, the Ritsuryou State and the various reforms had been an experiment, but under Ohoama we truly see that the new government upgrades would be fully installed.  At the same time, we also see a shake up in the court.  Those who had been loyal to Ohoama during the Jinshin conflict of 672 received various rewards—increased rank and stipend, for one thing.  As famous individuals passed away, they were also granted posthumous rank, which might not seem like much, but it increased the family's prestige and that of the individual's descendants without actually handing out a higher level stipend that would be a drain on the coffers.  All of this also continued to build up the elites' reliance on not just the court, but on the throne itself for their status, wealth, and position.  Thus they had a vested interest in seeing that the project succeeded. And that is the world that we are about to dive into.  Thank you, I know we didn't get into too much of the immediate history, and some of this is spoilers—after all, this took time and in the moment it could have turned out quite differently.  What if Ohoama had gotten sick and died?  What if there had been a rebellion?  What if Silla or Tang had attacked?  While we know what happened from the safety of our vantage point, far in the future, it is important to remember that at the time the people in the court didn't know what would happen next, so please keep that in mind. Next episode, we'll start to get into the actual events of the reign, starting with Ohoama's ascension to the throne at the newly built Kiyomihara palace in Asuka. Until then, 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.

After the success of the Wu Tang Clans' debut album Enter the Wu Tang (36 chambers) - Method Man was the first of the clan members to get his solo debut album Tical released in 1994. Backed by songs like Bring the Pain, Release Yo' Delf and All I Need, Tical is held in high regards by Wu fans. RZA's dark and borderline grim beats, paired with Method Man's gravelly flow make this a bonafide classic.

What if technology could fundamentally transform your relationship with the NHS? In this groundbreaking episode, host Suhail Mirza sits down with Ming Tang, Chief Digital and Information Officer at NHS England, to explore the ambitious vision behind the NHS 10 Year Health Plan's digital transformation. Discover: How the NHS app will become your "digital front door" to healthcare The game-changing Single Patient Record that will revolutionize care Voice technology freeing clinicians from 14% of their admin time AI-assisted surgery and smart hospitals on the horizon Why your health data could help develop life-saving treatments "What's really appealing to me is that we can use technology to transform not just how we deliver services, but the relationship between the public and the NHS," reveals Tang. From patient empowerment to workforce transformation, this episode unpacks how cutting-edge technology promises to make healthcare more personalised, accessible, and efficient for everyone.

Send us a textIn this episode, I'm joined by Tina Tang—a former Wall Street trader turned jewelry designer and now strength coach. At age 40, unexpected life changes led her to the gym for the very first time, and by 42 she had completed an intensive personal training course. Since then, Tina has coached over 3,800 sessions, discovered her own love for strength, and created the Return to Strength Mentorship, designed to help women 45+ get stronger, leaner, and more confident.We dive into the role of impact and plyometrics as we age, from where to begin and how to overcome fear, to making jumping feel playful again. Tina shares practical strategies for programming impact and helping women progress safely while navigating perimenopause and menopause.If you've ever wondered how to reclaim agility, strength, and confidence later in life, this conversation is for you.We talk about:-Where to begin with impact trainingLeakage and symptoms with jumpingMaking plyometrics feel like playHow to program impact safelyOvercoming fear around jumpingUsing weighted vests for progressionDeveloping speed and agility as you ageBreaking barriers in midlife strength trainingNavigating perimenopause and menopause in fitnessBuilding sustainable exercise habitsTime Stamps1:00 Introduction6:06 importance of plyometrics10:48 the fear of jumping15:27 developing speed as you age21:57 building up your agility30:25 helping women progress38:10 breaking barriers41:10 the perimenopause and menopause conversation48:45 adding in new exercise habits56:40 rapid fire questionsCONNECT WITH CARRIEIG: https://www.instagram.com/carriepagliano/Website: https://carriepagliano.comCONNECT WITH TINA:IG: https://www.instagram.com/ironstrongfit/Website: IronStrongFitness.netThe Active Mom Podcast is A Real Moms' Guide to pregnancy, postpartum, perimenopause & beyond for active moms & the professionals who help them in their journey. This show has been a long time in the making! You can expect conversation with moms and professionals from all aspects of the industry. If you're like me, you don't have a lot of free time (heck, you're probably listening at 1.5x speed), so theses interviews will be quick hits to get your the pertinent information FAST! If you love what you hear, share the podcast with a friend and leave us a 5 ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ rating and review. It helps us become more visible in the search algorithm! (Helps us get seen by more moms that need to hear these stories!!!!)

Jérôme Rothen se chauffe contre un autre consultant, un éditorialiste ou un acteur du foot.

On this episode of American Reef, we review my initial solution for protecting and saving my aquarium if there is a power outage using a Jackery Solar Generator 1000 and the Tunze 6020 nanostream with the 9004 Skimmer. Please send all questions to Americanreef@me.com.

AI is reshaping business intelligence by enabling true self-service analytics and transforming how organizations interact with their data through natural language processing. In this episode of The Data Engineering Show, host Benjamin interviews Lei, Co-founder and CTO of Fabi.ai, to explore how AI-native BI platforms are reshaping data analytics and empowering non-technical users to derive meaningful insights from complex datasets.

​In this episode of "Friendship in War Fires", we honor Tang Duo, a Chinese aviation pioneer who fought in World War II as a Soviet attack pilot before shaping China's Air Force education. His daring combat missions and postwar legacy reveal a life of service, heroism and resilience.

Last time we spoke about the crossing of Nanjing's Rubicon. By November 1, Shanghai had become a lost cause, the Chinese were forced to retreat. In the wake of this turmoil, the Japanese set their sights on Nanjing, keenly aware that its fall would spell disaster for Chiang Kai-Shek's government. Despite the desperate situation, guerrilla fighters began fortifying the city as civilians rallied to support the defense, preparing for the inevitable assault that loomed. However, political divisions plagued the Chinese leadership, with some generals advocating for abandoning the city. After intense discussions, it was decided that Nanjing would be a hill worth dying on, driven largely by propaganda needs. As November 12 approached, Japanese troops rapidly advanced west, capturing towns along the way and inflicting unimaginable brutality. On November 19, Yanagawa, a commander, took the initiative, decreeing that pursuing the retreating Chinese forces toward Nanjing was paramount.    #164 The Battle of Lake Tai Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. As the Chinese troops fled westwards, at 7:00 am on November 19th, Yanagawa issued instructions to his troops in the field. “The enemy's command system is in disarray, and a mood of defeat has descended over their entire army. They have lost the will to fight. We must not miss the opportunity to pursue the enemy to Nanjing.” The order went out to the 10th Army, sending, the 6th, 18th, and 114th Divisions west along the southern shore of Lake Tai, passing through Huzhou before turning right towards Nanjing. The Kunisaki Detachment, trained for rapid movement by water and land, was ordered east along the Yangtze River near Wuhu city and, if possible, cross the river to cut off the Chinese Army's retreat from Nanjing. Yanagawa envisioned an operation unlike any other conducted by the Japanese Army in recent history. He believed this could not only end the war but also surpass previous victories, such as the defeat of tsarist Russia more than three decades earlier. Confident in a swift victory, he wrote in a follow-up message to his commanders, “The day is near when the banner of the Rising Sun will fly over Nanjing's city wall.” However, Yanagawa's order elicited panic in Tokyo once it became known. His superiors viewed it as an outrageous attempt to entirely change the war focus away from the north. They understood that taking Nanjing was primarily a political decision rather than a strategic one. There was still hopes of finding terms through the Germans to end the conflict, thus carving up more of China. The Japanese did not want to become bogged down in a real war. Major General Tada was particularly opposed to increasing efforts on the Shanghai front. He belonged to a faction that believed the best way to avoid a quagmire in China was to deliver a swift, decisive blow to the Chinese Army. This mindset had turned him into a major advocate for landing a strong force in Hangzhou Bay in early November. Nevertheless, he had initially resisted expanding operations to the Suzhou-Jiaxing line, only relenting on the condition that this line would not be crossed under any circumstances. Tada's immediate response was to halt the 10th Army's offensive. Shimomura Sadamu, Ishiwara Kanji's hardline successor as chief of operations, strongly disagreed, arguing that field commanders should have the authority to make significant decisions. Undeterred, Tada insisted on restraining the field commanders, and at 6:00 pm on November 20th, the Army General Staff sent a cable to the Central China Area Army reprimanding them for advancing beyond Order No. 600, which had established the Suzhou-Jiaxing line. The response from the Central China Area Army arrived two days later whereupon the field commanders argued that Nanjing needed to be captured to bring the war to an early conclusion. To do otherwise, they argued, would provide the enemy with an opportunity to regain the will to fight. Moreover, the officers claimed that delaying the decisive battle would not sit well with the Japanese public, potentially jeopardizing national unity. On the same day it responded to Tokyo, the Central China Area Army instructed the 10th Army to proceed cautiously: “The pursuit to Nanjing is to be halted, although you may still send an advance force towards Huzhou. Each division is to select four or five battalions to pursue the enemy rapidly”. The remainder of the troops were instructed to advance towards Huzhou and prepare to join the pursuit “at any time.” Meanwhile Chiang Kai-shek officially appointed Tang Shengzhi as the commandant of Nanjing's garrison. Born in 1889, Tang embodied the era of officers leading China into war with Japan. They straddled the line between old and new China. During their youth, they lived in a society that had seen little change for centuries, where young men immersed themselves in 2,000-year-old classics to prepare for life. Like their ancestors across countless generations, they were governed by an emperor residing in a distant capital. Following the 1911 revolution, they embraced the new republic and received modern military training, Tang, for instance, at the esteemed Baoding Academy in northern China. Yet, they struggled to fully relinquish their traditional mindsets. These traditional beliefs often included a significant distrust of foreigners. Before his appointment as garrison commander, Tang had led the garrison's operations section. During this time, Chiang Kai-shek suggested that he permit the German chief advisor, General Alexander von Falkenhausen, to attend staff meetings. Tang hesitated, expressing concern due to Falkenhausen's past as a military official in Japan and the current alliance between Germany, Italy, and Japan. “That's not good, is it?” he asked. Chiang reassured him that Falkenhausen was an experienced officer who remembered earlier loyalties despite political shifts in Berlin. “It's all right,” Chiang insisted, “we can trust him.” Reluctantly, Tang acquiesced but never fully trusted the German officer. Tang also faced issues with morale. He was Hunanese, the majority of his troops were locals, many from Nanjing. Tang also suffered from many ongoing illnesses. While he put on a bravado face, its unlikely he expected to be able to defend the capital for very long. On November 19th, the IJA 16th division and Shigeto Detachment conquered Changshu, a crucial point along the Wufu defense line, spanning from Fushan on the Yangtze to Suzhou and then to Wujiang sitting on the shores of Lake Tai. The fight for Changshu had surprised the Japanese. As they approached they ran into a network of interlocking cement pillboxes that had to be taken individually, resulting in heavy casualties. Frequently, when the Japanese believed they had finally destroyed a position and advanced, they were dismayed to discover that some defenders remained alive, continuing to fire at their flanks. Another obstacle facing them was Chinese artillery. During the night's capture of the city, the Japanese makeshift camps were hit relentlessly by bombardment. That same day further south, the IJA 9th division captured Suzhou , reporting to the press they did so without firing a single shot. General Matsui wrote in his diary “The enemy troops near Suzhou have completely lost their morale. Some soldiers are discarding their equipment and surrendering, while others flee westward in utter chaos. Our forces have not encountered the resistance we anticipated. So far, the Shanghai Expeditionary Force has achieved all its objectives. I am thrilled by this.” In reality, this was mere propaganda. The IJA 9th Division actually had to overpower a series of Chinese pillboxes outside the city. Once they entered through the medieval walls, they faced the task of eliminating pockets of resistance one by one. According to Japanese sources, over 1,000 Chinese soldiers were killed during these clearing operations. The Japanese found a wealth of spoils in Suzhou. Among the booty were 100 artillery pieces and other military equipment. Historically known as one of China's wealthiest cities, Suzhou still contained an abundance of loot even after months of conflict. Many Japanese soldiers had their pockets filled with cigarettes after raiding a tobacco factory, while others transported barrels filled with coins after robbing a bank. Meanwhile the government had officially moved from Nanjing to Chongqing. Chongqing was an unusual choice for the new capital as it was historically something of a backwater, not very cosmopolitan such as the great coastal cities in the east. However it was distant enough to be out of reach from the Japanese land forces, but not so distant that it would make governing China impossible. Not all the governmental agencies moved to Chongqing at once. The foreign ministry first moved to Wuhan, as did most of the foreign diplomats. Yet out of some several hundred foreign nationals, 30 American and 19 British did stay behind in Nanjing. Tang Shengzhi met with the remaining foreign community and began promising them guarantees of their lives and property would be protected to the fullest. In turn the foreign community were thinking up ways to help defend the city's civilian population. They formed a special demilitarized district, akin to the one in Shanghai. They named it the Jacquinot Safety Zone after its founder, French Jesuit Robert Jacquinot de Besange. An international committee for establishing a neutral zone for noncombatants in Nanjing was formed on November 19th and famously John Rabe chaired it. The committee knew their neutral zone depended solely upon Japan respecting it, thus Rabe was an ideal pick for chairman. Meanwhile Chiang Kai-Shek was determined to stay for as long as possible in Nanjing, and remain in the public view to maintain morale. Song Meiling also went around touring the capital by automobile to raise public spirit. Preparations for battle were being dished out in haste. Du Yuming, the commander of Nanjing's armored regiment was called up to the headquarters of He Yingqin, then chief of staff. There Du was briefed on Chiang Kai-Shek's war plans and how his tiny armored force would fit in. He Yingqin said “It has been decided that Tang Shengzhi is to defend Nanjing. Chairman Chiang wants the German vehicles to stay in Nanjing and fight.” This was referring to their Leichter Panzerspahwagen or “sd KFZ 221” armored cars. These were recent purchases from Germany. Du questioned using them however “The German vehicles are the best armor we have at the moment, but they have no cannon, only machine guns, so their firepower is limited. We just have 15 of them. And they are not suited for the terrain around Nanjing, with all its rivers and lakes.” Du instead argued for using the British-made Vickers Carden Lloyd tanks. Of these China had recently purchased the amphibious variants. Du said “Those tanks both have machine guns and cannon, and they can float. They are much more useful for the Nanjing area.” He further suggested the tanks might even make it to the other side of the Yangtze once all hope was out. To this He replied “No, don't even think about crossing the Yangtze. The chairman wants the tank crews to fight to the death.” As far as war strategy was concerned, China had actually developed one against Japan decades prior. Ever since the nasty conflicts between the two nations had broken out back during the Great War days, China sought an answer to Japan's aggression. One man rose to the occasion, a young officer named Jiang Baili. In 1922 Jiang wrote “The only way to prevail over the enemy, will be to do the opposite of what he does in every respect. It will be to his advantage to seek a quick resolution; we should aim for protracted warfare. He will try to focus on a decisive blow at the front line; we should move to the second line of defense and rob him of the opportunity to concentrate his forces in one place.” Soon Jiang became the forefather in China for theories involving protracted war. One could also call it a war of attrition, and it was the type of war suited to China. In the words of Jiang “We should thank our ancestors. China is blessed with two major advantages, a vast land area and a huge population. Abstaining from fighting will be enough. And if we do fight, we should drag it out. We should force the front to move west, and turn our weakness into strength, while allowing the enemy to overstretch himself”. China's geography significantly influenced Jiang's military strategy. In his works titled Organization of Mechanized Forces, Jiang wrote “The flat North Chinese plain offers ideal conditions for a large mechanized army. In contrast, the agricultural regions further south, characterized by their mix of rice paddies and waterways, are far less suitable.” Faced with a technologically superior enemy, China had no option but to draw the opponent away from the north, where their armored units would dominate the battlefield, to the Yangtze River area, where their mobility would be severely restricted. Jiang served as the director of the prestigious military academy at Baoding, near Beijing, where he could instill his philosophies in the minds of upcoming leaders of the Chinese armed forces, including Tang Shengzhi. Tang was able to put Jiang's theories into practice. In the autumn of 1935, he played a crucial role in planning and executing the decade's largest military maneuver. Conducted south of the Yangtze, between Nanjing and Shanghai, this drill involved over 20,000 troops, allowing for a realistic simulation of battle conditions. Its primary objective was to test the strategy of "luring the enemy in deep." Upon concluding the maneuver, Tang described the location as exceptionally well chosen, a tank commander's nightmare. The area consisted of steep hills alongside rivers, with very few robust roads and virtually no bridges capable of supporting tanks. Countless small paddy fields were divided by dikes that rarely exceeded a few feet in width, perfectly suited for swift infantry movements but utterly inadequate for tracked vehicles. It appeared to be a graveyard for any mechanized army. As the war broke out with Japan, Jiang's ideas initially seemed validated. Chiang Kai-shek deliberately refrained from deploying his best troops to the northern Beijing area. Instead, he chose to instigate a significant battle in and around Shanghai, where the terrain presented the exact disadvantages for Japanese armor that Jiang had anticipated. Although the Japanese gradually introduced tactical innovations that allowed them to navigate the partly submerged paddy fields north and west of Shanghai, their tanks often found themselves forced along elevated roads, making them vulnerable targets for hidden Chinese infantry. For several weeks during September and October, the Shanghai area indeed resembled a quagmire, seemingly poised to ensnare the Japanese forces until they were utterly depleted. However, the successful Japanese landings in early November, first in Hangzhou Bay and then on the south bank of the Yangtze, dramatically changed things. The stalemate was broken, allowing the Japanese Army to advance despite the persistent challenges posed by the local geography. What would happen next would determine whether Jiang's theories from a decade earlier could work or if Japan's tanks would ultimately triumph even in the river terrain south of the Yangtze.  The Japanese field commanders' decision to shift their focus from defeating Chinese forces near Shanghai to pursuing them all the way to Nanjing, sent ripples throughout the ranks. Every unit had to reconsider their plans, but none felt the impact more acutely than the 6th Division. As one of the first contingents of the 10th Army to come ashore in Hangzhou Bay in early November, its soldiers had advanced with remarkable ease, cutting through the defenses like a knife through butter. Now, with orders to drive west towards Nanjing, they were required to make a huge U-turn and head south. Geography hurt them greatly, specifically the presence of Lake Tai. The original Shanghai Expeditionary Force, bolstered by the 16th Division and other newly arrived units, was set to advance north of the lake, while the 10th Army was tasked with operations to the south of it. This situation implied that the 6th Division had to hurry to catch up with the rest of the 10th Army.   Upon turning south, they reached Jiashan on November 21, only to face a brutal outbreak of cholera among their ranks, which delayed their advance by three days. Meanwhile the other elements of the 10th Army, including the Kunisaki Detachment and the 18th and 114th Divisions advanced  rapidly, entering Huzhou on November 23. To speed up their advance they had commandeered every vessel they could grab and tossed men in piece meal across the southern bank of Lake Tai to its western shore.  However the 10th army was unaware that they would soon face a brutal fight. As the Chinese government evacuated Nanjing, fresh troops from Sichuan province in southwest China were being unloaded at the city's docks and marched toward imminent danger. Starting to disembark on November 20, these soldiers formed the Chinese 23rd Group Army. They presented an exotic sight, sporting broad straw hats typical of southern China, often adorned with yellow and green camouflage patterns. While some appeared freshly uniformed, many were ill-prepared for the colder central Chinese winter, dressed in thin cotton better suited for subtropical climates. A number looked as ragged as the most destitute coolie. Nearly all wore straw shoes that required repairs every evening after a long day of marching. Their equipment was rudimentary and often quite primitive. The most common weapon among the newly arrived soldiers was a locally produced rifle from Sichuan, yet many had no firearms at all, carrying only “stout sticks and packs” into battle. Each division had a maximum of a dozen light machine guns, and radio communication was available only at the brigade level and above. The absence of any artillery or heavy equipment was quite alarming. It was as if they expected to be facing a warlord army of the 1920s. They were organized into five divisions and two brigades, supplied by Liu Xiang, a notable southern warlord. Remarkably, Liu Xiang had been one of Chiang Kai-shek's worst enemies less than a year prior. Now, Liu's troops fought alongside Chiang's against Japan, yet their loyalties remained fiercely provincial, listening to Liu Xiang rather than Chiang Kai-shek. China's warlord era never really ended. Chiang Kai-Shek was actually doing two things at once, meeting the enemy but also getting warlord troops away from their provincial powerbase. This in turn would reduce the influence of regional warlords. Now the Chinese recognized the had to stop the Japanese from reaching Wuhu, a Yangtze port city due south of Nanjing, basically the last escape route from the capital. If it was captured, those in Nanjing would be effectively stuck. General Gu Zhutong, who personally witnessed the chaotic evacuation of Suzhou, had already dispatched two divisions from Guangxi province to block the Japanese advance. However, they were quickly routed. Liu Xiang's troops were then sent to fill the gap on the battlefield. By the last week of November, the Japanese 10th Army and the newly arrived Sichuan divisions, were converging on the same area southwest of Lake Tai. Marching as quickly as possible, they were fated to clash in one of the bloodiest battles of the entire Nanjing campaign. As the Sichuanese troops reached the battlefield at the end of November, they  quickly realized just how ill-equipped they were to confront the modern Japanese Army. The Sichuan divisions hurried towards Lake Tai, primarily marching after sunset to avoid harassment from Japanese aircraft. A significant challenge for the soldiers was the condition of the roads, which were paved with gravel that wore down their straw shoes. Despite their best efforts to repair their footwear late at night, many soldiers found themselves entering battle barefoot. Along their route, they encountered numerous Chinese soldiers retreating. One particular column caught their attention; these troops were better uniformed and equipped, appearing as though they had not seen battle at all. They looked rested and well-nourished, as if they had just emerged from their barracks. This prompted unspoken doubts among the Sichuanese soldiers. Upon arriving in Guangde, the 145th Division quickly began fortifying its positions, particularly around a strategic airfield near the city and dispatched units towards the town of Sian. On November 25, skirmishes erupted throughout the day, and on the following day, the Chinese soldiers began facing the full force of the advancing enemy. Japanese planes bombed the Chinese positions near Sian, followed by rapid tank assaults from the 18th Japanese Division. Unaccustomed to combat against armored vehicles, they quickly routed. The Japanese forces rolled over the shattered Chinese defenses and advanced to capture Sian with minimal resistance. To make matters worse, amidst this critical moment when the Sichuan troops were engaged in their first battle against a foreign enemy, Liu Xiang, fell seriously ill. In his place, Chiang Kai-shek assigned one of his most trusted commanders, Chen Cheng. The Sichuanese soldiers were not happy with the new alien commander. Meanwhile, the Nine Power Treaty Conference in Brussels held its final session. The delegates concluded three weeks of fruitless discussions with a declaration that immediately struck observers as lacking any real substance. The decree stated “Force by itself can provide no just and lasting solution for disputes between nations,”. This was met with approval from all participants except Italy, one of Japan's few allies in Europe. They strongly urged that hostilities be suspended and that peaceful processes be pursued, but offered zero consequences for either belligerent should they choose not to comply. As they say today in politics, a nothing burger. China found itself resorting to shaming the international community into action, with barely any success.  In Berlin, the evening following the conference's conclusion, diplomats gathered as the Japanese embassy hosted a dinner to mark the first anniversary of the Anti-Comintern Pact. Among the guests, though he probably really did not want to be there, was Adolf Hitler. The Japanese Communications Minister, Nagai Ryutaro, speaking via radio stated “The Sino-Japanese conflict is a holy struggle for us. The objective is to hold the Nanjing government accountable for its anti-Japanese stance, to liberate the Chinese people from the red menace, and to secure peace in the Far East.” By hosting such an event, Germany was basically signalling that she would abandon her old Chinese ally to forge a stronger partnership with Japan. This was driving the world into two camps that would emerge as the Axis and Allies. My favorite boardgame by the way, I make a lot of goofy videos on my youtube channel about it.  Back at the front, a city sat midway along the Yangtze River between Shanghai and Nanjing, Jiangyin. By Chinese standards, Jiangyin was not a large city; its population numbered just 50,000, most of whom had already fled by the end of November. The city's military significance had considerably diminished after a naval battle in late September resulted in the sinking of half the Chinese fleet, forcing the remainder to retreat upriver. Nevertheless, the Chinese still maintained control on land. This became a pressing concern for the Japanese after the fall of Suzhou and Changshu led to the collapse of the Wufu defensive line. Consequently, the next line of defense was the Xicheng line, of which Jiangyin formed the northern end. The city stood directly in the path of the 13th Japanese Division, positioned at the far right of the front line. Jiangyin featured 33 partially fortified hills, and like many other cities in the region, its primary defense was a robust 10-mile wall constructed of brick and stone. Standing 30 feet high, the wall was reinforced on the inside by an earthen embankment measuring up to 25 feet in diameter. Defending Jiangyin alone was the 112th Division, comprising approximately 5,000 soldiers. Only in November did it receive reinforcements from the 103rd Division, which had previously participated in the brutal fighting in Shanghai and withdrew westward after the Japanese victory there. Like the 112th, the 103rd also consisted of around 5,000 soldiers from former warlord armies, though they hailed from the hot and humid southwest of China rather than the cold and arid northeast. Both divisions faced an adversary with far superior equipment and training. Just hours after Japanese observation balloons appeared on the horizon, their artillery opened fire. The initial shells fell at approximately 30 second intervals, but the pace quickly accelerated. Most of the shells landed near the river, obliterating the buildings in that area. The explosions tore up telephone wires, severing communication between the scattered Chinese units. As the first shells began to fall over Jiangyin, Tang Shengzhi gathered with Chinese and foreign journalists in Nanjing, openly acknowledging the monumental challenge ahead but resolutely vowing to defend Nanjing to the bitter end. “Even though it is lagging behind in material terms, China has the will to fight. Since the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, we have suffered defeats in various theaters, but we will continue to fight until we achieve final victory.” Tang then promised that Nanjing would be fought to the last man. As early as November 14, the central government had ordered the evacuation of women and children from Nanjing, calling for all means of transportation available to be dedicated to this purpose. However, this directive proved to be an empty proclamation. Almost all resources were directed toward relocating government officials westward. Moving office furniture and filing cabinets took precedence over evacuating people. The government commandeered 600 trucks and 220 boats and ships to aid in this effort, but once those means of transportation were exhausted, little remained for the common people. In the final days of November, Nanjing's mayor, Ma Chaojun, attempted to rectify this dire situation. He sent a cable to the Ministry of Communications requesting that the ships used to relocate government agencies be returned to Nanjing as soon as possible to assist with the evacuation. For most vessels, there wasn't enough time to make the journey back. The people of Nanjing were left to fend for themselves. Meanwhile the battles south and west of the Lake Tai continued to rage in late November. While the 18th Japanese Division advanced toward Guangde, aiming eventually for Wuhu and the Yangtze River, the 114th Japanese Division received different orders. It turned right along the western bank of Lake Tai, clearly intending to push onward to Nanjing. Awaiting them was the 144th Chinese Division, consisting primarily of Sichuanese soldiers. They dug in across the one viable road running west of the lake, with a large body of water on one side and rugged terrain on the other. This terrain forced the Japanese to attack over a narrow front, constraining the advantage they held due to their technological superiority. The Chinese were able to concentrate their limited artillery, primarily mountain guns that could be disassembled and transported by mules or even men, on the advancing Japanese attackers, and utilized it effectively. They allowed the Japanese to shell their positions without immediate retaliation, waiting until the infantry was within 1,000 yards before ordering their mountain guns to open fire. The result was devastating; the Japanese column became disorganized, and their advance stalled. However, just as the Chinese artillery appeared on the verge of achieving a significant victory, the decision was made to withdraw. The officers responsible for the mountain guns argued that the Japanese would soon overrun their positions, and it was preferable to take preemptive measures to prevent their valuable equipment from falling into enemy hands. The commanders of the 144th Division reluctantly concurred. The Chinese did their best to maintain the facade that their artillery remained in position, but the Japanese quickly noticed the weakened defense and attacked with renewed fervor. Despite this setback, Chinese soldiers found their morale boosted as their division commander, Guo Junqi, led from the front, issuing orders from a stretcher after sustaining a leg injury. However, deprived of their artillery, the Chinese faced increasingly dire odds, and they were pushed back along the entire front. As the Chinese front neared collapse, the officers of the 144th Division faced yet another challenge: Japanese infantry approached across Lake Tai in boats commandeered in previous days. With no artillery to defend themselves, the Chinese could only direct small arms fire at the vessels, allowing the Japanese to make an almost unimpeded landing. This was the final straw. Under pressure from two sides, the 144th Division had no choice but to abandon its position, retreating westward toward the main Chinese force around Guangde. Jiangyin endured two days of continuous shelling before the Japanese infantry attack commenced, but the city was fortified to withstand such a bombardment of this magnitude and duration. The 33 hills in and around the city had long served as scenic viewpoints and natural strongholds. The tallest hill, known as Mount Ding, rose 900 feet above the area, providing a commanding view and boasted over 100 artillery pieces. By late November, when the Japanese Army reached the area, most civilians had fled, but their homes remained, and the Chinese defenders effectively utilized them, converting them into concealed strongholds. The attack by the Japanese 13th Division on November 29 was led by the 26th Brigade on its right flank and the 103rd Brigade on its left. The advance proved challenging, constantly disrupted by Chinese ambushes. As a row of Japanese soldiers cautiously crossed an empty field, gunshots would erupt, striking down one of their ranks while the others scrambled for cover, desperately trying to identify the source of the fire. The Chinese launched frequent counterattacks, and on several occasions, individual Japanese units found themselves cut off from the main body and had to be rescued. Despite some setbacks, the 13th Division made satisfactory progress, bolstered by both land and ship-based artillery, and soon nearly encircled Jiangyin, leaving only a narrow corridor to the west of the city. However, the Chinese artillery was well-prepared, effectively targeting Japanese vessels on the Yangtze River. This led to an artillery duel that lasted three hours, resulting in several hits on Japanese ships; however, the Chinese batteries also suffered considerable damage. In the sector of the 103rd Chinese Division, the defenders had taken time to construct deep antitank ditches, hindering the advance of Japanese armored units. During the night of November 29-30, the Chinese organized suicide missions behind enemy lines to level the playing field. Armed only with a belt, a combat knife, a rifle, and explosives, the soldiers infiltrated Japanese positions, targeting armored vehicles. They quietly climbed onto the tanks, dropping hand grenades into turrets or detonating explosives strapped to their bodies. Though reducing Japanese armored superiority granted the Chinese some time, the attackers' momentum simply could not be stopped. On November 30, the Japanese launched a relentless assault on Mount Ding, the dominant hill in the Jiangyin area. Supported by aircraft, artillery, and naval bombardments, Japanese infantry engaged the entrenched Chinese company at the summit. After a fierce and bloody battle, the Japanese succeeded in capturing the position. The Chinese company commander, Xia Min'an, withdrew with his troops toward Jiangyin to report the loss to the regimental command post. When the deputy commander of the 103rd Division, Dai Zhiqi, heard the news, he was furious and wanted to execute Xia on the spot. However, Xia's regimental commander intervened, saving him from a firing squad. Instead, he insisted that Xia redeem himself by recapturing the hill from the Japanese. Xia was put in command of a company that had previously been held in reserve. What followed was a fierce battle lasting over four hours. Eventually, the Japanese were forced to relinquish the hill, but the victory came at a steep price, with numerous casualties on both sides, including the death of Xia Min'an. The last days of November also witnessed chaotic fighting around Guangde, where the unfamiliar terrain added to the confusion for both sides. For the Chinese, this chaos was exacerbated by their upper command issuing contradictory orders, instructing troops to advance and retreat simultaneously. Pan Wenhua, the Sichuanese commander of the 23rd Army, prepared a pincer maneuver, directing the 13th Independent Brigade to launch a counterattack against the town of Sian, which was held by the Japanese, while the 146th Division would attack from the south. Both units set out immediately. However, due to a lack of radio equipment, a common issue among the Sichuanese forces, they did not receive the new orders to withdraw, which originated not from Pan Wenhua but from Chen Cheng, the Chiang Kai-shek loyalist who had taken command after Liu Xiang fell ill and was eager to assert his authority. Fortunately, the officers of the 13th Independent Brigade were alerted to the general order for withdrawal by neighboring units and managed to halt their advance on Sian in time. The 146th Division, however, had no such luck and continued its march toward the Japanese-occupied city. It was joined by the 14th Independent Brigade, which had just arrived from Wuhu and was also unaware of the general retreat order. Upon reaching Sian, these Chinese troops engaged in intense close combat with the Japanese. It was a familiar scenario of Japanese technological superiority pitted against Chinese determination. The Japanese brought armor up from the rear, while the Chinese lay in ambush, tossing hand grenades into tank turrets before jumping onto the burning vehicles to kill any surviving crew members. As the fighting around the flanks slowed, the area in front of Guangde became the focal point of the battle. Japanese soldiers advanced toward the city during the day, passing piles of dead Chinese and numerous houses set ablaze by retreating defenders. At night, the situation became perilous for the Japanese, as Chinese forces infiltrated their positions under the cover of darkness. In the confusion, small units from both sides often got lost and were just as likely to encounter hostile forces as friendly ones. Despite the chaos along the front lines, it was evident that the Japanese were gaining the upper hand primarily due to their material superiority. Japanese artillery bombarded Guangde, igniting many structures, while infantry approached the city from multiple directions. The Chinese 145th Division, led by Rao Guohua, was nearing its breaking point. In a desperate gamble, on November 30, Rao ordered one of his regiments to counterattack, but the regimental commander, sensing the futility of the move, simply refused. This refusal was a personal failure for Rao, one he could not accept. Deeply ashamed, Rao Guohua withdrew from Guangde. As darkness enveloped the battlefield, he and a small group of staff officers found a place to rest for the night in a house near a bamboo grove. Overwhelmed with anguish, he penned a letter to Liu Xiang, apparently unaware that Liu had been evacuated to the rear due to stomach issues. In the letter, he apologized for his inability to hold Guangde. Telling his bodyguard to get some rest, he stepped outside, disappearing into the bamboo grove. Shortly thereafter, his staff heard a single gunshot. When they rushed out and searched the dense bamboo, they found Rao sitting against a tree, his service weapon beside him. Blood streamed thickly from a wound to his temple. He was already dead. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. As the Japanese forces advanced on Nanjing, tensions escalated within the Chinese leadership. While Commander Tang Shengzhi fortified the city, some sought retreat. Japanese Commander Yanagawa, confident of victory, pushed his troops westward, disregarding high command's hesitations. Meanwhile, ill-equipped Sichuanese reinforcements hurried to defend Nanjing, braving cholera and disorganization. Intense battles unfolded around Lake Tai, marked by fierce ambushes and casualties. 

In this 315th episode I welcome Drs. Jon Tang, Jordan Halloway and Manoj Iyer to the show to discuss the latest updates on leadless pacemakers and ICDs.Our Sponsors:* Check out Eko: https://ekohealth.com/ACCRAC* Check out FIGS and use my code FIGSRX for a great deal: https://wearfigs.com* Check out Factor: https://factormeals.com/accrac50offAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

TANG.MUSIC（OST）唐鸣 - 原创纯音乐合集

Munaf Manji and Griffin Warner talk MLB betting for Tuesday. Munaf Manji (0:09–0:58) opens with excitement, noting most teams are 124–126 games deep and division races heating up. He promises best bets and promotions before introducing Griffin Warner. Griffin (0:59–1:13) admits they went 0–2 last episode but were 6–2 in the last eight and ready to build a new streak. Munaf (1:14–2:30) previews Brewers at Cubs, a doubleheader shifted by rain: Boyd vs Patrick, Cubs –130, Brewers +118, total 7.5. Griffin (2:31–3:03) jokes about losing his internet before asking about standings. Munaf (3:04–3:12) says Brewers lead Cubs by eight. Griffin (3:12–5:13) calls Milwaukee's 31 wins in 38 “incredible” while Cubs are under .500 since midseason and mentally damaged. Munaf (5:14–6:52) adds Brewers are 23–5 since the break, Cubs 13–15, their bats flat with Crow-Armstrong and Tucker slumping. Boyd has pitched well but Cubs have lost four straight of his starts due to no run support. He sticks with Milwaukee. Munaf (7:13–7:56) shifts to Cardinals at Marlins, McGreevy vs Cabrera, Miami –132. Griffin (7:58–9:27) says St. Louis sold at the deadline, bullpen shaky, GM retiring, so it's Marlins or nothing. Munaf (9:28–11:13) praises Cabrera's 2.86 ERA at home across 63 innings and sides Miami. Astros at Tigers (11:14–15:33) brings Hunter Brown at +149 against Skubal –165. Griffin calls that price shocking, noting Skubal has allowed three runs in three straight. Munaf confirms it's the first time Brown has been above +140, citing his 3–0 record with 2.93 ERA vs Detroit. They agree Astros ML and under seven. Blue Jays at Pirates (15:46–19:45): Griffin says Keller is untrustworthy while Scherzer has adjusted. Munaf notes Keller's struggles but Scherzer's strong three-game run and backs Jays on the run line. Mets at Nationals (19:47–22:23): Griffin leans over nine, citing poor bullpens. Munaf recalls Peterson's complete game shutout vs Washington and his 2.43 ERA against them since 2023, while Irvin has allowed 14 runs in three August starts, backing Mets. Mariners at Phillies (22:24–25:34): Griffin doubts Miller's return, Munaf stresses Sanchez's 9–1 home record, both back Philadelphia. Orioles at Red Sox (25:35–28:53): Griffin finds Buehler unreliable, Munaf says he struggles to string good starts, both lean over 9.5. White Sox at Braves (28:54–32:06): little faith in either side, White Sox bullpen dismissed. Yankees at Rays (33:11–37:46): Griffin praises Boz but doubts Yankees' management; Munaf notes Rodon's 3.25 ERA, New York's seven wins in ten, and Rays' cooling bats, siding Yankees –140. Rangers at Royals (37:48–43:38): Lugo has allowed 13 runs in two starts, Griffin leans Rangers with Kelly, Munaf agrees. Athletics at Twins (43:39–47:04): Lopez hasn't allowed an earned run in 24 innings, Ryan is 12–5 with 2.72 ERA, both lean under but wary of regression. Brewers at Cubs Game 2 (47:06–51:15): Woodruff vs Taillon, Griffin surprised Brewers favored on road but won't fade them, Munaf notes they've won every Woodruff start. Dodgers at Rockies (51:17–53:15): Sheehan vs Gomber, both expect runs at Coors, backing the over. Reds at Angels (53:16–55:49): Griffin tired of Hendricks, Munaf impressed by Greene's six shutout innings vs Phillies, siding Reds. Giants at Padres (55:51–58:50): Tang gave up six runs in his last outing, Pavetta 12–4 with a 2.7 ERA, Munaf backs Padres team total. Guardians at Diamondbacks (58:58–1:03:18): Griffin distrusts Rodriguez but sees Arizona's bats dangerous; Munaf notes E-Rod's poor 5.73 ERA at home, both lean over. Best bets (1:03:44–1:07:35): Griffin locks Astros–Tigers under seven, saying two aces and shaky offenses make it valuable. Munaf selects Yankees ML with Rodon, trusting their form and urgency. They close (1:07:35–1:09:14) with promos and optimism, determined to keep putting money in listeners' pockets as the postseason nears. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Munaf Manji and Griffin Warner talk MLB betting for Tuesday. Munaf Manji (0:09–0:58) opens with excitement, noting most teams are 124–126 games deep and division races heating up. He promises best bets and promotions before introducing Griffin Warner. Griffin (0:59–1:13) admits they went 0–2 last episode but were 6–2 in the last eight and ready to build a new streak. Munaf (1:14–2:30) previews Brewers at Cubs, a doubleheader shifted by rain: Boyd vs Patrick, Cubs –130, Brewers +118, total 7.5. Griffin (2:31–3:03) jokes about losing his internet before asking about standings. Munaf (3:04–3:12) says Brewers lead Cubs by eight. Griffin (3:12–5:13) calls Milwaukee's 31 wins in 38 “incredible” while Cubs are under .500 since midseason and mentally damaged. Munaf (5:14–6:52) adds Brewers are 23–5 since the break, Cubs 13–15, their bats flat with Crow-Armstrong and Tucker slumping. Boyd has pitched well but Cubs have lost four straight of his starts due to no run support. He sticks with Milwaukee. Munaf (7:13–7:56) shifts to Cardinals at Marlins, McGreevy vs Cabrera, Miami –132. Griffin (7:58–9:27) says St. Louis sold at the deadline, bullpen shaky, GM retiring, so it's Marlins or nothing. Munaf (9:28–11:13) praises Cabrera's 2.86 ERA at home across 63 innings and sides Miami. Astros at Tigers (11:14–15:33) brings Hunter Brown at +149 against Skubal –165. Griffin calls that price shocking, noting Skubal has allowed three runs in three straight. Munaf confirms it's the first time Brown has been above +140, citing his 3–0 record with 2.93 ERA vs Detroit. They agree Astros ML and under seven. Blue Jays at Pirates (15:46–19:45): Griffin says Keller is untrustworthy while Scherzer has adjusted. Munaf notes Keller's struggles but Scherzer's strong three-game run and backs Jays on the run line. Mets at Nationals (19:47–22:23): Griffin leans over nine, citing poor bullpens. Munaf recalls Peterson's complete game shutout vs Washington and his 2.43 ERA against them since 2023, while Irvin has allowed 14 runs in three August starts, backing Mets. Mariners at Phillies (22:24–25:34): Griffin doubts Miller's return, Munaf stresses Sanchez's 9–1 home record, both back Philadelphia. Orioles at Red Sox (25:35–28:53): Griffin finds Buehler unreliable, Munaf says he struggles to string good starts, both lean over 9.5. White Sox at Braves (28:54–32:06): little faith in either side, White Sox bullpen dismissed. Yankees at Rays (33:11–37:46): Griffin praises Boz but doubts Yankees' management; Munaf notes Rodon's 3.25 ERA, New York's seven wins in ten, and Rays' cooling bats, siding Yankees –140. Rangers at Royals (37:48–43:38): Lugo has allowed 13 runs in two starts, Griffin leans Rangers with Kelly, Munaf agrees. Athletics at Twins (43:39–47:04): Lopez hasn't allowed an earned run in 24 innings, Ryan is 12–5 with 2.72 ERA, both lean under but wary of regression. Brewers at Cubs Game 2 (47:06–51:15): Woodruff vs Taillon, Griffin surprised Brewers favored on road but won't fade them, Munaf notes they've won every Woodruff start. Dodgers at Rockies (51:17–53:15): Sheehan vs Gomber, both expect runs at Coors, backing the over. Reds at Angels (53:16–55:49): Griffin tired of Hendricks, Munaf impressed by Greene's six shutout innings vs Phillies, siding Reds. Giants at Padres (55:51–58:50): Tang gave up six runs in his last outing, Pavetta 12–4 with a 2.7 ERA, Munaf backs Padres team total. Guardians at Diamondbacks (58:58–1:03:18): Griffin distrusts Rodriguez but sees Arizona's bats dangerous; Munaf notes E-Rod's poor 5.73 ERA at home, both lean over. Best bets (1:03:44–1:07:35): Griffin locks Astros–Tigers under seven, saying two aces and shaky offenses make it valuable. Munaf selects Yankees ML with Rodon, trusting their form and urgency. They close (1:07:35–1:09:14) with promos and optimism, determined to keep putting money in listeners' pockets as the postseason nears. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Este conteúdo é um trecho do nosso episódio: “#312 - Grupo Fleury: Tecnologia prática que complementa a expertise médica”. Nele, Dr. Bruno Aragão, Coordenador Médico de Inovação no Grupo Fleury detalha como a empresa superou o desafio de extrair dados de uma enorme quantidade de laudos médicos, além da criação do Data Hub, parceria com a dti digital. Essa iniciativa integra informações para ativar pacientes de forma personalizada, transformando dados dispersos em um produto de medicina personalizada. Ficou curioso? Então, dê o play! Links importantes: Newsletter Dúvidas? Nos mande pelo Linkedin Contato: osagilistas@dtidigital.com.br Os Agilistas é uma iniciativa da dti digital, uma empresa WPPSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Last time we spoke about the fall of Shanghai. In October 1937 a small battalion led by Colonel Xie Jinyuan transformed the Sihang Warehouse into a fortress against the advancing Japanese army. These men, known as the "800 Heroes," became symbols of hope, rallying local citizens who provided vital support. Despite heavy casualties, they held out against overwhelming odds until a strategic retreat was ordered on November 1. As Japanese forces intensified their assaults, they breached the Chinese defenses and captured strategic positions along Suzhou Creek. The fighting was fierce, marked by desperate counterattacks from the besieged Chinese soldiers, who faced an unyielding enemy. By November 9, the Chinese faced a full retreat, their organized defenses collapsing into chaos as they fled the city. Desperate civilians sought refuge in the International Settlement but were met with hostility, exacerbating the terror of the moment. Amidst the turmoil, remaining forces continued to resist in pockets, holding out as long as possible. By November 11, Japanese troops raised their flag in the last stronghold, marking a grim victory.   #163 Crossing Nanjing's Rubicon Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. As the Japanese were mopping up Shanghai, Chiang Kai-Shek wrote in his diary on November 11th “I fear that they could threaten Nanjing”. Over In Shanghai, General Matsui Iwane was dealing with foreign correspondents, eager to learn what Japan's next move would be and to this he simply stated “For future developments, you had better ask Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek”. The correspondents were surprised by this response and pressed him further. He replied . “Chiang Kai-shek was reported to have predicted a five-year war, well, it might be that long. We don't know whether we will go to Nanjing or not. It all depends on Chiang.” At this point Shanghai was falling under Japanese control and now Matsui and his fellow field commanders were thinking, what's next? Nanjing was certainly the next objective. It was a common understanding amongst the Japanese leadership, that if the four main eastern cities of Beijing, Tianjin, Shanghai and Nanjing were lost, Chiang Kai-Shek's government would collapse. Three of these cities had been taken, Nanjing was dangling like fresh fruit. Matsui's staff believed the Chinese units departing Shanghai would mount a stand immediately west of the city, probably a defensive line running from Jiading to Huangduzhen. On the night of November 11th, Matsui issued a command to all units in the Shanghai area to advance west along the railway towards Nanjing. Their first objective would be a line extending from Taicang to Kunshan. Chiang Kai-Shek was not only reeling from military defeats, but also the gradual loss of his German allies. The Germans were increasingly aligning with the Japanese. Chiang Kai-Shek was looking for new external help, so he turned to the Soviets. It was a marriage of convenience, Chiang Kai-Shek signed a non-aggression pact with the USSR that year and wasted no time pleading for aircraft and pilots. Moscow began sending them before the ink touched the paper. 200 aircraft and pilots in return for some essential minerals, wolfram and tungsten. The Sino-Soviet friendship even drew in an unlikely source of support, Sir Winston Churchill. The Soviet envoy to the UK described how during a meeting with Churchill “he greatly praised our tactics in the Far East: maintenance of neutrality and simultaneous aid to China in weaponry.” Soviet pilots found themselves dispatched to Nanjing where they were briefed by Yakov Vladimirovich Smushkevich, the deputy commander of the Soviet Air Force. “The Japanese armed forces are technically superior to the Chinese. The Chinese Air Force is a particular concern. Soviet pilots who have rushed to China's aid are currently in Nanjing. They are fighting valiantly.” Meanwhile back at Shanghai discipline and order that had characterized previous Chinese withdrawal had collapsed. Simply put, there were hundreds of thousands of men trying to retreat across the lower Yangtze region, it was a shitstorm. Many units had to disengage during combat with the enemy and scramble to pull out. Huang Qixiang, the deputy commander of the Chinese right flank in Shanghai, executed a strategic withdrawal moments before his command post succumbed to the advancing enemy forces. Just fifteen minutes after his departure, the area was overrun by Japanese troops. In a desperate bid to avoid capture, another general had to cross a creek, nearly drowning in the process. Rescued while barely clinging to life and drenched in icy water, he was welcomed by a peasant family who aided in his recovery before he resumed his arduous journey westward. The scale of this withdrawal, occurring both day and night, could hardly escape the enemy's notice, and its complexity made the operation increasingly difficult. The execution of the withdrawal exacerbated the situation significantly. Orders to abandon their positions started to trickle down immediately after the upper command made the decision. However, these orders reached the units in a disorganized manner. Many telephone lines had been sabotaged, and when soldiers were sent to relay the orders in person, they faced severe disruptions in the transportation network. Consequently, many units only became aware of the withdrawal when they witnessed the mass movements of their comrades heading westward. Upon realizing what was happening, many soldiers fled in a state of panic. There were no comprehensive plans outlining the retreat, no designated routes for the various units, nor any established timetables. The outcome was a chaotic scramble for survival. Soldiers who had fought side by side for three months suddenly found themselves competing against one another in a desperate race to escape. At bridges and other chokepoints, weary soldiers exhausted their last reserves of strength, brawling with their fellow troops to be the first to cross. Meanwhile, officers traveling in chauffeur-driven cars attempted to assert their rank to gain priority access to the roads, adding to the growing disorder that ensued. The massive army was hindered by its sheer size, resulting in miles of congested roads filled with men unable to move in any direction. This made them easy targets for Japanese aircraft, leading to a bloody cycle of repeated attacks. Planes adorned with the red Rising Sun insignia would emerge from the horizon, swooping down to strike at these vulnerable formations. As commander Chen Yiding recalled “The lack of organization and the gridlocked roads resulted in far more casualties than could have been avoided,”.  On November 12th, the newspaper Zhaongyang Ribao, published an editorial addressing the citizens of Nanjing, to remind them that tough times lay ahead now that Shanghai had fallen. The article stipulated they needed to prepare the city for the upcoming battle,  “Now, all the citizenry of the capital must fulfill their duty in a way that can serve as a model for the entire nation.” Nanjing in 1937 was a city touched by the war, but not enough to change the social fabric just yet. Cinema's remained open, the shopping arcade was crowded as usual, traffic was heavy along Zhongshan Road, order remained. Telephones remained on, except during air raids. Connections to the outside world functioned as they should, given this was the capital. The region had seen a good harvest in 1937, no one was going hungry. However as the front 200 miles away drew closer, bombing raids more frequent, fear of the enemy increased. Contact with the outside world gradually declined. By mid November the train link from Nanjing to Shanghai was severed.  While the fear amongst the populace increased, so did a newfound sense of common purpose against a common enemy. Poster calling for the Chinese to unite against the Japanese invaders were found throughout Nanjing. Residents were conscripted for various fortification efforts, with some receiving basic military training to help defend the city. Those who refused to cooperate faced severe penalties as “traitors,” while the majority willingly participated. Both military and civilian police were deployed throughout the city, diligently checking identities in an ongoing effort to root out spies and traitors. The authorities enforced a strict prohibition against discussing military matters in restaurants and other public venues. Then all the high ranking military officials and politicians families gradually began departing the city in secrecy. This was followed by said politicians and military officials. Twas not a good look. Nanjing soon saw its population decline from 1 million to half a million. Those who stayed behind were mainly the poor, or those anchored, like shopkeepers. Every day saw a steady stream of Nanjing citizens leaving the city over her main roads, fleeing into the countryside with carts full of belongings. On November 12th at 10am orders were issued for the Japanese to advance west. What had been a war of attrition, where inches of land were claimed with blood, suddenly it was a war of movement. As one Japanese soldier recalled “In the course of 50 days, I had moved only two miles. Now suddenly we were experiencing rapid advance”. As the Japanese came across small towns, they found large posters plastered on all the walls. These were all anti-japanese with some nationalist propaganda. The Japanese soldiers would tear them down and paint up their own messages “down with Chiang Kai-Shek!”.  Towns and cities west of Shanghai fell rapidly one after another, each succumbing to a grim pattern: swift conquest followed by widespread devastation. Jiading, a county seat with a population of approximately 30,000, succumbed to a prolonged siege. When the 10st division captured Jiading on November 13, after relentless shelling had leveled a third of the city, they began a massacre, indiscriminately killing nearly everyone in their path, men, women, and children alike. The battle and its aftermath resulted in over 8,000 casualties among the city's residents and surrounding countryside. One Japanese soldier referred to Jiading as “A city of death, in a mysteriously silent world in which the only sound was the tap of our own footsteps”.  On November 14, soldiers from the 9th Division reached Taicang, an ancient walled city designed to withstand lengthy sieges. As they crossed the 70-foot moat amid heavy fire, the Japanese troops confronted the formidable 20-foot-high city wall. After breaching the wall, their infantry swiftly entered the city and seized control. The destruction persisted long after the fighting ceased, with half of the city being devastated, including significant cultural institutions like the library, and salt and grain reserves were looted. It was as if the Japanese aimed to obliterate not just the material existence of the people but their spiritual foundation as well.  Casual cruelty marked the nature of warfare along the entire front, with few prisoners being taken. Ishii Seitaro, a soldier in the 13th Division's 26th Brigade, encountered a mass execution while marching alongside the Yangtze River. Several headless corpses floated nearby, yet three Chinese prisoners remained alive. A Japanese officer, personally overseeing the execution, wore a simple uniform, but the two ornate swords at his belt indicated his wealthy background. Approaching one prisoner, the officer dramatically drew one of the swords and brandished it through the air with exaggerated flair. In an almost theatrical display, he held it aloft, the blade trembling as if he were nervous. The prisoner, in stark contrast, exhibited an unnerving calmness as he knelt, awaiting his inevitable fate. The officer swung the sword down but failed to deliver a clean strike. Although he inflicted a deep gash to the prisoner's skull, it was not fatal. The prisoner collapsed, thrashing and emitting a prolonged scream that sent chills through those present. The officer, seemingly exhilarated by the anguish he caused, began wildly slashing at the figure until the screams subsided. Ishii turned away in horror, his mind swirling with confusion. Why were the Chinese being executed? Had they not surrendered?  Three months into the war's expansion to the Yangtze region, air raids had become an all too frequent menace in Nanjing. The first major raid came on August 15th and increased each week. On the night of August 27, approximately 30 bombs were dropped on Purple Mountain, specifically targeting the Memorial Park for Sun Yat-sen, aiming to hurt the morale of Nanjing's residents. As days melted into weeks and weeks stretched into months, the landscape of Nanjing transformed under the weight of war. Residents began constructing dugouts in courtyards, gardens, public squares, and even on streets. Foreigners painted their national flags on top of buildings and vehicles, attempting to avoid the risk of being machine-gunned by strafing aircraft. Each raid followed a predictable routine: sirens wailed loudly 20 to 30 minutes before the attack, signaling pedestrians to seek shelter and drivers to stop their engines. By the time a shorter warning sounded, the streets had to be cleared, leaving nothing to do but await the arrival of Japanese planes. Initially, the part-US-trained Chinese Air Force posed a considerable threat to Japanese bombers. The 4th and 5th Chinese Squadrons, stationed near Nanjing to defend the capital, achieved early success, reportedly downing six bombers during the first air raid on Nanjing. Much of the credit for these aerial victories belonged to Claire Chennault, a retired American Army Air Corps captain who had become an advisor to the Chinese Air Force, overseeing Nanjing's air defense. Chennault taught his pilots tactics he had developed in the US but had never fully implemented. His strategy was straightforward: three fighters would focus on one enemy bomber at a time. One would attack from above, another from below, while a third would hover in reserve to deliver the final blow if necessary. He instructed the Chinese pilots to target the engines rather than the fuselage, reasoning that any missed shots could hit the gas tanks located in the wing roots. This approach proved successful, leading to the loss of 54 Japanese planes within three days. For Chennault, it validated his belief that air superiority required a diverse range of aircraft, not just bombers. Nighttime raids, however, posed a greater challenge. Chennault, along with other commanders, sought solutions. Chinese General C.C. Wong, a German-trained artillery officer overseeing the country's anti-aircraft defenses, ensured that dozens of large Sperry searchlights were positioned throughout Nanjing in a grid pattern. This setup had a dual purpose: it would dazzle the Japanese bomber crews and highlight their planes in silhouette for Chinese fighters above to target. The bravery of the most skilled Chinese pilots occasionally gained media attention, making them local celebrities amidst an otherwise grim war environment. However, this bright moment faded quickly when the Japanese command decided to provide escorts for their bombers. Consequently, the elite of China's air force, its finest pilots and aircraft, were lost within weeks that fall. All air raids were brutal, but the worst assaults occurred at the end of September. As a radio broadcaster reported on September 25th “Gallons of civilian blood flowed today as Nanking endured three ferocious air raids”. In total, 96 Japanese sorties were launched on that day. Witnesses observed around a dozen Chinese aircraft retreating north across the Yangtze, initially believing they were fleeing, but some returned to confront the enemy. When Chinese fighters managed to down a Japanese bomber, the streets erupted in cheers as civilians momentarily forgot their fear. The primary aim of the September 25 attack appeared to be spreading terror among the civilian population. Chiang Kai-Shek wrote in his diary that day  “The repeated Japanese air raids over the past several days have had no impact on our military installations. Instead, civilian property has sustained significant damage.” Around 20 bombs struck the Central Hospital, one of Nanjing's largest medical facilities, causing extensive destruction and prompting the evacuation of its staff. Two 1,000-pound bombs exploded nearby, leaving large craters. Had these bombs landed slightly closer, they could have resulted in mass casualties among the hospital's 100 patients, including a Japanese pilot who had been shot down earlier that month. The air raids at the end of September prompted protests from the Americans, British, and French governments to Japan. In response, Tokyo issued a statement on September 30, asserting that while they were not intentionally targeting non-combatants, it was “unavoidable” for achieving military objectives that military airfields and installations in and around Nanjing be bombed.   The battle for Jiashan was among the fiercest in the southern Yangtze delta campaign in November 1937. Although Jiashan was a moderately sized town straddling a crucial railway connecting Shanghai to Hangzhou, the capital of Zhejiang province. For the Japanese, seizing Jiashan was imperative for their westward advance; without it, their military progress would be severely hampered. Jiashan had endured three days of relentless bombing by the Japanese Air Force, driving most residents to flee into the surrounding countryside. Only about 100 remained, those who were too old or too sick to escape, abandoned by family or friends who lacked the means to assist them. The Japanese troops brutally bayoneted nearly all of these individuals and buried them in a mass grave just outside the town's northern gate. Jiashan was captured by the 10th Army, a division fresh from victories and eager to engage in combat, unlike the weary forces of the Shanghai Expeditionary Force further north. With less than a week of combat experience, the 10th Army's soldiers were hungry for a fight. The martial spirit of the 10th Army was exemplified by its commander, Yanagawa Heisuke. Born near Nagasaki in 1879, he was among a group of retired officers called back to active service as the war in China escalated unexpectedly. Having served in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905 and taught at the Beijing Army College in 1918, Yanagawa had considerable experience in military affairs. However, his past exposure to China did not cultivate any empathy for the enemy. He was determined to push all the way to Nanjing, and once there, he intended to blanket the city in mustard gas and incendiaries until it capitulated. While Japanese commanders debated the value of capturing Nanjing, the Chinese were equally preoccupied with whether it was worth defending. Most military professionals viewed the situation as a lost cause from the start. After the fall of Shanghai, Chiang Kai-shek summoned one of his top commanders, Chen Cheng, to Nanjing for discussions. “How can Nanjing be held?” Chen Cheng shot back “Are you ordering me to hold Nanjing?” Chiang replied “I am not”. Chen Cheng stated frankly, “I believe Nanjing should not be held at all.” By mid-November, Bai Chongxi, one of China's most respected generals, advocated for declaring Nanjing an open city. He argued that defending it was not only unnecessary but also impossible. All available forces had been deployed to Shanghai and were now exhausted. Furthermore, no reinforcements would be forthcoming if they made a stand in Nanjing. Instead of stubbornly clinging to fixed positions, he preferred a more flexible defensive strategy. Zhang Qun, Chiang's secretary, supported Bai's stance, believing that while Nanjing should ultimately be abandoned, political considerations were paramount. If the Chinese simply withdrew and allowed the Japanese to occupy the city, it would undermine China's position in any future negotiations. The Japanese would not be able to present themselves as victors who had triumphed in battle. Similarly, Chiang's chief military advisor, General Alexander von Falkenhausen, was against attempting to hold Nanjing. He deemed it “useless from a military perspective, suggesting it would be madness.” He warned that if Chiang forced his army into a decisive battle with their backs to the Yangtze River, “a disaster would probably be unavoidable.” Chiang's head of the operations bureau Liu Fei argued Nanjing could not be abandoned without a fight as it would crush the NRA's morale. He believed that defending the city could be managed with as few as 12 regiments, although 18 would be feasible. Most at the meeting agreed and Chiang understood Nanjing's international recognition necessitated some form of defense, doomed or not. A second meeting was formed whereupon, Tang Shengzhi, a general staff officer whose loyalties were, lets be honest very flip floppy. During the warlord era, he routinely switched sides, especially against Chiang Kai-Shek. At the meeting Tang stated in regards to Nanjing's international prominence and being the final resting place of Dr Sun Yat-Sen “How can we face the spirit of the former president in heaven? We have no choice but to defend the capital to the death.” Chiang's commanders were all well aware of his intentions. The generalissimo was eager for a dramatic last stand in Nanjing to serve propaganda purposes, aiming to rally the nation and convey to the world that China was resolute in its fight against Japan. His commanders also recognized the rationale behind fighting for Nanjing; however, very few were inclined to embark on what seemed a likely suicide mission. The third meeting occurred the day after the second. Chiang opened by asking, as many anticipated, “Who is willing to shoulder the burden of defending Nanjing?” An awkward silence followed. Then Tang Shengzhi stepped forward. “Chairman, if no one else is willing, I will. I'm prepared to defend Nanjing and to hold it to the death.” Without hesitation, Chiang accepted his offer. “Good, the responsibility is yours.”A little refresher on Tang, he had played a role in Chiang Kai-shek's efforts to unify China by force in the 1920s, when the nation was a patchwork of fiefdoms. However, their relationship had soured on two occasions, forcing Tang into temporary exile, first to Japan and then to Hong Kong. The Japanese invasion of northeastern China in 1931 prompted a loose reconciliation, and since then, Tang had held several important positions, notably organizing war games simulating a Japanese assault on Nanjing. However Tang had often suffered from illness, and crucially, he had not led troops in the field against the Japanese since the onset of full-scale war that summer. Hailing from Hunan province, he was a typical provincial soldier and would likely face challenges commanding respect among elite divisions loyal solely to the central government in Nanjing. He was definitely not the first choice for such a significant task.  Amazingly, while tens of thousands of Chinese and Japanese were killing each other, while Japanese planes relentlessly bombarded Chinese cities including the capital, and while Japanese soldiers committed heinous atrocities against Chinese civilians, the two nations maintained diplomatic relations. China had a fully operational embassy in Tokyo, led by Xu Shiying, a 65-year-old diplomat. This surreal arrangement persisted because neither side was willing to officially declare war. In the fall of 1937, as Japanese armies were heavily engaged on two fronts within mainland China, Xu met with Japanese Foreign Minister Hirota Koki to propose a non-aggression treaty. The proposal was swiftly rejected in Nanjing. By November 1937, Xu was no longer at the forefront of events, and foreign observers shifted their focus from the capitals of the warring nations to Belgium. While large-scale battles raged along the lower Yangtze, representatives from 19 countries convened in Brussels to search for a way to end hostilities. Although China participated in the conference, Japan did not. Japan had received two invitations to join the talks, with its response to the second arriving in Brussels on November 12: a firm rejection. Japan asserted that it preferred direct bilateral negotiations with China, dismissing the Brussels conference held under the auspices of the Nine-Power Treaty, a pact signed in 1922 aimed at ensuring China's national sovereignty and territorial integrity. Japan argued that intervention by a collective body like the conference “would merely stir national sentiments in both countries and complicate efforts to reach a mutually satisfactory resolution.” The League of Nations had called for a Nine-Power conference a month earlier, which ultimately became a 19-power conference as other nations with interests in East Asia joined. From the outset, Japan opposed the assembly and was absent when the first plenary meeting commenced in Brussels on November 3. Japanese leaders feared that China might attempt to leverage the conference against Western powers, recalling how, in 1895, Japan had been denied its spoils following its first modern war with China due to the intervention of Russia, France, and Germany, who blocked Japan from claiming the strategic Liaodong Peninsula adjacent to Korea. China also exhibited a lukewarm attitude toward the conference. While Japan feared the potential outcomes, China was concerned about the lack of significant results. The proposal to transition discussions from the League of Nations, perceived as ineffective, to the even less authoritative Nine Powers, which lacked formal organization. Nonetheless, the Chinese chose to participate in Brussels, maintaining the pretense that something meaningful could be accomplished. Shortly after Japan's second rejection of the invitation, Wellington Koo made an impassioned plea in Brussels, stating, “Now that the door to conciliation and mediation has been slammed in your face by the latest reply of the Japanese Government, will you not decide to withhold supplies of war materials and credit to Japan and extend aid to China?” In reality, Koo understood that significant Western aid to China was highly unlikely, aside from token gestures. Previous international discussions had momentarily halted Japanese advances in the past; for instance, in 1932, Japanese troops had paused their movements in the Shanghai area just hours before the League of Nations General Assembly commenced. However, that was nearly six years earlier, and circumstances had changed dramatically since then. Rogue states had grown bolder, while democracies seemed increasingly timid. Thus, the Chinese agenda in Brussels was not primarily driven by hopes for substantial Western concessions. Instead, the delegates had been tasked by Nanjing to anticipate the post-conference landscape and to actively seek ways to encourage Europe and America to support Soviet military action against Japan.   China, long reliant on Germany as a diplomatic partner, increasingly felt betrayed, not just by Germany, but also by its fascist ally, Italy. Consequently, it began looking more favorably upon the Soviet Union, Japan's archrival in Northeast Asia, as its main source of international support. The Soviet Union exhibited a firmer stance than the Western democracies at the Brussels conference, joining China in advocating for collective security in Europe and Asia. On November 15th, a small group of officers from the 10th Army gathered for late-night discussions in an abandoned building north of Hangzhou Bay, where they would effectively decide the fate of China. Yanagawa Heisuke, the commander of the 10th Army, presided over the discussions. Fresh from the battlefield since the beginning of the month, he was eager to escalate the fight, a sentiment echoed among the others. It was an unusual meeting, where officers as low in rank as major were making decisions typically reserved for the highest echelons of political power. The agenda included a pivotal question: Should they adhere to Order No. 600 received from Tokyo a week prior, which instructed them to halt their advance along a line from Suzhou to Jiaxing? Or, should they disregard these explicit orders and push forward to seize Nanjing? While the Japanese Army had failed to completely annihilate the Chinese forces around Shanghai, there was a consensus that their adversary was now reeling from recent setbacks, presenting an opportune moment to strike decisively and secure a swift victory. The only remaining question was how aggressively to pursue this goal. Colonel Terada Masao, a senior staff officer within the 10th Army, spoke first. “The Chinese Army is currently retreating toward the capital. We should cross that line and pursue the enemy straight to Nanjing.” Major Iketani Hanjiro, a staff officer recently attached to the fast-moving 6th Division, then offered his input “From a tactical perspective, I completely agree with Terada that we should cross the line, but the decision to attack Nanjing should be considered not just tactically, but also politically. It's not that field commanders can't create a fait accompli to pressure our superiors in Tokyo. However, we must proceed with great caution”. A staff officer raised this question  “What if Tokyo orders us to pull back those smaller units?” Iketani responded “In that case, we will, of course, withdraw them to this side of the line”. Ultimately, Iketani's cautions were set aside, and Terada's aggressive approach prevailed. The majority agreed that the tactical circumstances presented a rare opportunity. Japanese troops in the Shanghai area were poised to advance west, not through small, individual skirmishes but with a substantial deployment of their forces. Officers estimated that if a decisive push was made immediately, Nanjing could fall into Japanese hands within 20 days. However Colonel Kawabe Torashiro, the newly appointed chief of the Army General Staff's Operations Section suddenly arrived at the theater. He was sent on a mission to assess whether the Central China Area Army should be granted greater operational freedom. It was well known in Tokyo that field officers were eager to capitalize on the momentum created by the collapse of Chinese defenses around Shanghai. Kawabe's task was to explore the possibility of allowing forces to cross the line from Suzhou to Jiaxing and move westward in pursuit of the retreating enemy. However, Kawabe was staunchly opposed to further military adventures in China. Kawabe was part of the dwindling faction of "China doves" within the Japanese military. As early as the summer of 1937, he had become alarmed by a letter from a civilian Japanese visitor to the Chinese mainland, warning that Japanese officers were attempting to engineer an “incident” with China to provoke open conflict. This would provide Japan with a pretext to expand its influence in northern China. Kawabe had attempted to alert his superiors, but his warnings fell on deaf ears. They had been lulled into a false sense of security by reports from China that dismissed all talk of war-mongering as baseless and alarmist. When he arrived to the front he stated “I am here to inspect conditions on the ground so that a final decision can be made on where to establish the operational restriction line”. Alongside him came General Akira Muto, recently appointed the commander of the Central China Area Army. He also happened to be one of the architects of the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. Muto responded promptly: “The line currently stretches from Suzhou to Jiaxing, but we should consider crossing it. This will help us achieve our overall objectives in the theater.” Muto continued, arguing that the 10th Army should be permitted to advance to Huzhou, south of Lake Tai, effectively cutting off communications between Nanjing and the strategic city of Hangzhou. He further claimed that the Shanghai Expeditionary Force should be allowed to capture the vital city of Jiangyin, suggesting, perhaps overly optimistically, that its loss could lead to the fall of Chiang Kai-shek. Ultimately, Muto insisted, Nanjing should also be seized, which he asserted would bring an end to the war. Kawabe listened patiently, a practice he would repeat in the following days as other field officers echoed similar sentiments, eagerly expressing their desire to advance all the way to Nanjing. Yanagawa and his 10th Army exemplified this aggressive mindset. Nevertheless, just as the hawks within the Japanese military and the nation's political leadership appeared to be prevailing in the struggle over China policy, they faced unexpected challenges from a different direction. Germany, a power with ambiguous sympathies in East Asia, was quietly engaged in negotiations aimed at bringing peace. Oskar Trautmann, Germany's ambassador to China, had maintained an objective and neutral stance when he met with Chiang Kai-shek in early November to relay Japan's conditions for initiating peace talks. These conditions included extensive concessions in northern China, such as the withdrawal of all Chinese troops to a line south of Beijing and the establishment of a pro-Japanese regime in Inner Mongolia, bordering the Soviet-controlled Mongolian People's Republic. Chiang dismissed these demands outright, but Trautmann and his superiors in Beijing continued their top-secret efforts. Germany's motivation for seeking an end to the Sino-Japanese War was not rooted in a genuine love for peace, but rather in their embarrassment over witnessing their old Asian ally, China, fighting against their new partner, Japan. Herman Göring, president of the Reichstag and a leading figure in the Nazi party, told a Chinese visitor, “China and Japan are both friends of Germany. The Sino-Japanese War has put Germany between Scylla and Charybdis. That's why Germany is ready to seize the chance to become a mediator.” Germany also feared that a prolonged conflict in China could jeopardize its commercial interests in East Asia and weaken Japan's capacity to confront the Soviet Union, potentially freeing Moscow to allocate more resources to a fight in Europe. In essence, continued hostilities could significantly harm Germany. Japanese field commanders were frustrated by Germany's mediation efforts.  When news of Trautmann's mission leaked, the German diplomat faced severe criticism in the Chinese media, which deemed any negotiation with the "Japanese devils" unacceptable. Additionally, there was the matter of China's ties with the Soviet Union; employing a German mediator raised the possibility of cooperation among China, Japan, and Germany, potentially expanding the anti-Soviet bloc, which would, in turn, pressure Moscow to increase its support for China. By mid-November, however, the complexities of this diplomatic game started unraveling and then Japan took action. At 7:00 am on November 19, Yanagawa issued instructions to his troops in the field. “The enemy's command system is in disarray, and a mood of defeat has descended over their entire army. They have lost the will to fight. The main Chinese forces were retreating west of the line stretching from Suzhou to Jiaxing, and this withdrawal was soon likely to spiral into a full-scale retreat. We must not miss the opportunity to pursue the enemy to Nanjing.” I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Shanghai had fallen, and the Japanese forces pursued their fleeing enemy further west. However they had orders to halt, but would they? Officers from top down deliberating on the issue, with the vast majority pushing for a drive to Nanjing. They thought it represented the end objective of the conflict. They would all be very wrong. 

Aftenbladet har laget en lettbeint pod-serie med Camilla Herrem og hennes monsterhit "Tore Tang". Her får du første episode, bare fordi det er mandag, og alle trenger noe som kan lette på tilværelsen (selv om Jan er noe skeptisk)

The fourth and final episode in our series on the Jinshin no Ran: we cover the campaign in Afumi (aka Ōmi - 近江).  Prince Ōama and Prince Ōtomo (aka Kōbun Tennō), have drawn up their forces.  Last episode we covered the fighting in the Nara Basin, around the ancient Yamato capital: Asuka.  This episode focuses on the defense of the Karafu and Fuwa passes and the eventual march to the bridge at Setagawa. This is a name heavy episode, and we'll be noting some of it here: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-132   Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 132: The Jinshin no Ran, Part 4: The Afumi Campaign The Afumi soldiers on the western side of the bridge looked across the open expanse of water towards their Yoshino rivals on the eastern side.  If it weren't for the banners and the red tags barely visible on the sleeves of the opposing forces, it would be hard to know which side was which.  Both were equipped in similar ways, and a few of the soldiers could even make out familiar faces on the other side.  That is the nature of civil wars—especially in a conscript society, where the soldiers often had little choice which side they were fighting for.  Not that it necessarily mattered much to them which side came out on top, whatever their commanders might have told them. The bridge across the Seta river was large and wide, and normally quite well traveled.  Now, however, the central boards had been pulled up for a span of about 30 feet or so, leaving a gap spanned by only a single, narrow plank.  That plank was, itself, tied to a rope, which was being held by the Afumi troops.  The soldiers knew that should any of the enemy try to cross, they could pull the plank out from under them and they would fall into the river, their metal armor dragging them down into the dark depths of swirling water below.  Even should they somehow make it across without being peppered by arrows, there would be no reinforcements coming: they would be slaughtered, and the trap would be reset. It seemed like the Afumi forces held all the cards in this battle, and yet they were still tense. Archers could still shoot across the distance. The front rank of troops held wooden shields as a defense, but there were still openings in the formation and the armor, and in the chaos of battle, nobody was truly safe. And so the Afumi forces waited.  Confident, but wary. A commotion on the eastern side of the bridge grabbed the spotlight.  The Yoshino forces had approached, and they were clearly preparing for something.  The Afumi soldiers strained to see what was going on.  Suddenly, the front line of the Yoshino forces parted, and a strange sight confronted the Afumi soldiers.  It took them a moment to fully comprehend what was barreling towards them at full tilt: a soldier that looked almost like two soldiers put together, wearing armor placed over armor, in an attempt to protect from harm.  It must have been heavy, and as he stepped on the beam, it visibly buckled under the weight.  The Afumi archers let loose with their arrows and crossbow bolts, but to no avail.  They simply stuck in the armor, adding to the bizarre and otherworldly appearance of their opponent. The spell was broken on the Afumi side as arrows came cascading in.  The Yoshino forces weren't just sitting idly back, they were making sure they were doing everything they could to keep the Afumi forces distracted.  And for a split second it worked—and a split second was all they needed.  Before the soldiers could gather up their wits about them enough to pull the rope there was a terrifying sound of metal on wood.  The Afumi soldiers pulled the rope, but it came all too easy—the Yoshino soldier had dashed across and cut the rope tied to the plank.  Behind him, the Yoshino forces were now pouring across the bridge.  Soon they would establish a foothold, and behind the front line they would be able to have other soldiers place more planks so that the number of Yoshino soldiers on the Western side of the bridge only continued to increase. Realizing that their trap had been circumvented, the Afumi forces fell back, but their strategic withdrawal soon turned into a full on retreat.  While pockets of soldiers resisted, many were suddenly all too aware that perhaps it was better to live and fight another day, instead.  Despite threats and even attacks from their own commanders, the Afumi forces fled the battlefield, leaving the Yoshino army victorious.  With the Seta bridge now secured, there were no more major obstacles in their way:  They would march to the capital at Ohotsu and finish this war.   Welcome back!  This is Part 4, and so if you haven't already done so, I recommend going back and starting with Part 1.  That said, we'll briefly recap here. Over the past three episodes, we've talked about the causes of the war between Prince Ohotomo and Prince Ohoama as they vied for the throne.  Prince Ohotomo seemingly had the stronger position, as he was actually running the Yamato state from the Afumi capital in Ohotsu.  He had the various ministers and all the official organs of the state on his side.   He was also 23 years old. Ohoama, on the other side, was Ohotomo's paternal uncle.  His own son, Prince Takechi, was 19 years old and helping to lead the army.   Upon learning that the State was gathering forces against him, Ohoama had quickly moved east, gathering forces as he went, and now he stood near Fuwa, modern day Sekigahara, prepared to begin his march on the capital.   This episode we are going to cover the conclusion of the war.  Warning, though, this is going to be a *lot*.  A lot of place names and people names.  Apologies if it is hard to follow.  I'll have a rough map and info on the various players on the podcast blog, so you may want to bring that up if you are having problems following. In Part I of this series we covered the causes leading up to the conflict.  In Part II we covered Ohoama's mad dash to Fuwa, at modern Sekigahara.  Last episode, Part III we covered the fighting in the Nara Basin. This episode we are going to talk about the last two fronts of the war: the defense of the Iga area and Kurafu Pass, and the march from Fuwa to the Afumi capital of Ohotsu. Before we go into the details of the next battles, let's look at what each side of the conflict was doing, what they are concerned about, and where they are on the board.  We'll then go into how the rest of the war played out, and its conclusion and aftermath.     Ohoama's Yoshino forces had largely been drawn from the countries in the east—the very same countries that Ohoama was denying to the Afumi court.  In response, the Afumi court had drawn their forces from where they could.  There were those that they had already called up under the pretense of building Naka no Oe's burial mound, but they had sent others out to raise troops in Yamato and out the western side of Honshu, all the way to Tsukushi—modern Kyushu.  However, not everyone in the Western region of the archipelago was friendly to the Afumi court—especially the regions of Kibi and Tsukushi.  This was significant.  Kibi was an ancient rival of Yamato, and likely could contribute a sizeable force.  Tsukushi, on the other hand, was quite large, and besides the conscripts from among the regular inhabitants, Tsukushi also was in charge of defending the archipelago from invasion—they were the first line of defense.  They had constructed numerous castles and fortifications to defend against a possible invasion, and those castles and fortifications were no doubt manned by troops that had been raised for that purpose.  If they could now be turned inwards, that could be enough to really turn the tide against Ohoama and his Yoshino army. The only problem was that neither Kibi nor Tsukushi were exactly sympathetic to the Afumi court.  The governor of Kibi and Prince Kurikuma, the viceroy of Tsukushi, both had ties to Ohoama, and the ministers suspected them of sympathizing with their Yoshino rivals.  As such the envoys that were sent out were authorized to take whatever drastic steps they felt necessary to secure the troops. So how did that all go down?  Well, last episode we talked about how Hodzumi no Momotari and his crew had been stopped from raising troops in Asuka by Ohotomo no Fukei, whose bluff of pretending to be Prince Takechi and a host of cavalry soldiers caused the conscripted troops to flee, and ended up in the death of Momotari and the capture of his compatriots. In Kibi, things took a turn in Afumi's favor.  When the Afumi government's envoy arrived at the government center in Kibi, he tricked the governor into taking off his sword.  Once he had done so, the envoy drew his own sword and killed the governor.  Without the governor to get in his way, the envoy then went about securing the land and troops for the Afumi court. Prince Kurikuma, the viceroy in Tsukushi, at the Dazaifu, was not quite so easily fooled, however.  Kurikuma knew how the court operated, and was apparently well informed of what was going on.  When the Afumi court's envoy met with Kurikuma, the Prince was flanked by two of his sons, Prince Mino and Prince Takebe, each one armed.  When Prince Kurikuma heard what the Afumi court wanted—for him to send the troops from Tsukushi to help quell Ohoama's rebellion—Kurikuma responded that he needed those troops to hold the border.  After all, the Tang dynasty was still a potential threat, and what good would it do to send the troops from the border regions to fight an internal war, only to then have an invader come in and destroy the state entirely?  No, he reasoned, he would not be sending the troops as the Afumi court requested. We are told that for a moment, the Afumi envoy thought about grabbing his sword and killing Prince Kurikuma, as the Afumi court had suggested, but with both of Kurikuma's sons armed on either side of him, he realized that he didn't have great odds, and so he eventually left, empty handed, but alive. This is significant.  While we don't know exact numbers, it is likely that there were quite a few troops stationed in Kyushu and the islands, all in case of foreign invasion.  By not supplying them to the Afumi court, Prince Kurikuma dealt a huge blow to the Afumi's ability to make war.  Add to that the fact that Ohoama had likewise blocked the court's access to the eastern countries, and that further narrowed the troops that Afumi had access to.  Nonetheless, they still had enough to be dangerous, and it is impossible to say exactly what might happen in a war. So we know where the Afumi and Yoshino forces ostensibly came from, but let's talk about the battlefield.  All of the fighting that we talk about was happening in an area between Naniwa—modern Ohosaka—and Fuwa, modern Sekigahara, northwest from the modern city of Nagoya. There are three main theaters we are talking about.  The first is in the Nara basin, which we talked about extensively in the last episode.  The Nara basin itself was not necessarily of the most strategic importance, militarily, but it was of huge symbolic importance.  After all, that was still the ancient capital, even though the governmental functions had been moved north, to Ohotsu, on the shores of Lake Biwa.  The second is in the Suzuka mountains.  This includes the areas of Iga and Kouka, and it is bordered by the Nara basin on the west, the Mie coastline on the east, and Afumi, the area around lake Biwa, to the north.  This is the same region that Ohoama had to naviagate through on his way from Yoshino to the east, and the mountains and valleys make it so that there are only so many traversable routes through.  For our narrative we are going to be primarily talking about the Kurafu Pass, between Kouka and Iga, at modern Tsuge city.  This pass  was an important route between Kouka, Iga, and Mie.  The road followed the Soma River which eventually flowed into Lake Biwa.  This made it a route out of Afumi, and if the Afumi forces could secure the Kurafu pass and the fields of Tara, just on the other side, they could split Ohoama's forces and cut off any help that he could possibly send to the Nara basin, and possibly even take Ohoama from behind. Finally, let's talk about our third theater:  Afumi itself.  Specifically, we are looking at the southern and eastern sides around Lake Biwa.  Biwa is the largest lake in Japan, and it is almost entirely surrounded by mountains except for where the Seta river flows south, eventually winding its way to Naniwa.  Today, the area of Afumi is largely co-located with modern Shiga Prefecture. Back in 668, after finding themselves on the losing side of the Baekje-Tang war, Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou, had moved the capital to Ohotsu, or Big Port, in Afumi, on the shores of Lake Biwa, likely for the protection it gave.  From Afumi, there were three major routes out of the basin, and a few minor ones.  All of them were through defensible mountain passes, like Karafu Pass, Fuwa Pass, and Suzuka Pass.  Three such passes:  Fuwa, Suzuka, and Arachi would become prominent barriers, or seki, along the ancient roads, and were known as the Sangen, or Three Barriers, protecting the capital region.  Suzuka no seki, at the pass of the same name, was in the south.  To reach it from Afumi, one crossed the Karafu pass, and then turned east through a pass near Mt. Miyama.  At the northern tip of the Suzuka mountains was Fuwa pass, future home of the Fuwa barrier.  The Barrier, or “Seki” would give its name to the area in another form:  Sekigahara.  This was along the Tousandou, the Eastern Mountain road, and even today it is the path through which roads and even the Shinkansen traverse between eastern and western Honshu.  Finally, though less important to our story, was the Arachi pass. Arachi no seki was part of the Hokurikudo, the Northern Land Route, and led to the ancient country of Kochi and the port of Tsuruga, which had a long history as an alternate port, especially for ships sailing from Goguryeo.  Later, Arachi no seki would be replaced in the Sangen ranking by another pass between Afumi and modern Kyoto, which would be known as the Afusaka, or Ohosaka, Pass.  This was the pass that would have been used to get to Yamashiro and, from there, to Naniwa and the Nara Basin. These three passes would come to define the island of Honshu, and became the dividing line between the Kanto region, in the east, and the Kansai region, in the west.  By holding the Suzuka and Fuwa passes, Ohoama effectively denied any travel to the eastern regions.  Sure, Afumi could have tried going through the Arachi pass and into Kochi, but then they would have had to traverse the Japan alps—no small feat, especially without modern conveniences like the trains and busses used today. From Fuwa Pass, where Ohoama and Prince Takechi had set up their headquarters, it was largely a straight shot to the Afumi capital of Ohotsu.  Between Lake Biwa and the Suzuka mountains is a wide, flat plain, divided primarily by the rivers and streams running out from the mountains into the lake.  Immediately west of Fuwa is the area of Maibara.  Following the shore of the lake one traverses through modern Hikone, to Yasu.  Yasu would also have been the location where the road to the Karafu pass broke off into the Suzuka mountains.  Beyond that was the bridge across the Seta River. The Seta river was one of the largest obstacles that would have to be negotiated, and the Afumi forces knew this.  Just as Ohoama would set up at Fuwa pass, a large number of the Afumi forces were set up on the western bank of the Seta river.  If the Yoshino forces could get across, however, it would mean that they had a more or less unimpeded route to the capital at Ohotsu. So now let's talk about what was happening in each of these places. Ohoama had set up at Fuwa—Sekigahara—and had begun to call soldiers to him.  Not only did did this allow him to block the rival Afumi troops from accessing the Eastern countries and possibly raising troops to use against him, but he was also able to maintain a line of communication with ancient Yamato, in the Nara Basin.  In order to keep his communication lines open, and to ensure that the Afumi forces couldn't sneak up behind him, Ohoama split his forces in two.  He knew that Afumi forces were trying to take his stronghold in Yamato, and if successful, from there they could move in to Uda and on to Iga.  thereafter that, they could march up behind him through the Suzuka pass.  Alternatively, the forces in Afumi could come up through Kouka and the Karafu pass, and then try to divide and conquer So the first group of Ohoama's army were to go south, through the Suzuka pass into their mountain namesake.  Once there, Oho no Omi no Honji was to hold Tarano, the Plain of Tara, where the routes to Suzuka, Kafuka, and Iga met.  Tanaka no Omi no Tarumaro went with him, with orders to guard the Kurafu pass, which is to say the road to Kouka.  This first group was headed by Ki no Omi no Abemaro, and also included Miwa no Kimi no Kobito, and Okizome no Muraji no Usagi.  Along with what we are told were tens of thousands of men, this first made their way south from Fuwa  through Mie and Ise and over the Suzuka pass.  Once there, they took up their positions at Karafu and Tarano.  It was a good thing, too, because only a couple of days after they arrived, the enemy struck.   Now as soon as he got there, Oho no Honji had fortified Tarano with some three thousand men, and Tanaka no  Tarumaro was sent to guard the Kurafu pass.  Prior to this, Tarumaro had been the official in charge of the Hot Springs in Ise, but he had joined Ohoama and the Yoshino forces when they first arrived over the Suzuka Pass.  Now he was in charge of a military force, encamped along the road through the Kurafu pass, waiting for the enemy. Unbeknownst to him, a deputy commander of the Afumi forces, Tanabe no Wosumi, was approaching from Mt. Kafuka.  Presumably he'd been sent out from Ohotsu and had followed the road along the Yasu and Soma rivers towards the pass.  Wosumi had  sizeable force with him, but he was not looking for a direct assault.  Even if he would win, he would suffer casualties, especially trying to attack an entrenched enemy in a fortified position.  He needed to be sneaky.  He had no way of knowing that, centuries later, the lands of Iga and Kouka would be known for their sneaky warriors—their legendary ninja—but I digressed.  What Wosumi did was this.  First, he rolled up his banners and muffled the drums.  He even had his men gag themselves—a continental custom where soldiers were given a stick to hold in their mouth, like a horse's bit, to discourage any talking amongst the ranks as they approached.  Presumably, they kept them in until just before attacking, because they also devised a watchword “kane”—transcribed as metal or gold.  Wosumi knew that it would be hard enough to tell who was who in the daytime—after all, it wasn't like these were regimented forces with uniforms.  The soldiers were likely all wearing whatever they had available, and clothing and armor would have been similar across the two armies.  At night, even some kind of mark or flag would hardly be enough to tell who was who in the dark.  As lines broke and melee ensued, it would be easy to get turned around, and find yourself facing a friend.  By saying the watchword you could distinguish friend from foe. Sure enough, this tactic worked.  The Afumi forces broke through the Yoshino fortifications in the middle of the night and swarmed into the encampment.  Men who had been asleep were waking up to chaos.  Tarumaro's Yoshino soldiers were thrown into confusion.  Tarumaro himself, escaped, but just barely.  we are told that he noticed that the enemy kept shouting the word “kane”, and so he started doing it as well. The Afumi forces, assuming he was one of their own, left him alone.  Still, he only escaped with difficulty. His escape was no doubt critical, however.   He presumably would have headed to Tarano to try and warn Oho no Honji, but this may not have been possible, as we are told that on the following day, after the attack at Karafu pass, the Afumi commander Wosumi continued his advance, and came upon the Yoshino encampment at Tarano unexpectedly.  Still, General Honji did not back down.  With a force of hand-picked soldiers, Honji counterattacked against Wosumi and struck him.  We are told that Wosumi made it out—the only one who did—but that he did not try and make another attack.  The Yoshino forces would ultimately hold the pass and the critical juncture of Tarano.  The Afumi forces would not get a second chance. By the way, a quick note here:  I can't help but notice a bit of a trope showing up in these stories:  At Narayama, General Fukei is defeated, and is the only person who makes his escape.  Then Tarumaro is the only person to escape his defeat.  Finally, Wosumi is the only one of his forces to leave the plain of Tara. I am more than a little incredulous that these generals are the only ones who actually survived, and that the rest of the army was slaughtered.  In fact, you may recall that at the battle at Taima, General Fukei told his men not to pursue the fleeing common soldiers.  As I've tried to point out, the common soldiers were not likely as invested in the cause.  In fact, it is just as possible that the common soldiers may have changed sides and joined the other army if they thought it would serve them well.  Or maybe they were escaping and just blending into the countryside.  After all, the elites weren't really spending the time to get to know them, let along record any details about them.  So I suspect that it was more about the fact that the various armies would be broken, and the soldiers flung to the four corners, rather than that they were necessarily slaughtered.  After all, if you had the choice, would you have stayed there? A few days after Wosumi was defeated, the Yoshino general that Ohoama had sent to Iga along with Honji and Tarumaro, Ki no Omi no Abemaro, heard that their ally, Ohotomo no Fukei was in trouble in the Nara Basin.  He'd been defeated by the Afumi general Ohono no Hatayasu at Narayama,  and without reinforcements, the entire Nara Basin could fall, along with the ancient Yamato capital at Asuka. So Abemaro sent Okizome no Muraji no Usagi with more than a thousand cavalry to go assist.  They met Fukei at Sumizaka, and suddenly, things were looking up in the Nara Basin.  For more on how that turned out, check out last episode, where we covered the events in the Nara Basin. Once the events in the Nara Basin settled out, then both the Nara Basin and the Karafu pass would be well and truly in the hands of the Yoshino forces.  But there was no way for those guarding those locations to know that the fighting was over, and they would have to hold their positions until the fighting had definitively stopped.  Which brings us back to Ohoama and the Yoshino troops gathered at Fuwa, where things were about to kick off as well.  The troops at Fuwa, while being led by Ohoama and his 19 year old son, Takechi, were placed under the command of Murakuni no Muraji no Woyori—who, , as things progressed, would be noted as the primary general for the campaign that would lead Yoshino troops from Fuwa, on the offensive towards Ohotsu. The only reason that they seem to have waited before going on the offensive was that every day, more troops were coming in.  So even as the fighting was going on in Nara and at the Karafu pass, the Yoshino army at Fuwa gathered men and made their preparations.  As they did so, the Afumi court Was going to do whatever they could to try and break them, hoping that they could stop the threat posed by Ohoama and his men before they began their march. For the Afumi forces first attempt to break the Yoshino defenses at Fuwa pass, they picked troops to try and make an incursion into the village of Tamakurabe, which appears to have been in the pass itself; it was probably modern Tama district of Sekigahara.  They were repelled, however, by Izumo no Omi no Koma, who drove them off. Later, the Afumi court ordered another force of several tens of thousands of men to attack under the command of Prince Yamabe no Ou, Soga no Omi no Hatayasu, and Kose no Omi no Hito.  Soga no Hatayasu and Kose no Hito were both part of the inner circle of the Afumi court, or so it would seem.  When Prince Ohotomo had taken the reins of the government in a ceremony in the Western Hall of the Palace, he was attended by the ministers of the right and left, as well as Soga no Hatayasu, Kose no Hito, and Ki no Ushi.  They were at the very heart of this whole matter.  Prince Yamabe is a little bit more of a mystery.  We know he was someone of note, and when Prince Ohotsu was brought to his parents, they were apparently traveling under the guise of Prince Yamabe and another prince, Prince Ishikawa.  But we know little else. The three men and their Afumi troops headed out and camped on the bank of the Inukami river, near modern Hikone.  There, however, trouble broke out. The Nihon Shoki does not record exactly what it was, but there must have been some kind of falling out.  Prince Yamabe no Ou was killed by Soga no Hatayasu and Kose no Hito.  We don't know if this was due to some quarrel or what, but either way, it threw the army into a state of disarray and there was no way for them to move forward.  Soga no Hatayasu appears to have taken responsibility for whatever happened, as he headed back from Inukami, presumably back to Ohotsu, where he took his own life by stabbing himself in the throat.  There would be no attack on Fuwa Pass, however. Finally, the Nihon Shoki also recounts the story of another Afumi general, named Hata no Kimi no Yakuni, and his son, Ushi.  Together with others, who remain unnamed, they surrendered themselves to Ohoama and the Yoshino forces, rather than fighting.  It isn't clear if they were deserters, if they had been part of one of the other two attempts to take Fuwa Pass, or if there was something else going on.  Either way, Ohoama was so pleased that he welcomed them in and we are told that Hata no Yakuni was “granted a battle axe and halberd” and appointed a general.  This is probably stock phrasing, but it does seem he was given some measure of trust.  Yakuni's men were then sent north, to Koshi. We aren't quite sure what those forces' ultimate objective was.  It may have been that he was to take the northern pass and make sure that none of the Afumi troops tried to escape and head to the East along that road.  Many of the accounts of this war seem to suggest that he, or at least some part of the forces, were to head north and then come around Lake Biwa the long way.  This would mean that if Ohoama attacked, there would be no easy way to flee.  From Ohotsu they couldn't turn north without running into more troops, and their only escape would seem to be through the Afusaka pass towards the area of modern Kyoto.  And of course, whoever was victorious in the Nara Basin would then be able to control the route to the coast. It is unclear how much Ohoama could have actually known, though, about what was happening across the various distances.  Messages would have meant riders on swift horses carrying them; they couldn't just text each other what was going on. And so, with one attack repelled, another aborted, and a turncoat now on their side, Ohoama's Yoshino forces were finally ready to head out on the offensive themselves.  According to the Nihon Shoki this was on the 7th day of the 7th month—Tanabata, today, but I doubt people were paying much mind to the Weaver and the Cowherd.  Murakuni no Woyori, with the group advancing from Fuwa to Afumi, set out, and met with their first resistance at the Yokugawa river in Okinaga.  As far as I can tell, this is likely the Amano River in modern Maibara, which anyone who takes the Shinkansen between Kanto and Kansai probably recognizes as one of the usual stops.  Once again, we have a situation where, while they would have had banners flying, in the crush of battle it could be quite easy to mistake friend for foe, especially with large numbers of troops who were pulled from vastly different regions.  You had to have some way of knowing quickly who was on your side – that's why the Afumi commander Wosumi had his troops use the password “kane”, for example.  Ohoama's approach was to have his men place a red mark—possibly a ribbon or similar—on their clothing so that one could tell who, at a glance, was on their side.  As a note, later samurai would sometimes attach flags to their shoulder armor, or sode, and these “sode-jirushi” would help identify you even if people didn't recognize your armor.  Ohoama's troops may have used something similar. And so Woyori's Yoshino forces attacked the Afumi defenders, and the Afumi troops were clearly outmatched.  Woyori's men killed the Afumi commander and defeated the opposing forces. But that was just the beginning.  Afumi forces had been stationed all along the route from Fuwa to Ohotsu.  Thus it was that only two days later Woyori and his men made it to Mt. Tokoyama, probably in Hikone, by the Seri river.  There they met more Afumi soldiers, but once again they were triumphant and slew the opposing commander.   Woyori and his men were on a roll. I would point out that these battles aren't given much detail, but we do see how it progressed.  There are names of various individuals and commanders—certainly not much on the common people.  From what we can tell, this was not a rush to Ohotsu, but rather a slow march, probably doing their best to fortify their positions and make sure that nobody was sneaking up on them.  After each battle, it is some days before the next, probably spent spying out ahead and formulating plans. Woyori and his men next fought a battle on the banks of the Yasukawa River, presumably near modern Yasu city.  Here, Aston's translation claims that he suffered a great defeat, but more likely I suspect it means to say that he inflicted a great defeat on the Afumi forces, because if he had been defeated, how would he have pressed on only a few days later.  We are told that  two men, presumably the Afumi commanders, were both taken prisoner. Since we don't have anything more about them in the narrative all we can really do is assume that they must have therefore been on the side of the Afumi forces. By taking Yasu, that would have likely cut off the Afumi forces from any future considerations about using the Kurafu Pass.  The noose around Ohotsu was slowly tightening. Four days after that, on the 17th day of the 7th month, Woyori attacked and repulsed the Kurimoto army—presumably a force loyal to the Afumi court under a general named Kurimoto, or possibly raised from a place called Kurimoto, perhaps over on Awaji.  Either way, it was another victory on Woyori's belt. From there, Woyori and his men arrived at Seta, where they would have to cross the Setagawa—the Seta River. The Seta River is a wide river, and the only one flowing out of Lake Biwa.  It winds its way south and west, eventually becoming the Uji and then the Yodo rivers, which flow all the way to Naniwa—modern Ohosaka.  At the Seta river, there was a major bridge, the only way across, other than to swim.  Prince Ohotomo and his ministers, along with their entire army, were encamped on the west side of the bridge.  Their forces were so numerous that it was said you could not see all the way to the back of them.  Their banners covered the plain, and the dust of their movement caused a cloud to rise into the sky.  Their drums and songs could be heard for miles around.  We are told they even had crossbows, and when they were discharged the arrows fell like rain.  Of course, some of this may have just been more poetic license by the authors of the Nihon Shoki, but you get the picture:  There were a lot of troops on the western side of the river. The bridge itself was defended by General Chison.  We know very little of this general, as he only appears in this one part of the record, but his name implies that he may have been from the continent.  We aren't given a surname, and it is possible he was one of the Baekje refugees, now fighting for the Afumi court.  He led an advance body of specially selected troops, and in the middle of the bridge they had removed planks for about three rods or thirty feet.  Across that span was a single plank, daring anyone to try and cross it.  Of course, if they did, they would be a sitting duck in front of the enemy archers, and the plank was attached by a rope so that it could always be pulled out from under them.  It seemed as if it were impossible to advance. Finally, one of Woyori's soldiers, Ohokida no Kimi no Wakaomi, got up the courage to cross.  We are told that he put on double armor, put down his long spear, and drew his sword.  He then charged suddenly across the plank and cut the rope on the other side before the Afumi troops could pull it back.  In spite of the arrows that were raining down on him, he entered the ranks of the Afumi troops, slashing with his sword as he went.  The Afumi forces were thrown into confusion and some of them tried to leave, but General Chison drew his own sword and began to cut down anyone who tried to flee.  Still, he was unable to check the rout.  Woyori's troops secured the bridge and soon were pouring across it.  They cut down General Chison and advanced into the Afumi army, who broke and ran.  The Afumi sovereign, Ohotomo, aka Koubun Tennou, along with the Ministers of the Left and Right, narrowly escaped with their lives. Woyori and his troops marched to the foot of Awazu hill, and we are told that Hata no Yakuni, the Afumi commander who had earlier defected, and whose men were sent north to Koshi, set a siege to Miwo castle along with Izumo no Koma, who had defended against the attempted seizure of Tamakurabe.  Presumably this is Mio, south of Ohotsu, and it was likely guarding the southern approach to the Afumi capital. The only thing here that gives me pause is that we were earlier told that Yakuni's men, after he defected, were sent to Koshi.  So was Yakuni not with them?  Had he returned?  Or had the troops made it all the way around Lake Biwa already, taking the longer route up and around the lake? Regardless of how it happened, Yakuni and Koma were able to take Miwo castle.  As a reminder, a “castle” at this time would have likely been defined more by its walls, which were probably rammed earth and wood—not the elegantly sloping stone walls and  donjon base that would come to typify castles of the Warring States period. The following day, Woyori and his men continued their pursuit.  At the Awazu marketplace, Woyori ran into the Afumi generals Inukahi no Muraji no Isokimi and Hasama no Atahe no Shihote.  We mentioned Isokimi last episode—he was the Afumi commander attacking the Middle Road in the Nara Basin.  His deputy, Kujira, had been defeated, and it seems Isokimi had retreated back to Afumi and rejoined the main force. He would not be quite so fortunate this time.  Isokimi and Shihote were both slain, and Ohotomo fled once again.  He didn't get very far, hiding at Yamazaki, thought to be near the site of the modern city hall, in Ohotsu. Despite his best efforts, he knew he would be discovered, and he eventually strangled himself, rather than facing the humiliation and punishment that would come with capture. With Ohotomo dead, the other ministers of the Afumi court dispersed and fled.  Woyori and his men, meeting up at Sasanami, hunted down the Ministers of the Left and Right—Soga no Akaye and Nakatomi no Kane—as well as others who had fought with Ohotomo and who were considered criminals. They were all marched back to Fuwa, where, on the 25th day of the 7th month, Ohotomo's head was presented to Ohoama.  The war, it seems, was over. Or at least, the fighting was over.  There was still a lot to be settled.  First off, it would hardly have been practical to wipe out every single person on the losing side.  For one thing, that would have devastated the Court even further, likely creating a huge power vacuum.  In addition, many of the supporters on both sides were not necessarily there out of purely partisan reasons.  I would point out that many of the family names that we see in the record are found on both sides of the conflict.  Inukahi no Isokimi may have fought for Ohotomo, but we also see an Inukahi no Ohotomo fighting on the behalf of Ohoama.  Fumi no Nemaro was a major commander in Ohoama's army, while Fumi no Kusuri had been sent by the Afumi court to raise troops in the East Country.  And Hasama no Shihote was killed with Isokimi at Awazu, while a Hasama no Nemaro was working under the command of General Fukei, in Nara, to guard Tatsuta. There wasn't necessarily a simple divide along family lines.  It is possible that these individuals were all fairly well removed from each other, and from different parts of their respective families, or clans. They are often given different kabane, the family rank system used at this time, though I suspect that may have more to do with later changes, with those on the winning side being promoted over those who supported the Afumi court.  However, it is also the case that Japan has a long history of family members supporting both sides in any major conflict.  That way, no matter who wins, the family itself finds itself on the winning side. But there did have to be some accountability.  This is something that one can point to time and again—if the losing side is not held accountable for their actions, then what is to prevent them from just regrouping and trying again?  And yet that need for justice and punishment must be tempered with some amount of humanity. Ultimately, about one month after the end of the war, eight of the Afumi ministers were found guilty of truly heinous offences and they were condemned to suffer what the Nihon Shoki says was the “Extreme Penalty”.  The Minister of the Right, Nakatomi no Kane, was executed at Tane, in Asai.  Meanwhile the Minister of the Left, Soga no Akaye; along with the Dainagon, or Grand Councillor, Kose no Hito, as well as their children and grandchildren, along with the children of the late Nakatomi no Kane and Soga no Hatayasu, were all sent into banishment.  All others were pardoned. And of course those who had supported Ohoama, and who had come to his aid, were given public favour and reward.  In many cases this likely meant receiving high office and corresponding rank, along with increased stipend payments.  There is a notable shift in the makeup of the court, going forward, and it seems clear that families would want to associate themselves with those who fought on Ohoama's side, rather than Ohotomo's, if they could help it.  That was no doubt a part of works like the various diaries and house records that would have been used to compile the Nihon Shoki, recording the deeds that any house did for the throne. Along with all of the punishments and plaudits that were meted out in the 8th month of 672, there was one more event—something of an outlier.  We are told that Chihisakobe no Muraji no Sabichi, the governor of the province of Wohari, went off into the mountains and committed suicide. Sabichi had originally met Ohoama at the Kuwana district house—the local government office—when he had first arrived from Yoshino.  He had a large number of troops—20,000 by the Nihon Shoki's count—which helped Ohoama to ultimately defeat the Afumi court.  So why he would go off into the mountains and commit suicide was anyone's guess.  The Nihon Shoki suggests that it was possible that his allegiance had changed, and he may have been trying to plot against Ohoama.  Perhaps he had been convinced that Afumi court was going to come out on top, and so had begun some plot.  Or he just had a falling out or became disillusioned for some reason.  Whatever it was, it remains a mystery, even today. With the war concluded, it was time for Ohoama to make his way from the field to the Capital so that he could transition to ruling the State properly.  But Ohoama was not interested, it would seem, in setting himself up in his brother's capital.  Setting up in the Ohotsu capital may have raised a few eyebrows.  It had not been a completely popular move to begin with, and it was also the home of the Afumi court's legitimacy.  To take up the throne there, I can only imagine that it would have further reinforced the idea that Ohoama was the usurper, taking the throne that was meant for his nephew.  Instead, he made the decision to travel to the ancient capital, in Asuka, but he was not in a hurry. They headed out on the 8th day of the 9th month of 672, making it from Fuwa to Kuwana.  Here he likely met up with his wife, Princess Uno, and his ten year old son, Prince Ohotsu.  The following day they headed out, traveling back along the route that they had taken from Yoshino, but at a much more leisurely route.  The royal carriage stayed the night in Suzuka.  From there, it was another day to Abe, likely referring to modern Ahai county, in Iga, near Ueno city.  They then continued on to Nabari.  Finally, on the 12th day,they arrived at the Yamato capital—that is to say Asuka—and Ohoama took up residence for a time at the Shima Palace.  This was only, it seems, to give people time to get the actual palace ready, because three days later, Ohoama moved into the Wokamoto Palace.  And with that, Ohoama began the work of running the state—but there was still plenty to prepare.  For one thing, there were foreign embassies—Kim Ap-sil and others arrived.  It was still going to take a while to get the capital ready for guests, though.  From what we can tell, they were probably building a grand new palace, and it would take some time for it to be prepared.  So the Silla embassy was entertained in Tsukushi, where Prince Kurikuma would have been in charge of hosting them.  They were likely filled on the new developments and provided a ship. Meanwhile, Ohoama made sure that all of the appropriate rewards were given out.  On the 4th day of the 12th month, we are told that all those who had rendered services were given higher cap-ranks, based on what they had done. And as the year 672 closes out—and with it, the first of the two Chronicles for Ohoama, the soon-to-be elevated Temmu Tennou. But there is one final entry, marking the death of Wina no Kimi no Takami in the 12th month of the year.  We know that Wina no Kimi no *Iwasuki* was working for the Afumi court, sent to rally troops in the East, but he fled when they encountered Ohoama's troops at Fuwa Pass.  Takami, on the other hand, we know little about, but I suspect may have been on the side of Ohoama.  It is an odd entry, and, like so many, unexplained.  Perhaps it meant something to the people of the early 8th century, but if so, that meaning is likely lost to us. And so we close the book on the Jinshin no Ran—the Jinshin War, or possibly the Disturbance or even Rebellion, depending on how you feel about it.  This account is one of the most detailed we have of this kind of event, and yet it does not seem that it was entirely unique.  There are plenty of indications that previous sovereigns had to fight their way to the throne, or else had to repel others who would try to take it by force.  This was almost a tradition among the royal house of Yamato.  But now that the matter of succession was well and truly settled, it was time to get on with other things. Who knows what an Afumi court may have done and how they could have changed things.  What we do know is what Ohoama—and his queen, Uno no Himemiko—did.  They built upon, or in some cases possibly even fabricated, the legacy of Naka no Oe.  They would set in stone many of the things that had been put in place, and at the same time make certain changes, as well.  The Yamato state was getting started. And we'll start to dive into that next episode.  Until then, thank you once again 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.  

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durée : 01:16:58 - Les Nuits de France Culture - par : Albane Penaranda - Plongée au cœur des premières lueurs de l'aube, entre récits d'autrefois et éveil de la nature. Ce premier épisode d'une série de quatre émissions nous invite à vivre la magie du jour naissant en compagnie de chasseurs, de paysans, véritables conteurs et témoins privilégiés de cet instant unique. - réalisation : Vincent Abouchar - invités : Jean-Jacques Brochier Critique littéraire; Louis Dandrel Musicologue, designer sonore, compositeur.; Jean-Christophe Bailly Essayiste, écrivain

Markus & Kerry Crowley - Hour 4: Tedy Bruschi & Tracy Sandler join the show; plus WDYTLT: Tang (drink mix)See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Markus & Kerry Crowley - Hour 4: Tedy Bruschi & Tracy Sandler join the show; plus WDYTLT: Tang (drink mix)See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this episode, Tina Tang and I discuss the importance of staying active through perimenopause or menopause. We get into the world of plyometrics and how exercise and jumping can help you age with grace, prevent osteoporosis and protect your heart health. Even if you've never been an athlete or done a lot of jump training, this episode will teach you how exactly to get started safely and with success..✨This episode is sponsored by Embodia https://www.embodiaapp.com/ - use code momstrength to save $20 off your first month's Tier 3 membership..Connect with Tina:—Waitlist for Intro to Plyometrics for Women over 50 online course: https://www.ironstrongfitness.net/strength-intro-to-plyo—Instagram: IronStrongFit.Connect with Surabhi:—Find Surabhi on Instagram or Facebook @thepassionatephysio—Website: https://www.thepassionatephysio.ca

« Dis-moi à quel jeu tu joues, je te dirai qui tu es ». C'est une série spéciale de RFI à la découverte des jeux populaires à travers le monde, ces jeux qui, à travers les joueurs, parlent de la culture et de l'identité de chaque pays. En Chine, où les échecs chinois (xiangqi en mandarin), sont toujours largement pratiqués, avec environ 6,8 millions de joueurs réguliers. Bien que traditionnellement associé aux générations plus âgées, ce jeu reste présent chez les jeunes, avec des clubs dans les universités et les lycées. Mais comme beaucoup de jeux de société traditionnels, le xiangqi a du mal à maintenir sa popularité auprès des jeunes, en particulier avec l'essor des divertissements numériques. Ritan Park, en plein cœur de Pékin. Il est à peine 8 h 30, et déjà plusieurs curieux se pressent autour d'une table. Deux hommes jouent au xiangqi, l'échiquier chinois. Tang, l'un des joueurs, nous explique les règles : « Le char se déplace en ligne droite, le canon saute par-dessus, le cheval forme un L, l'éléphant traverse en diagonale, peu à peu, on apprend. » Mais le xiangqi n'est pas qu'un jeu. Pour Liu, observateur passionné, il raconte surtout des histoires : « Beaucoup de vieilles histoires se retrouvent dans le jeu. Chaque pièce représente un guerrier, un côté de l'armée. Il y a la rivière, la frontière. C'est l'art de la guerre, au départ. Tous les gens aiment ça pour son contexte culturel. Il y a tant d'histoires derrière, si on les connaît. » Dans la conversation mêlée, Ke nous dit que c'est un héritage, mais aussi un outil d'apprentissage : « Je pense que ça aide les enfants à comprendre la culture traditionnelle. Et ça peut aussi développer leur intelligence. C'est une manière d'entraîner l'esprit. » Le xiangqi « c'est dans l'ADN chinois » Mais aujourd'hui, ce sont surtout les aînés qui perpétuent la tradition. Les jeunes, eux, se tournent vers d'autres distractions, rebondit Liu : « C'est comme l'opéra de Pékin, les jeunes n'aiment pas ça. Le changement culturel est différent. La jeune génération n'a pas la patience. Ils regardent TikTok cinq secondes, et c'est fini. C'est une question de génération. C'est pareil chez vous ! L'époque progresse, et c'est très bien. Mais parfois, il faut regarder en arrière pour comprendre l'histoire, le contexte culturel. Savoir d'où l'on vient. » Et dans cette transmission, il y a aussi une part de fierté, nous dit Li, un vieil homme au sourire franc qui suit de près le mouvement des joueurs, en s'exclamant parfois : « untel aurait plutôt dû avancer son pion dans l'autre sens ! ». « C'est ainsi que les choses se passent. Ça fait partie de notre culture traditionnelle, non ? On devrait faire de notre mieux pour la promouvoir. Si ça se développait à l'international, ça renforcerait aussi le prestige national. »  Pour Liu, le xiangqi incarne une philosophie de vie : « C'est la façon de penser, comme Confucius. C'est difficile à traduire, mais c'est dans l'ADN chinois. » Jeu de stratégie, miroir de la société, mémoire vivante. Malgré les défis de la modernité, le xiangqi reste un pilier de la vie culturelle. Des efforts sont là pour transmettre ce patrimoine aux plus jeunes et faire de ce jeu de stratégie une histoire toujours en mouvement.

Cory Doctorow's 2017 novel Walkaway has a reputation in solarpunk circles as a great example of a solarpunk lifestyle, and a must-read book for everyone from the individual who lives and breathes solarpunk to the solarpunk-curious to general science fiction fans. But what is it about Walkaway that gives it solarpunk cred? Ariel and Christina ponder this, discussing features of the novel that could be considered solarpunk, and some that might be more post-cyberpunk than anything, and how some of the ideologies and technologies are or have been applied in our present world. Is the world of Walkaway an achievable solarpunk paradise, or a nice hopeful story featuring very cool gadgets and bites of lefty philosophy? Or something else entirely? What is the draw, here, anyway? Join us to think through some of the quandaries and ideas the book raises.Links:https://catholicworker.org/aims-and-means/https://www.reddit.com/r/solarpunk/comments/79r7c7/is_cory_doctorows_book_walkaway_solarpunk/?rdt=44395https://www.reddit.com/r/solarpunk/comments/1fgv88h/has_anyone_on_this_sub_read_walkaway_by_cory/https://theportalist.com/solarpunk-bookshttps://alxd.org/solarpunk-lenses-and-foundations.htmlhttps://us.macmillan.com/books/9780765392770/walkaway/https://edgeryders.eu/t/solarpunk-and-permaculture/12079https://www.reddit.com/r/solarpunk/comments/18ajw7y/solarpunk_fiction_where_to_start/https://www.reddit.com/r/solarpunk/comments/1bfrpy6/solarpunk_fictionutopias/https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tang_pinghttps://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10384867/https://www.bbc.co.uk/future/article/20230120-how-gut-bacteria-are-controlling-your-brainhttps://www.news-medical.net/health/Signals-from-Gut-Biome-to-Brain-and-Behavior.aspxhttps://www.scientificamerican.com/article/whats-so-funny-the-science-of-why-we-laugh/ Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Speedrun records aren't that impressive anymore, it's all about the TTP! This might be our most impressive feat yet. We got more than just tips with Tang Tang.

This episode, the podcast takes a look at a poem Mao Zedong wrote in February 1936, after he and his party had undergone the near-death experience of the Long March. Yet still, Mao has the gumption to imply in the poem that he would be the greatest ruler China had ever seen.    My Translation of the Poem: Spring in a Soaked Garden - Snow The north country scenery, frozen over for a thousand miles, snow floating for ten thousand miles.    I look inside and outside the Great Wall of China,  all that remains is boundlessness.    Up and down the Yellow River, it has suddenly lost its surging vigor.   The mountains dance like silver snakes, the plains gallop like white elephants,  I want to compete with Heaven and see which of us is taller.    I must wait for a clear day,  and look at the snowy landscape wrapped in red and white, it's really bewitching.  The rivers and mountains, this land, is so pretty, it has brought out countless heroes to compete and serve the nation.   Pity Qin Shihuang, the first Chinese emperor, and Han Wudi, the greatest Han emperor, their writing ability ain't all that good.    Tang Taizong, the greatest Tang emperor, and Song Taizu, the greatest Song emperor, they kinda lack style.    Those northern barbarian rulers,  like Genghis Khan,  all they knew how to do was shoot arrows at big eagles.    Those guys are all dead, if you want to count the true badasses look to today.     Original Poem:  沁园春·雪 北国风光，千里冰封，万里雪飘。望长城内外，惟余莽莽；大河上下，顿失滔滔。山舞银蛇，原驰蜡象，欲与天公试比高。须晴日，看红装素裹，分外妖娆。 江山如此多娇，引无数英雄竞折腰。惜秦皇汉武，略输文采；唐宗宋祖，稍逊风骚。一代天骄，成吉思汗，只识弯弓射大雕。俱往矣，数风流人物，还看今朝。

YouTube account sernak le hmannak kongah Australia ramkomh cozah nih upadi thar a ser. Kum 16 tang ngakchia cu YouTube hmang kho ti lo dingin kham an si cang. Amah belte cu YouTube Kids bel cu zalong tein hmannak nawl pek an si.

ON TODAY'S SHOW: Opener Tradie V Lady First Calls + Sam Pang Birthday Wheel O News Sonia Kruger $10,000 Pop Quiz The Diary Week of Millionaires The Diary O News + Ally Langdon What's in Jackie's Mouth? + Lynne Mcgranger Karl Stefanovic Follow us on @kyleandjackieo for more.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Emerging from collapse of the Han empire, the founders of Northern Wei had come south from the grasslands of Inner Asia to conquer the rich farmlands of the Yellow River plains. Northern Wei was, in fact, the first of the so-called "conquest dynasties" complex states seen repeatedly in East Asian history in which Inner Asian peoples ruled parts of the Chinese world. An innovative contribution to East Asian and Chinese history of the medieval period, Northern Wei (386-534) combines received historical text and archaeological findings to examine the complex interactions between these originally distinct populations, and the way those interactions changed over time. Scott Pearce analyses traditions borrowed and adapted from the long-gone Han dynasty including government and taxation as well as the new cultural elements such as the use of armor for man and horse in the cavalry and the newly-invented stirrup. Further, this book discusses the fundamental change in the dynastic family, as empresses began to play an increasingly important role in the business of government. Though Northern Wei fell in the early sixth century, the nature of the state was thus fundamentally changed, in the Chinese world and East Asia as a whole; it had laid down a foundation from which a century later would emerge the world empire of Tang. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Emerging from collapse of the Han empire, the founders of Northern Wei had come south from the grasslands of Inner Asia to conquer the rich farmlands of the Yellow River plains. Northern Wei was, in fact, the first of the so-called "conquest dynasties" complex states seen repeatedly in East Asian history in which Inner Asian peoples ruled parts of the Chinese world. An innovative contribution to East Asian and Chinese history of the medieval period, Northern Wei (386-534) combines received historical text and archaeological findings to examine the complex interactions between these originally distinct populations, and the way those interactions changed over time. Scott Pearce analyses traditions borrowed and adapted from the long-gone Han dynasty including government and taxation as well as the new cultural elements such as the use of armor for man and horse in the cavalry and the newly-invented stirrup. Further, this book discusses the fundamental change in the dynastic family, as empresses began to play an increasingly important role in the business of government. Though Northern Wei fell in the early sixth century, the nature of the state was thus fundamentally changed, in the Chinese world and East Asia as a whole; it had laid down a foundation from which a century later would emerge the world empire of Tang. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/east-asian-studies

Emerging from collapse of the Han empire, the founders of Northern Wei had come south from the grasslands of Inner Asia to conquer the rich farmlands of the Yellow River plains. Northern Wei was, in fact, the first of the so-called "conquest dynasties" complex states seen repeatedly in East Asian history in which Inner Asian peoples ruled parts of the Chinese world. An innovative contribution to East Asian and Chinese history of the medieval period, Northern Wei (386-534) combines received historical text and archaeological findings to examine the complex interactions between these originally distinct populations, and the way those interactions changed over time. Scott Pearce analyses traditions borrowed and adapted from the long-gone Han dynasty including government and taxation as well as the new cultural elements such as the use of armor for man and horse in the cavalry and the newly-invented stirrup. Further, this book discusses the fundamental change in the dynastic family, as empresses began to play an increasingly important role in the business of government. Though Northern Wei fell in the early sixth century, the nature of the state was thus fundamentally changed, in the Chinese world and East Asia as a whole; it had laid down a foundation from which a century later would emerge the world empire of Tang. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Emerging from collapse of the Han empire, the founders of Northern Wei had come south from the grasslands of Inner Asia to conquer the rich farmlands of the Yellow River plains. Northern Wei was, in fact, the first of the so-called "conquest dynasties" complex states seen repeatedly in East Asian history in which Inner Asian peoples ruled parts of the Chinese world. An innovative contribution to East Asian and Chinese history of the medieval period, Northern Wei (386-534) combines received historical text and archaeological findings to examine the complex interactions between these originally distinct populations, and the way those interactions changed over time. Scott Pearce analyses traditions borrowed and adapted from the long-gone Han dynasty including government and taxation as well as the new cultural elements such as the use of armor for man and horse in the cavalry and the newly-invented stirrup. Further, this book discusses the fundamental change in the dynastic family, as empresses began to play an increasingly important role in the business of government. Though Northern Wei fell in the early sixth century, the nature of the state was thus fundamentally changed, in the Chinese world and East Asia as a whole; it had laid down a foundation from which a century later would emerge the world empire of Tang. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/chinese-studies

In this episode Randel and Owen talk with Kung Fu Coach and Teacher Abi Moriya about training in Taiwan in the 80's, Tang Sho Tao, Acupuncture and Hong Yi Xiang.Form his Web Site: "Martial artist, movement and Chinese medicine. One of the pioneers of Chinese and Filipino martial arts teachers in Israel. In his youth, in 1987, he embarked on a study trip following the documentary series "The Way of the Warrior," which ended with the late teacher Hong Yi-Shiang in Taiwan. My father balances the way of the warrior with the way of the healer: he is an expert in the martial art of Xingyi Chuan, various Chinese weapons, as well as the Filipino martial art of Serada Eskrima. In the field of health care, my father teaches Qigong and Tai Chi and trains instructors. He practices Chinese medicine with an emphasis on acupuncture, moxibustion and tui-na, as well as shiatsu. Head of the Martial Arts Department at the Nat Holman School for Instructors and Trainers, Wingate Institute. Author of the book "Bright Tiger, Dark Dragon: Chinese Martial Arts in the Mirror of Culture", Madaf 2017.Co-author with Guy Moore of the book "Krav Maga - Teaching with Doubt", self-published, 2016"⁠YouTube⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠Website⁠#kungfu #taiwan #coaching #podcast #gongfu #hongyixiang #tangshotao #MartialArts #wushu #kungfuconversations #china #abimoriya

Chaque jour, retrouvez le journal de 19h de la rédaction d'Europe 1 pour faire le tour de l'actu. Distribué par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

This episode we continue with the Jinshin War.  This episode we follow Prince Oama on his dramatic escape to the east:  From Yoshino he dashed through the mountains, through Iga and over to Ise.  In so doing he secured both Suzuka and Fuwa--areas that would be important chokepoints throughout Japan's history.   For more information, check out our blogpost at: https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-130 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua and this is episode 130: Jinshin no Ran, Part II:  Gathering Stormclouds.   The soldier on watch was doing his best to keep alert.  The night shift was never pleasant duty, and it was even less pleasant out here in the mountains.  There were plenty of sounds in the night—birds and animals out in the darkness—but rarely was there much actual action.  At least the sky was clear, with only the occasional cloud. Guarding a post station was hardly the worst duty in the world. There was a decent amount of traffic: after all, they were along one of the major routes between Ise and Yamato.  But at night, well, who wanted to try and navigate the mountain roads?  That was a great way to fall into a river and drown, or get lost in the woods, unable to find your way back to civilization. It must have been a shock when he saw a light in the distance.  There were almost always a few fires somewhere in the village, but most of them were out or covered at this time of night, with the exception of the odd torch.  But this was something more.  At first the guard thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.  And then he wondered if it was some kind of mountain spirit—he'd heard of ghost parades that could come and take people in the night.  He shivered, and instinctively checked his own torch to ensure that it was burning well and bright.  Indeed it was. It took him a little time for his eyes to adjust again to the darkness, but now, sure enough, he saw the torches coming—and not just one, many of them, and he could now hear the faint metallic clank of metal on metal.  He then heard a faint sound like a tight rope being suddenly plucked.  It only just started to dawn on him what was happening when the first arrows started to rain down on his position. They were under attack!   Welcome back.  This episode we are continuing with our coverage of the Jinshin no Ran—the Jinshin War of 672—and if you haven't already, I highly recommend you start with episode 129, where we talk about some of the background for what was happening.  That said, let's do a quick recap to bring us up to speed on where we are.  And then we'll dive into an account of an absolutely unbelievable journey, which is impressive for multiple reasons, but mostly for the speed at which it was able to take place. So as you may recall, Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou, passed away at the end of 671 after months of illness.  After falling ill, the Chronicles tell us that he offered the state to his younger brother, the Crown Prince, Prince Ohoama, but Ohoama was warned that it was a trap, and as such, he turned down the offer.  Instead, he retired from his position to become a monk, and left for Yoshino, taking half of his household with him.  With Ohoama retired, Naka no Oe's son, the 23 year old Prince Ohotomo, took the throne. After Naka no Oe's death, Ohotomo effectively ruled Yamato from the Ohotsu palace in Afumi, running things along with the ministers of the left and right, Soga no Akaye and Nakatomi no Kane, and other high ministers.  Though the Nihon Shoki does not acknowledge it, Ohotomo is thought to have been a formal sovereign, in deed if not in name, at this point.  Much later, he would be given the posthumous name of “Koubun Tennou”. It would seem that Ohotomo and the Afumi court had misgivings about Prince Ohoama's promise to retire from the world and not challenge the throne.  The Nihon Shoki recounts that they began to make subtle preparations for a conflict, including levying men to build Naka no Oe's tomb, but issuing them weapons instead of tools.  They also set up checkpoints along the road from the court in Ohotsu down to Asuka—the main route to where Ohoama was residing in Yoshino.  And then, finally, someone told Ohoama that they were no longer allowing Prince Ohoama's people to cross the Uji bridge to bring him and his household supplies. Prince Ohoama was not going to sit idly by while the Afumi court gathered up enough forces to claim he was doing something treasonous and then march on him in Yoshino.  And so he sent one of his trusted vassals to the east to seek support.  Meanwhile, he himself was making ready to move.  There was just one more thing before setting out:  seeing if he could get posting bells.  This was sparked by the words of one of his advisors, who suggested that they should be careful.  They did not have many soldiers in Yoshino, and they had already sent out a general like Woyori to start raising troops in the East.  At the same time, if the Afumi Court was also maneuvering, it was likely that they would have sent words to the various post stations to bar the roads and prevent any movement. As such, Prince Ohoama decided to send several messengers to ask for Posting Bells, so that Ohoama and his men could make use of the official horses at the various post stations, allowing them to travel much more quickly and freely.  However, it was not clear if such orders had come and, if they had, where the local government officiallys might place their loyalty. Of particular importance was the case of Prince Takasaka, who was in charge of the Okamoto Palace, and thus the governance of the ancient capital. He would be the one to grant posting bells if they were to receive them.  If he provided the bells, then Ohoama and his party could assume they would have little to no trouble making their way East. And so Prince Ohoama sent his evnoys to the Okamoto palace.The messengers requested posting bells, but Prince Takasaka refused to issue them.  This sent a clear message to Prince Ohoama:  the Afumi court had no intention of letting him and his household have free access to the roads, and the local officials in Asuka were not going to provide any support.  In fact, Prince Takasaka now knew that Ohoama planned to travel, and if he wanted to, Takasaka could likely raise troops to try and stop Ohoama from leaving.  At the very least he would no doubt be sending a swift horse to Ohotsu to inform the Afumi court.  Ohoama and his followers would have to hurry if they wanted to do anything. And so, on the 24th of the 6th month, the same day that he got word back about the posting bells,  Prince Ohoama made the decision to move.  He and his entourage left quickly—he didn't even let anyone saddle a horse for him or prepare his carriage.  He just started to head out on foot on a journey to the East – and keep in mind that everything I'm going to describe in the next few minutes happened over the course of one night, truly an epic journey for Ohoama and all of those with him..  The Chronicles lists about 20 men and over ten women who originally set out with Ohoama from Yoshino, including his wife, the Royal Princess Uno no Sarara, daughter of Naka no Oe.  She wasn't walking, however—she followed a little behind in a palanquin, or litter, carried on poles.  I do wonder if those carrying the palanquin are among those mentioned, or were they servants or even enslaved persons who weren't considered worthy of note. The path they traveled wound its way through the mountains.  Streams and rivers had carved channels and valleys into these mountains.  People had settled these areas, and created paths through the wilderness.  Now, the valleys were fairly well populated, with roads connecting the communities that had grown up in the nooks and hollers. These facilitated trade through the mountain communities and between the eastern and western sides of the Kii peninsula, but even still, it was difficult terrain.  Unlike roads in the flat plains, the width of the roads in the mountains would have been constrained by steep mountainsides and the natural twists and turns of the valleys.  There may have been rope or wooden bridges that they had to cross, as streams constantly flow down the hill sides to the river below.  This route would make it much easier to avoid any official Afumi forces that might have been sent out, as those would likely be sticking to the main roads, but there were still government outposts along the way.  If these outposts proved loyal to the Afumi court, they could raise the alarm and send a messenger on horseback, who could likely flee much more quickly than Ohoama's men could follow.  And if Afumi learned that Ohoama was on the move, they could quickly mobilize their forces, secure key strategic points, and Ohoama's mad rush would be for naught.   The path Ohoama chose would lead from Yoshino, through the valleys, up through Iga, and then over to Suzuka, in Ise—modern Mie prefecture.  The journey was long and it wasn't going to be easy, but they needed to move quickly. Speaking of which, since Ohoama was traveling on foot, one of his men, Agata no Inukahi no Ohotomo, gave Prince Ohoama his own horse to ride.  Oh, and in case you are wondering: There are a lot of people named “Ohotomo” in the narrative, not just the Prince, Ohoama's nephew and rival for the throne.  Sorry, it was apparently a somewhat popular name AND it was also a clan, or uji, name as well.  I'll try to distinguish some of them in the podcast blog page. The party hadn't traveled far when Ohoama's own carriage—or possibly a palanquin, like his wife's—showed up for him, so I assume Ohotomo got his horse back, but they were still constrained to the speed of their slowest member, and I doubt that the mountain roads were all that wide and flat—most likely just the opposite. The group journeyed upstream along the Tsuburo river and eventually made it to Aki, in the area of Uda, due east of Sakurai and Mt. Miwa.  Here they were overtaken by two men, known as Ohotomo no Muraji no Makuda and Kibumi no Muraji no Ohotomo, both hurrying on from the Yoshino Palace. Makuda had been at the Afumi court, but word was starting to spread there that there was going to be some kind of move against Prince Ohoama, so he and his brother, Ohotomo no Fukei, had feigned illness and returned to their home in the Asuka region.  Once there, Makuda had made straightaway for Yoshino, only to find that Ohoama was already on the move.  Ohotomo no Fukei, on the other hand, chose to stay in the area of Asuka and see what he could do there.  He was looking to see what kind of forces he could raise in the ancient capital region.  We'll learn more about him, later. It was also in Aki, apparently, where they met Hashi no Muraji no Mate, who was from the Department of the official rice fields.  Even though he was a government official, he was a supporter of Ohoama and his cause, and so he supplied Ohoama and his people with food for their journey. Just north of the Aki fields they came upon Kammura—thought to be near modern Kaguraoka—where the Yoshino forces conscripted 20 hunters into service, almost doubling their numbers, and now they at least had some weapons with them.  Prince Mino, and presumably his men, also joined forces with Ohoama and his party—their ranks were starting to grow. In Uda, they were no doubt glad of any assistance, and at the government offices in the village of Uda itself, they were also warmly welcomed.  There they found 50 pack-horses that were laden down with rice meant for the hot baths at Ise.  The rice was discarded and Ohoama commandeered the pack animals so that his forces could ride, rather than walk.  Nonetheless, it was still a long way to go.  Indeed, night was approaching by the time they reached Ohono—likely the modern area of Muro-ohono and Ohonoji, along the Uda river.  They didn't want to stop, but it could be treacherous trying to navigate in the mountains in the dark.  What they needed was a light source.  And so we are told that they pulled down some of the fences of nearby houses and created makeshift torches to light their way.  Thus they were able to continue on until they reached the town of Nabari at approximately midnight. Nabari was not quite so friendly.  It was the home of a post-station, which had a duty to report things to the Afumi court.  Ohoama and his men arrived with their torches and in the middle of the night they attacked and set fire to the post station.  One can only imagine how surprised those manning the station must have been.  Presumably Ohoama's party took any horses and provisions, both for their own use and so that they couldn't be used against them.  To those members of the village that were woken up and who came out to see what was going on, Ohoama's entourage proclaimed that Prince Ohoama was heading east and that people should join them.  More specifically we are told that he said that the “Sumera no Mikoto” was on his way to the East Country. I want to pause here a moment, because there are some that say that this was the first use of the term “Sumera no Mikoto”, or, as we more commonly read the characters today, “Tennou”.  At the very least we believe that the term “Tennou” may have first used in this time period—though I do wonder about it being used in this particular instance.  I'll come back to this at the end, but for now, let's get back to the story.  So Ohoama announced to the people that he, the sovereign—for he had declared himself as such—was heading to the Eastern lands, and he invited anyone who wished to join him.  Nobody took him up on his offer, however.  It must have sounded crazy.  Ohoama had swept in at midnight, his forces carrying torches, and had attacked the post station, the symbol of the government in their midst.  I imagine that the people wanted little to nothing to do with any further conflict if they could help it. Continuing on in the darkness, Ohoama and his party came to a river—probably the Nabari River.  The Chronicle refers to it as “Yokokawa”, a term that shows up multiple times, and means something like “side river” and I suspect it was just the name for a river that ran alongside the fields or something similar.  As they were crossing, a dark cloud spread across the night sky for over 10 rods—about 100 feet.  Ohoama kindled a light and took a look at a geomantic rule to determine what it could mean.  This “rule” was possibly a type of stick or even a kind of compass-like device with a square bottom and round top, indicating the heavens and the earth.  He announced to everyone that the cloud was an omen that the country would be divided into two parts but, ultimately, their side would win out. One can only imagine how tired and worn out everyone was at this point, but apparently this urged them onward.  They reached Iga, where once again, they attacked and set fire to the posting station. Now getting through Iga must have had Ohoama's head on a swivel.  After all, Prince Ohotomo's mother was apparently from that region – he was the Iga Royal Prince, after all - so it would be understandable if people were loyal to him.  Fortunately, for Ohoama, he had his local supporters as well.  In fact, Joan Piggot points out in “The Emergence of Japanese Kingship” that Ohoama may have had a surprising amount of support from the various local elites.  Remember that the policies that Naka no Oe and the court had put into place had given power to court appointed officials at the expense of the traditional local elites.  So it may have been that those traditional local elites were more inclined to assist Ohoama against the Afumi Court, while those appointed officials, such as those who were managing the post stations, were more likely to swing the other way, since their positions and their stipends were directly reliant on the court's good graces.  This seems to have been the case in this instance, around Nakayama, in Iga, where we are told that they met with local district governors who had heard that Ohoama was on the move and who had raised several hundred men in support of his cause.  Now their ranks really had grown—compared with the relatively small group that had first set out from Yoshino the previous day, there were now hundreds of men on the march. Ohoama's forces finally arrived at the plain of Tara, or Tarano, by dawn, and with the sun coming over the mountains they briefly stopped for a moment to catch their breath and eat something.  They had just marched through the night—a distance of approximately 70 kilometers, or 43 and a half miles.  That included stops to attack and set fire to two post stations along the way, and much of the journey early on was done on foot.  During that march, their ranks had grown tremendously.  This is an incredible feat, especially with much of it being accomplished at night. Let's also quickly discuss those extra troops that had come to his banner.  Remember that prior to this, Prince Ohoama had sent messengers ahead to Mino and Owari to try and raise forces in those areas.  They had likely traveled these same roadways, and told  any allies they had to prepare.  So while the forces were raised quickly, there were no doubt some logistics that went into it. After a brief rest, the army was back on their feet, heading to Yamaguchi—modern Tsuge city.  Here Ohoama was greeted by his son, Prince Takechi, who had come from Afumi down through Kafuka—modern Kouka, aka Kouga.  He had brought several other men of his own, and presumably soldiers as well. The entire party crossed Mt. Miyama and into Suzuka, in Ise, where they were joined by the provincial governor, Miyake no Muraji no Iwatoko; Deputy Governor, Miwa no Kimi no Kobuto, and the magistrate of the famous hot baths, Tanaka no Omi no Tarumaro, among others.  That same morning, they set a troop of 500 soldiers to guard the pass.  After all, it would do them no good to have a government force suddenly appear behind them.  Also, you may recall that Ohoama's request to his allies in Mino was to take the Fuwa pass, in the north—the area more popularly known today as Sekigahara.  So now, with both the Suzuka and Fuwa passes under Ohoama's control, his forces controlled access to the Eastern countries.  The only other viable route, at least if you didn't want to get lost in the mountains, was to take the road to the north, through Koshi, and that was going to be a slog around or over the Japan Alps. So a garrison was left as a rear guard, but the troops who were not staying to guard the pass continued, turning northwards.  By sunset on the 25th day of the 6th month of 672, they had reached the foot of Kahawa Hill.  Here, Ohoama's consort, Princess Uno no Sarara, asked if they could take a break.  She was not exactly used to this kind of travel, and even riding on a palanquin, she was exhausted and fatigued.  As they looked to the sky, though, it was clear that dark clouds were gathering.  So they cut their rest short and pushed on, hoping to make it to the government offices at Mie—likely meaning modern day Yokkaichi city. Sure enough, as they continued to march, the heavens opened with a thunderstorm pouring down on them.  The entire army was soaked to the bone.  Cold and wet, when they did get to the government center or Mie district, they deliberately set fire to an entire building just so that the troops could try to warm themselves a bit.  Those who had set out from Yoshino had marched over 122km, or 75 miles, including over 700 meters of elevation up and 800 meters down.  Checking a map of the route, it suggests that a person walking it, today, without any breaks, would take around 28 hours to complete the trip, and indeed, Ohoama's took roughly one and a half days.  That includes time for their assaults on the various post stations, and a brief rest at the Tara fields.  Now, granted, they had procured horses for parts of that, and many of the soldiers had not necessarily been there since the beginning, but it is still an incredible feat, when you think about it.  I'm honestly surprised that it doesn't get more of a mention in various historical contexts.  Then again, we are still well before the age of the Samurai, which is the period most martial historians typically examine. So that night, as they were settling in at the Mie government center following their amazing dash across the mountains, word came from forces at Suzuka:  Prince Yamabe and Prince Ishikawa had apparently come to offer their allegiance to Ohoama.  However, as they weren't known to the men, they were held at the Suzuka barrier until someone could verify.  Ohoama sent Michi no Atahe no Masubito to go fetch them and bring them to him. The following morning, Ohoama worshipped towards Amaterasu on the banks of a river in the district of Asake.  Thinking about it, I'm not sure if they meant that he worshipped south, in the direction of Ise Shrine, or if he worshipped east, the direction of the rising sun.  The exact direction doesn't entirely matter, but I think we will come back to this, as it would have consequences later on. Later, Masubito returned from his errand, catching back up to the army, which was continuing on its way.  It turns out that it was not Princes Yamabe and Ishikawa that Masubito had found at Suzuka, but instead  Ohoama's own son, Ohotsu, who had come along to join his father.  I presume he had been traveling under a false name in case he ran into men loyal to the Afumi court.  He was followed by a number of others, including a list of names which I am not going to go over here because it wouldn't mean all that much.  Suffice it to say that the Chroniclers were doing their best to make sure that various families were remembered for what they did. Now just as Prince Ohotsu was joining the main force, Murakami no Woyori arrived with word that 3,000 Mino troops were mobilized and currently blocking the Fuwa Road.  You may recall that Woyori was the one that Ohoama had sent to Mino for just that purpose, scouting out the lay of the land. Ohoama sent Prince Takechi ahead to Fuwa to organize the forces there.  Then he sent two others to mobilize troops along the Tokaido region, and two others were sent into the mountains to levy soldiers from the Tousando region.  As a quick reminder: the Tokaido was the eastern sea highway, while the Tousando, the Eastern Mountain Road, went through the middle of eastern Honshu, through the more mountainous regions.  Together, these two routes would have pulled from the most populous regions of the east. As for Ohoama, he took up residence at the government center in Kuwana, where he spent some time resting for a bit. Now just as Ohoama was building up his forces, so, too, was the Afumi court.  As soon as word made it to the capital that Ohoama was on the move, chaos ensued.  Many people fled the capital, some heading to the East, perhaps to join Ohoama, while others went to hide in the mountains and marshes until all the chaos was over and the dust settled.  The young Prince Ohotomo asked the ministers what he should do, and they recommended that he immediately set out with cavalry to pursue Ohoama and catch him before he could assemble too many troops.  However, he decided not to heed their advice, instead opting to assemble an army of his own, to add to the soldiers that had already been levied.  He sent Ina no Iwasuki, Fumi no Kusuri, and Wosaka no Ohomaro to the East country, while Hodzumi no Momotari, his younger brother, Ihoye, and Mononobe no Hiuga headed to the Yamato capital—which is to say Asuka.  Ohotomo also sent Saheki no Wotoko to Tsukushi and Kusu no Iwate to Kibi, all with orders to levy troops.  He gave Wotoko and Iwate special instructions, since there was some concern that neither Tsukushi nor Kibi would be compliant, as they both had been supported by Ohoama and may feel ties to him.  So if the leaders of either of those areas were to resist, Wotoko and Iwate were authorized to execute them for treason. As Iwasuki, Kusuri, and Ohomaro headed east, they traveled around Lake Biwa and were headed to the Fuwa pass, not knowing that it was already controlled by Ohoama's forces.  Iwasuki, however, was cautious.  He realized that they might be ambushed, and so he held back from the main group.  Sure enough, he was right:  Kusuri and Ohomaro were ambushed and captured, at which point Iwasuki fled, barely escaping. The following day, Prince Takechi sent a note to his father asking him to move closer to Fuwa, so that they could better communicate with the front line.  Ohoama headed out, but left Princess Uno in Kuwana, which was well situated between Fuwa and Suzuka, and was likely far enough from the front lines to ensure that it wouldn't be disrupted by skirmishes at the passes.  As Ohoama then traveled through Wohari, the governor, Chihisakobe no Muraji no Sabichi, also joined him with a force of 20,000 men.  Ohoama had them divided up and set them on roads to various places as needed. Ohoama finally reached Nogami, just on the eastern edge of modern Sekigahara.  This is near where Tokugawa Ieyasu would eventually make his first camp as well, at his fateful battle here just under a thousand years later.  At Nogami, Ohoama would set up his headquarters, Nogami no Miya, or the Nogami Palace.  Meanwhile, Prince Takechi would handle the troops in the main part of the area near the pass, known as Wazami.  As Ohoama reached Nogami, Takechi came to conference with him.  He noted that there had already been an altercation—they had taken prisoners, who claimed that they were actually headed east to raise troops for Ohoama, but given that they didn't know who they were AND that Iwasuki had fled back towards Ohotsu-kyo suggested that this was not exactly the case. Following that incident, and a fair amount of speechifying, Ohoama eventually placed Prince Takechi formally in charge of the army, presenting him the gift of a saddle-horse.  Takechi went back to his camp at Wazami.  That night, a severe thunderstorm broke out.  Ohoama prayed that if the kami favored his case, they would make the storm abate, and immediately the thunder and lightning stopped. The next day, on the 28th, Ohoama traveled over to Wazami to review the troops and check on the military arrangements, before returning back to Nogami.  He likewise went out the following day, issuing commands through Prince Takechi, and then returned again to Nogami. At this point, soldiers were likely on their way from the Eastern provinces and elsewhere.  On the one hand, they wanted to wait and make sure that they had all the troops they needed.  But on the other hand, they didn't want to wait too long.  The Afumi court was likewise building up its forces, and the longer they waited, the greater the chance that they could dig in and entrench themselves.  Something would have to happen, soon. But that something will have to wait for the next episode.    Before we finish, though, I do want to come back to something:  the title “Tenno”, or “Sumera no Mikoto”.  Up to this point, evidence suggests that the term used for the sovereign of Yamato was not “Tennou” as we know it today, but instead was the term “Oho-kimi”.  “Oho-kimi”, or basically the “Big Kimi”—something like the primary lord—was the one lord of lords of Yamato.  But that was probably something based on local concepts of governance.  With the introduction of new ideas of governance, many based on the Han and Tang dynasty models, we see a shift in the terminology. There are poems that come from the era of Naka no Oe—Tenji Tennou—that use terms like “Huang” (皇) and “Di” (帝)—“Kou” and “Tei” in Japanese.  These are imperial terms from the continent.  At some point, however, we see that they use “Tian” (天) and “Huang” (皇).  “Tianhuang” becomes “Tennou” (天皇) when read in Japanese, and it critically utilizes the character “Tian” for Heaven.  Interestingly, this does not appear to be a term that was ever commonly used for rulers in the area of modern China.  I seem to recall that it was used here and there, but not with any frequency.  There is some thought that it may have been pulled from a term for the north star, or pole star, which sometimes used the term, I suspect referring to that star as the Heavenly Ruler—the star that the heavens themselves were focused on. For a variety of reasons, we see a particular emphasis on Heaven, and on Amaterasu, in the decades following 672, and it is thought that this is all connected.  And so it is generally from some time here, in the late 7th century, that we can probably start to refer to the sovereigns as “Tennou”. Although, it is unclear to me if the authors of the Nihon Shoki pronounced it like this or not, later glosses given for the characters in Japanese is “Sumera no Mikoto”, the kun'yomi, or Japanese reading.  The problem is that the Nihon Shoki projects this term back to the very beginning of the narrative, with “Jimmu Tennou” being the first.  However, we have some evidence that the earlier term was, as as I said before, “Ohokimi”.  For many years, there was an idea that the term “Sumera no Mikoto” first appeared in the era of Toyomike Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, probably because that is when Buddhism and continental studies really seem to kick off.  However, there really is no evidence of its use then, and it seems that more scholars today place its use in the late 7th or early 8th century. So there is the possibility that this title was first used by Ohoama, as some claim, when he declared that the “Sumera no Mikoto” or “Tennou” was heading to the Eastern countries.  Of course, that could also just be dramatic license by the Chroniclers, who were less concerned with what, exactly, he said and more concerned with the meaning of it all.  We've also known them to swap out older terms for those in use in the 8th century, updating the narrative. Regardless, I think that about this time we can start to refer to the sovereigns of Yamato—and eventually Japan, or Nihon, another somewhat controversial term—as “Tennou”, or “Sumera no Mikoto”, from about this period.  I'll probably still use the term “sovereign” in general, and I'll try to avoid the term “imperial” for anything prior to the 19th century, when it became a standard English translation.  After all, Empires were the rage—Chinese, Ottoman, British, Austrian, French, Spanish, you name it.  Everyone had an empire, and so Japan, following that model, must also have been an “empire”.  Even today, it is officially the “Imperial Household” and that is the official translation. However, I want to be cautious about using that translation too early, however.  The institution of “Tennou”, while modeled on the Tang dynasty, took on its own character.  As such, I think that it is best to avoid the term for now, because it really was its own thing, and I don't want to conflate too many foreign concepts of “emperor” with the idea of the Japanese ruler. As for the term “Sumera no Mikoto”—it does not appear to me that the etymology of this term is clearly known.  One explanation is that “Sumera” is related to the word “Suberu”, to rule.  “Sumera” is also defined as meaning something precious, though I'm not sure if that meaning existed before its use to refer to the sovereign.  “Mikoto” is simply an honorific referring to the sovereign, meaning “royal” or “imperial”.  I suspect that the term “Tennou” came over first, and later it became glossed as “Sumera no Mikoto”, which may have been an earlier term, but we don't have any clear evidence.  Variations do appear in the Man'yoshu, the collection of ancient poems, so the concept was clearly around by the 8th century. Anyway, I think that's enough.  We'll probably talk about it more when we get to the rise of the worship of Amaterasu.  Until then, let's continue with our series on the Jinshin War. Next episode we will kick off with some of the actual fighting and campaigns in Afumi, Iga, and in Yamato.  Until then, thank you once again 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.

SummaryIn this episode of the WatchRolling Podcast, Jason interviews Huiy Tang of RZE Watches, discussing the brand's ethos of creating durable, adventure-ready titanium watches. They explore the intersection of watches and everyday carry (EDC), the importance of community engagement, and the brand's commitment to sustainability. Huiy shares insights into the design philosophy behind RZE watches, emphasizing the goal of creating timepieces that last a lifetime. The conversation also touches on the evolution of RZE from its crowdfunding roots to its current identity, and the aspirations for the brand's future.Links (Not Affiliate):www.rzewatches.comInstagram - @rzewatchesFacebook Group - RZE Basecamp - https://www.facebook.com/groups/241404224021358 

Alan sits down with Steph Tang, the co-founder of Wallaby, a company that has developed a therapeutic weighted blanket specifically for dental and healthcare settings. Steph shares her personal experience as a dental patient which sparked the idea for the Wallaby. She explains the science behind deep pressure stimulation and how the Wallaby helps to calm the nervous system, reduce anxiety, and create a more relaxing experience for patients. Steph and Alan also discuss the practical applications of the Wallaby in a dental practice, including its durable, medical-grade, and easy-to-disinfect material, as well as its potential to reduce the need for other sedation options! Some links from the show: Wallaby website Wallaby Instagram Join the Very Dental Facebook group using the password "Gary," "Timmerman," Hornbrook" or "McWethy," "Papa Randy" or "Lipscomb!" The Very Dental Podcast network is and will remain free to download. If you'd like to support the shows you love at Very Dental then show a little love to the people that support us! -- Crazy Dental has everything you need from cotton rolls to equipment and everything in between and the best prices you'll find anywhere! If you head over to verydentalpodcast.com/crazy and use coupon code “VERYDENTAL10” you'll get another 10% off your order! Go save yourself some money and support the show all at the same time! -- The Wonderist Agency is basically a one stop shop for marketing your practice and your brand. From logo redesign to a full service marketing plan, the folks at Wonderist have you covered! Go check them out at verydentalpodcast.com/wonderist! -- Enova Illumination makes the very best in loupes and headlights, including their new ergonomic angled prism loupes! They also distribute loupe mounted cameras and even the amazing line of Zumax microscopes! If you want to help out the podcast while upping your magnification and headlight game, you need to head over to verydentalpodcast.com/enova to see their whole line of products! -- CAD-Ray offers the best service on a wide variety of digital scanners, printers, mills and even  their very own browser based design software, Clinux! CAD-Ray has been a huge supporter of the Very Dental Podcast Network and I can tell you that you'll get no better service on everything digital dentistry than the folks from CAD-Ray. Go check them out at verydentalpodcast.com/CADRay!

Justin Tang is a religious trauma coach, a formercharismatic evangelical who helps others heal from spiritual wounds throughintegrative trauma-informed methods. Drawing from his own journey ofdeconstruction which he describes in this episode, he helps guide clients fromfear and guilt to authenticity. Sprinkled throughout our conversation arepractical tips for emotional healing. If you know anyone who has suffered fromreligious guilt, religious OCD, fear and trauma due to their religious beliefs,please share this conversation with them.Justin's facebook page: ⁠Facebook⁠YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/@iwasjustintrance/To connect with Pooja: www.poojachilukuri.com

Strap in—literally—as we blast off into the most unhinged love triangle NASA ever produced. This week, we're digging deep into the totally real, totally insane story of astronaut Lisa Nowak, a brilliant Navy captain who traded in her space boots for adult diapers, pepper spray, and a cross-country stalking mission from hell. Fueled by jealousy, heartbreak, and maybe a little Tang-fueled psychosis, Lisa took a 900-mile bathroom-free road trip to confront her romantic rival... and ended up making mission control rethink their hiring process.

ByteDance is a global technology company operating a wide range of content platforms around the world, and is best known for creating TikTok. The company operates at a massive scale, which naturally presents challenges in ensuring performance and stability across its data centers. It has over a million servers running containerized applications, and this required The post ByteDance's Container Networking Stack with Chen Tang appeared first on Software Engineering Daily.

The sovereign, Naka no Oe is dead, and with his death comes an all too familiar tradition: different factions warring for the throne.  And this time it isn't just something we are guessing at, we get a front row seat to the show, with enough details to fill several episodes.  In Part I we will look at what kicked off the war--or at least what we know--and discuss a few of the theories.  We will also go over some of the events that happened while Prince Otomo was the head of state. For more, check out our podcast webpage at https://sengokudaimyo.com/podcast/episode-129 Rough Transcript Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo's Chronicles of Japan.  My name is Joshua, and this is episode 129:   The Jinshin no Ran, Part I: Prologue to War. The long bridge at Uji arched over the river, like a wooden rainbow.  Former Crown Prince Ohoama, his head shaved and wearing the garments of a monk, was carried over the bridge.   This was no simple priestly procession, however: he was accompanied by his entire household. Some on foot, and some on horseback.  Even the kesa, once meant to be a symbol of priestly humility and simplicity, cried out that this was a man of wealth and power and status. The procession made its way across the bridge, headed south, to the ancient Yamato capital and then on to the mountain passes beyond, where the cherry trees would bloom, come the spring.  At the north end of the bridge, the high ministers and nobility of Yamato watched them go.  The ministers of the Left and the Right stood in the cold, winter air, wrapped in their warmest clothing, but it wasn't just the weather that was causing a chill.  To some, this seemed a miracle—a clear sign that the succession would now be an easy one, with Ohoama taking himself off the board.  But to others, they weren't so sure. While many of Yamato's traditions had evolved or changed—or even been outright replaced by continental ideas—many still remembered how things had been.  The bloody politics and power struggles that often accompanied any transition of power.  Naka no Oe had risen to power in just such a fashion.  Now that he was not long for this world, would his legacy be any less violent? Greetings, everyone, and welcome back.  Last episode we took you through the official reign of Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou.  Granted, this reign was only from 668 to 671, but Naka no Oe had already been putting his stamp on the state for over 33 years.  Now, however, he was dead, as were those who had helped him implement his enormous changes, and with his death there was the question:  Who would now ascend to the throne? And that question brings us to today's topic:  The Jinshin no Ran, also known as the Jinshin War.  This was a succession dispute that occurred in the year 672 following the death of Naka no Oe, between Naka no Oe's son Ohotomo and his brother Ohoama.  The name, “Jinshin”, is formed much as the name of the “Isshi” incident, using the sinified Japanese reading of the sexagenary cycle characters used for the year.  672 was a “Mizu-no-e Saru” year, or what we today might just call a “Water Monkey” year.  Read together, these characters can be pronounced “Jinshin”, hence “Jinshin no Ran”. Quick digression:  That word “Ran”, indicating a war or similar martial disturbance, is the same character used as the title of the famous Kurosawa film that took Shakespear's King Lear story and set it in the Warring States period of Japan.  If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it—definitely a classic.  Not exactly relevant here, but still worth it. But back to the Jinshin War: we're going to likely spend a few episodes on this, not just because it is important, but also because the record is fairly detailed, and I'd like to use it to really help us get an idea of what was going on.  This episode we'll look at the broad picture: some of the causes of the war and where things were, generally speaking, just before the major campaigns kicked off. Of course, this isn't the first succession dispute in the Chronicles, but this one is incredibly detailed, and especially importantbecause it goes to the heart of the legitimacy of the royal family—the imperial family—for at least the next century.  To a certain extent, I would also suggest that it was exactly the kind of thing that the Nihon Shoki was created to address: an official history as propaganda for the Japanese court, telling  the court approved story of the royal family and providing justification as to why they are in power.  Along the way it also props up the lineages of other elites. So let's go over the basic story of the conflict before we get into the details.  I know, I know: spoilers.  But I think it will help to have context for what we are talking about right now.  To try to summarize: Ohoama, Naka no Oe's brother, is mentioned as the Crown Prince throughout Naka no Oe's reign, but just before Naka no Oe's death, Ohoama declined the position and went to Yoshino to become a Buddhist monk.  This allowed Naka no Oe's son, Prince Ohotomo, the current Dajo Daijin, or head of the council of state, to run the government and eventually take the throne.  However, shortly into Prince Ohotomo's reign, Ohoama raised an army and fought with Ohotomo and the court at Ohotsu-kyo, known as the Afumi court.  After a couple of months of intense fighting, Ohoama defeated the Afumi forces and Ohotomo.  Ohoama would go on to take the throne, becoming known as Temmu Tennou.  He is credited with starting the projects that culminated in the creation of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki. On the surface, this could easily look like a simple case of usurpation—especially if you come from a cultural background where sons are expected to inherit from their fathers, as is common in many European monarchies.  However, we have to remind ourselves that this isn't Europe.  For centuries, succession in Yamato had been much more chaotic than that.  Often succession went not to a son or daughter, but first to a brother, and even then it didn't necessarily go to the oldest brother, or to the oldest child.  Even designating an heir wasn't a guarantee that, after a ruler's death, someone else wouldn't come along and change things by force. Of course, the Nihon Shoki appears to lay out various rules for succession.  In most cases, your mother has to be descended—however distantly—from a previous sovereign.  Also, inheritance typically doesn't come at the attainment of adulthood.  It isn't like someone turns 20 and they are suddenly eligible.  We see plenty of reigns that are passed off as regencies—that is, the sovereign is legally just a caretaker for the throne until the true heir comes of age.  Perhaps the most famous of these is Okinaga Tarashi Hime, aka Jingu Tenno, who supposedly held the throne from the death of her husband until their son, Homuda Wake, aka Ojin Tenno, was of age.  But it isn't like she just abdicated.  In fact, I don't think we've seen a single example where a regent has abdicated the throne.  The only real abdication that we see is in 645, when Takara Hime, known as Kogyoku Tenno during her first reign, abdicated after the Isshi Incident.  There are also plenty of examples of possible claimants to the throne who certainly seem like they may have been supremely qualified for the position who end up dying or being killed, sometimes with the specific claim that they were trying to usurp the throne.  The most recent example is Furubito no Oe, who likely was in line to inherit the throne from Takara Hime prior to the Isshi Incident.  It doesn't help that the Chronicle often only calls people by their titles:  so it is the “Crown Prince” who does such and such, or it is “the sovereign”—without explicitly naming who that person is.  Of course, this is sometimes made clear by context, but that can't always be relied upon. This is compounded by the fact that at this time, Wa cultural norms were being overwritten by continental concepts of propriety and morality, with the growth of reading and continental works introducing many people to the discourses of Confucius and others.  Borrowing governmental structures and ideas from a Confucian state meant that Confucian ideals would get pulled along as well, even if those structures and ideas weren't strictly Confucian.  An example is the importance of filial piety, and so-called “Proper” relationships between people.  In some cases Confucian or even Buddhist concepts were used to explain and rationalize existing traditions, and in others they were used to provide a counter-narrative.  Thus the world described by the Nihon Shoki is one that was no doubt much more comprehensible to an 8th century member of court than to someone from the 3rd. I say all that so that we can keep an eye out for the Chroniclers' bias and perhaps give some thought to what might not have gotten written down. The creation of the Ritsuryo state was the culmination of over 33 years of work.  During that time, the Yamato court had centralized their power and control.  The Chronicles, looking back at the end of the process, report this as a good thing, and it is hard to argue that these reforms truly did lead to the country of Japan as we know it, today.  However, it probably wasn't all lollipops and rainbows.   The centralization of authority received pushback, and we see the center flexing its military might as well as legal and moral authority.  The new Ritsuryo state claimed a much greater control over land and resources than any previous government had done or  been able to do.  Even if the 5th century sovereign Wakatakeru no Ohokimi, aka Yuryaku Tenno, had people at his court from Kyushu to Kanto, influence isn't the same as control.  Up until the Ritsuryo reforms, it appears that local administrators had a lot of leeway in terms of what happened in their local domains.  After all, what could Yamato do about it?  As long as “taxes” were paid, then there was no reason for Yamato to otherwise interfere with local events, and even if there were, who would they get to enforce their will? But In the Ritsuryo system, at least conceptually, the State had local governors who reported back to the central authority.  These governors  were set apart from the Kuni no Miyatsuko, the traditional local authority, and their income was tied to the court. Moreover, this system wasn't just tradition and the whims of the elites: it was codified in written laws and punishments.  In fact, the Record of the Fujiwara—the Toushi Kaden—claims that the entire legal code was written down in 668 by their patriarch, Nakatomi no Kamatari, prior to his death.  There are also other references to this compilation, known to us as the “Oumi Code”, referencing the region that the court had moved to:  Afumi, around Lake Biwa.  Unfortunately, we don't have any extant copies of what, exactly, the Code said, other than various laws explicitly noted in the Nihon Shoki.  Still, we can assume that it was probably similar to later codes, which would have been using the Oumi code as a base from which to work from. The new authority for this code descended from the throne, based on continental and even Confucian concepts of the State.  And Naka no Oe had no doubt been the one to help maintain continuity over the past three decades.  Now he was dead, so what came next? Well based on what we have in the Nihon Shoki, that should be obvious:  His brother, the Crown Prince, Ohoama, would take the throne, wouldn't he?  After all, he was the designated Crown Prince, and he had been in that role, promulgating orders, and otherwise acting as we might expect, at least since Naka no Oe had given up the position. And yet, it seems there was some doubt.  After all, while a brother—or sister—inheriting the throne was hardly unheard of, Naka no Oe did have children of his own.  Most importantly, there was his son, Prince Ohotomo.  Ohotomo was only about 23 years old, but he had been made the Dajoudaijin, the head of the Council of State, which one would think would put him in a position of tremendous authority. Naka no Oe apparently had some inkling that there could be a succession dispute upon his death.  And so, two months after he had taken ill, as it became painfully obvious that he might not recover, he called in his brother, Crown Prince Ohoama, and he told him clearly that it was his intention to have his brother succeed him on the throne. Before going much further, I would note that the entries in the Nihon Shoki that speak to this incident are spread across two different books in that chronicle.  Part of it takes part in the chronicle of Tenji Tennou (Naka no Oe), but then the reign of Temmu Tennou (Ohoama) is actually broken up into two books, the first of which is often considered the history of the Jinshin Ran, while the second is really Temmu's reign.  And in some cases we get slightly different versions of the same event.    The Nihon Shoki was written less than 50 years after the events being discussed, so likely by people who had actual memory of what happened, it was also propaganda for the regime in power at the time.  So as we read through the events, we have to be critical about our source and what it is telling us. To that end, I'll mostly start out with the narrative as it appears in the Nihon Shoki, and then we can look back and see what else might be going on if we make some assumptions that the Chroniclers may not be the most reliable of narrators for these events. Anyway, getting back to the story as we have it in the Nihon Shoki:  So the person sent to fetch Prince Ohoama to come see his brother, the sovereign, was a man by the name of Soga no Yasumaru.  And Yasumaru brought not only the summons, but a warning, as well.  He told Prince Ohoama to “think before you speak”.  This suggested to Ohoama that there was some kind of plot afoot. And lest we forget, for all that Naka no Oe is often put up on a pedestal for his role in the Taika reforms and founding the nation—even the posthumous name they gave him was the “Sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom”—that pedestal he stands on is covered in blood.  Naka no Oe's political career starts with the brazen murder of Soga no Iruka in full view of all the gathered nobility, and is immediately followed with him marshalling forces against Soga no Emishi, who set fire to his own house rather than surrender. And then, shortly into the Taika period, Naka no Oe had his own brother, Furubito no Oe, killed so that he wouldn't be a threat.  And later, when he just heard a rumor that Soga no Ishikawa no Maro—his father-in-law, Prime Minister of the Right, and co-conspirator—was having treasonous thoughts, he gathered up forces to have him and his family murdered. And though it may have been a bit less bloody, let's not forget his apparent falling out with his uncle, Karu, where he left the giant palace complex at Naniwa and took the entire royal family to Asuka against his uncle, the sovereign's, wishes. Add to that the note from the Fujiwara family records, the Toushi Kaden, about the party at the “shore pavilion” where Ohoama spiked a spear through a plank of wood which rattled Naka no Oe enough that he was contemplating having him taken out right there.  According to that account, it was only the intervention of Nakatomi no Kamatari that saved Ohoama's life.  Even if it weren't true, it likely illustrates something about how their relationship was viewed by others. Given all of that, I think we can understand how Ohoama might not be entirely trusting of his older brother's intentions.  So when that same brother offered him control of the government, Ohoama was suspicious.  Perhaps it was because he was already the Crown Prince, the expected heir, so why would Naka no Oe be offering him the throne?  Perhaps it was some kind of test of his loyalty? And so Prince Ohoama declined.  He claimed that he had always had bad health, and probably wouldn't be a good choice.  Instead, he put forward that the Queen, Yamatobime, should be given charge, and that Naka no Oe's son, Prince Ohotomo, should be installed as the Crown Prince—the new successor to the throne.  Furthermore, to demonstrate his resolve, he asked to be allowed to renounce the world and become a monk. Indeed, immediately after the audience with his brother, Prince Ohoama went to the Buddhist hall in the palace itself and had his head shaved and took holy orders.  He even gave up any private weapons that he might have—likely meaning not just his personal weapons, but any private forces that might be under his command.  The sovereign himself sent his brother a kesa or clerical garment, apparently approving of—or at least accepting—his decision. Two days later, Prince Ohoama went back to his brother and asked to be allowed to leave for Yoshino to go and practice Buddhism there.  He was given permission and he headed out.  The ministers of the left and right, that is Soga no Akae and Nakatomi no Kane, along with Soga no Hatayasu, a “Dainagon” or Chief Counselor, and others, all traveled with him all the way to Uji, where they saw him off.  By evening he had made it as far as the Shima Palace, which is assumed to have been in Asuka—possibly at or near the site of the old Soga residence.  The following day he was in Yoshino. Arriving at Yoshino with his household, Prince Ohoama gave his servants a choice—those who wished could take orders and stay with him in Yoshino.  Those with ambitions at the court, though, were allowed to return back to Ohotsu, presumably going to work for another family.  At first, none of them wanted to leave his side, but he beseeched them a second time, and half of them decided to stay and become monks with him while half of them left, returning to the court. As we mentioned earlier, another royal prince—and possibly crown prince—had taken a similar option back in the year 645.  That was Prince Furubito no Oe, half-brother to Naka no Oe and Ohoama.  We talked about that back in episode 109.  As with that time, taking Buddhist orders and retiring from the world was meant to demonstrate that the individual was renouncing any claims on the throne and was no longer a threat to the succession. The Nihon Shoki notes, though, that as Prince Ohoama was leaving Uji, some commented that it was like the saying: “Give a tiger wings and let him go.”  The first part of that is no doubt referencing a saying still used in Mandarin, today:  “Rúhǔtiānyì” or “Yǔhǔtiānyì, meaning to “add wings to a tiger”—in other words to take something strong and make it even more powerful.  In this case, the choice to renounce the succession and leave court made Ohoama more powerful and then set him free to do what he wanted. There is a lot of speculation around what actually happened.  Prince Ohotomo had only recently come of age and been given the important position of Dajo Daijin.  Still, he was also only 23 years old.  Now, granted, Naka no Oe hadn't been much older, himself, when he instigated the Isshi Incident, but most sovereigns aren't mentioned as having come to the throne themselves until they were maybe 30 years old or more.  Still, there is at least one theory that suggests that Naka no Oe wanted to have his brother, Ohoama, step aside and let Ohotomo take the throne.  According to that theory, his request for Ohoama to succeed him as ruler eas a ruse to get Ohoama to admit his own ambition, which Naka no Oe could then use as a pretext to get rid of his brother. There is another theory that Naka no Oe wanted Ohoama to step in as effectively regent:  Ohoama would rule, but Ohotomo would then inherit after him. Ohoama's counterproposal is intriguing.  He suggested that the affairs of state should be given to Yamato-bime, Naka no Oe's queen, and that she should rule as regent until Ohotomo was ready.  Of course, we have examples of something like this, most recently from the previous reign.  Takara Hime came to the throne, originally, because her husband, who was the sovereign, passed away and their children were not yet of age to take the throne.  However, there is something interesting, here in the relationship between Yamato Bime and Ohotomo.  Because while Yamato Bime was the queen, and daughter, herself, of Furubito no Oe, Ohotomo was not clearly of the proper parentage.  He was not Yamato Bime's son – she had no children herself - , but  his mother was simply a “palace woman” named “Iga no Uneme no Yakako”.  This suggests that she was an uneme from Iga named Yakako, and we are given no details about her parentage.    She is also listed as the last of Naka no Oe's consorts, suggesting to the reader that she was the lowest in status. For this reason Ohotomo is known as the Iga Royal Prince, Iga no Miko. Of course, there are plenty of reasons why the Chroniclers might not want to give any glory to Prince Ohotomo or his mother.  After all, the story works out best if Ohoama should have just been the sovereign all along.  And this could all be technically true—the best kind of true—while also omitting key details so that the reader draws a certain inference.  The Chroniclers were pulling from lots of different sources, and you didn't have to do a lot of changing things when you could just not put them in in the first place.  In other cases we know that they changed the records, because we see them using anachronistic language that doesn't make sense if drawn from a contemporary record. And so we have at least a couple of theories of what might be going on here, beyond just the straight narrative.   One idea is that Naka no Oe wanted Ohotomo to inherit all along, and perhaps he thought Ohoama could be a regent to help him out once Naka no Oe passed away.  Or maybe he just wanted Ohoama out of the way.  There is also the theory that the Nihon Shoki is, in fact, correct, that Naka no Oe wanted to give the state to Ohoama, but the latter refused, either misunderstanding Naka no Oe's intentions or perhaps gauging the feeling at court—perhaps it wasn't Naka no Oe that Ohoama was worried about, but rather some of the high nobles and officials?   It is probably telling that Ohoama's reported solution was to have Yamato-bime act as regent, with Ohotomo eventually inheriting. Whatever the actual reason, Ohoama declined Ohoama headed off to self-imposed exile in Yoshino. Meanwhile, back in Afumi in the Ohotsu capital, Ohotsu-kyo, Ohotomo was now the de facto Crown Prince.  We are told that on the 23rd day of the 11th month of 671 he took his place in front of the embroidery figure of Buddha in the Western Hall of the Dairi, the royal quarters of the Ohotsu Palace.  He was attended by the Minister of the Left, Soga no Akaye, the Minister of the Right, Nakatomi no Kane, as well as Soga no Hatayasu, Kose no Hito, and Ki no Ushi.  Taking up an incense burner, Ohotomo made a vow that the six of them would obey the sovereign's commands, lest they be punished by the various Buddhist and local deities. These five ministers, along with Ohotomo, are going to show up again and again.   Moving forward, they would manage the government, and would be generally referred to as the Afumi court. And it is clear that the Chroniclers laid the blame for anything that might happen at their feet. The Afumi court would continue court business as usual, and they were immediately thrown into the thick of it.  For instance, they were likely the ones to entertain the Tang envoys that arrived that same month.  You see, the priest Douku (or possibly “Doubun”), along with Tsukushi no Kimi no Satsuyama, Karashima no Suguri no Sasa, and Nunoshi no Obito no Iwa, had finally made it back from their journey to the mainland.  They brought with them Guo Wucong along with an embassy from the Tang court that numbered approximately 600 members, as well as ambassador Sathek Sonteung, of Silla, with his own embassy of about 1400 people. This enormous entourage sailed in 47 ships, and they had anchored at the island of Hijishima.   The Governor of Tsushima, responsible for being the first line of met with them.  Given then number fo ships, they didn't want it to look like it was a hostile invasion, so the governor sent a letter to  Prince Kurikuma, the viceroy of Tsukushi, to let him know what was happening.  Prince Kurikuma had them send Doubun and others ahead to the capital, so that they could let the court know that a massive embassy had arrived, and to prepare the way for them. However, with the sovereign in extremely poor health, and the court otherwise preoccupied with preparations for what might come next, , they kept the embassy at Tsukushi, for the time being.  We are told that that they sent presents on the 29th for the king of Silla, but no indication of them being brought to the court. Enormous foreign embassies aside, the Afumi court had plenty to deal with close to home.  It didn't help that the day after Ohotomo and the ministers had gathered to make their oaths, a fire broke out in the Ohotsu palace, apparently originating with the third storehouse of the treasury.    Several days later, the five ministers, attending the Crown Prince, Ohotomo, made oaths of loyalty in the presence of Naka no Oe, whose condition was only growing worse.  And four days later, on the third day of the fourth month, Naka no Oe passed away.  He was then temporarily interred in what is referred to as the “New Palace”. And contrary to what Ohoama had suggested, there is no indication that Queen Yamato-bime was installed as any kind of regent.  Instead it seems as if Ohotomo was just jumping in and taking the reins.  Granted, he also had the Council of State to lean on, so there's that.  The Chronicles are pretty quiet for a couple of months after Naka no Oe's death, and then we are told that Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki was sent to Tsukushi to let the Tang ambassador Guo Wucong know the news.  We are told that on the 18th day of the 3rd month, Guo Wucong, I presume having made it to Ohotsu, publicly mourned the late sovereign.  Three days later, on the 21st, he made obeisance at the court, presumably to Ohotomo, and offered up a box with a letter from the Tang emperor and various presents in token of goodwill for the sovereign of Yamato.  A couple of months later, the Afumi court returned the favor, presenting armor, bows, and arrows as well as cloth, floss, and silk.  Later in that same 5th month, Guo Wucong and his people departed for the continent. And here is where we hit one of the big questions of this whole thing:  Had Ohotomo been formally invested as sovereign, yet?  We clearly see that he had his father's ministers on his side, and they were running things.  Then again, it took years after Takara Hime's death before Naka no Oe, himself, formally stepped up. It is quite possible that Ohotomo was not yet invested, and perhaps that was, in part, because there was another person with a claim who was still alive.  It is hard to say. What we do know is that the consensus opinion for centuries was that Ohotomo was never formally invested as sovereign.  He is certainly seen as having inherited the governance of the kingdom, but he was never considered one of the official sovereigns.  That all changed in relatively recent times.  In fact, it wasn't until 1870, the early years of the Meiji period, that Prince Ohotomo was given a posthumous title and regnal name:  Koubun Tennou.  Today, the Imperial Household Agency and some historians consider Ohotomo to have been an official sovereign, but that isn't everyone.  If he was, though, much what we see would have been happening at his court. That same month that Guo Wucong departed, Prince Ohoama got wind that something hinky was afoot.  Ohoama was residing as a monk in Yoshino, but by all accounts he still had half of his household staff, his wives, and family, all with him.  Also, as the former Crown Prince, he clearly had friends and allies.  After all, he was still a member of the royal household. And so it was in the 5th month that he heard from one Yenewi no Muraji no Wogimi that there was something amiss.  For one thing, the Afumi court had called up laborers to build the tomb for Naka no Oe, but word was that they had issued those so-called laborers with weapons rather than tools.  Wogimi seemed worried that they were preparing to do something about Ohoama.  After all, even though he had theoretically retired from the world, as long as he was alive, he still had a claim on the throne, similar to the problem of Prince Furubito no Oe back in 645. Someone else told Ohoama that they noticed pickets were being set up in various places between the Afumi and Yamato—another sign that the Afumi court was apparently expecting some kind of military action.  Furthermore, the guards at the Uji bridge were no longer allowing supplies bound for Yoshino and Ohoama's household. It seemed clear that something was up, and so Ohoama made an announcement:  while he had renounced the royal dignity and retired from the world, it was only because of his poor health and a desire to live a long and happy life.  If that life was being threatened by forces outside of his control, then why would he let himself be taken quietly? From that point, he seems to have started plotting and gathering  forces of his own, in case things came to a head.  Of course, there are those who suggest that, in truth, Ohoama had been plotting and raising forces ever since he started his exile in Yoshino—or at least since his father passed away.  Indeed, once things kick off, you'll notice how quickly people are levying troops, as if spontaneously deciding to support Ohoama's cause, and I would suggest that there was probably lot of back and forth that we just don't see because it was never recorded. Things reached a tipping point on the 22nd day of the 6th month.  That is when Ohoama gave orders to three of his vassals, Murakami no Muraji no Woyori, Wanibe no Omi no Kimide, and Muketsu no Kimi no Hiro.  He claimed that the Afumi Court was plotting against him, so he asked his vassals to go to the land of Mino—modern Gifu prefecture—and to reach out to Oho no Omi no Honeji, the governor of the Ahachima district hot springs—now the area of Anpachi.  Honeji was to levy soldiers and set them out on the Fuwa road—this was the road from Mino to Afumi, and was one of the few ways in and out of Afumi region. As we've mentioned in the past, the benefit of Ohotsu-kyo was its naturally defended position.  Lake Biwa is surrounded on all sides by mountains, and there were only a few ways in and out.  The Fuwa Pass is at the edge of a location that you may have heard of: today we know that region as Sekigahara.  That is because it was one of several seki, or barriers, set up to help check movements across the archipelago.  To the south, one could also use the Suzuka pass, where there would likewise be set up the Suzuka no Seki, or Suzuka barrier.  Suzuka was accessible from Afumi via the regions of Koga and Iga.  There was also the Afusaka no Seki, between Afumi and the area of modern Kyoto, and the Arachi no Seki, between Afumi and Tsuruga, on the Japan Sea—where many of the Goguryeo missions had arrived. Of these, the Afusaka barrier and the Fuwa barrier were probably the most well known and most heavily traveled.  Control of the Fuwa pass would be critical throughout Japan's history, controlling much of the traffic between eastern and western Japan.  Hence why, over 900 years later, another fight would come to a head here, as the battle of Sekigahara would see Tokugawa Ieyasu's eastern forces defeating the western army of Ishida Mitsunari.  That battle is seen as a decisive victory that birthed the Tokugawa shogunate, who would rule Japan for the next 250 years. So for Ohoama, having Honeji and his men take control of the Fuwa barrier was critical, as it would limit the Afumi court's ability to levy forces in the eastern provinces. A few days later, Ohoama was himself about to move out,  but his advisors stopped him.  They were worried about heading east without an army, yet.  Ohoama agreed, and he wished that he hadn't sent Woyori out just yet—Woyori was someone he trusted, militarily.  Instead, however, he had to make do.  And so he had Ohokida no Kimi no Yesaka, Kibumi no Muraji no Ohotomo, and Afu no Omi no Shima go to Prince Takasaka, who was in charge of the Wokamoto Palace in Asuka, and apply for posting bells—the tokens that would allow him and others use the various official post stations to supply them with provisions as they traveled.  Speaking of this palace,  although the court had moved to Ohotsu, a palace was maintained in Asuka.  After all, this was still seen as the “ancient capital” and the home to a lot of powerful families, so it makes sense that the royal family kept the palace in working order.  It also appears to have functioned as the local government headquarters for the region, with Prince Takasaka, or Takasaka no Ou, at its head. Asking for the posting bells was a test by Ohoama.  If he received them, then great, it would give him the ability to travel to the east, where he could presumably raise troops to protect himself.  However, if Prince Takasaka refused, then that would be a sign that the Afumi government had, indeed, sent word that Ohoama was not supposed to go anywhere.  If that was to happen, then Afu no Shima would return to Yoshino to let Ohoama know, while Ohokida no Yesaka would go to Afumi to tell Ohoama's sons, Prince Takechi and Prince Ohotsu, to make haste and meet him in Ise. Sure enough, Prince Takasaka refused the posting bells, and so, on the 24th of the 6th month, Prince Ohoama made the decision to move.  They left quickly—he didn't even let anyone saddle a horse for him or prepare his carriage.  He just started to head out on foot on a journey to the East. That journey would set in motion the coming conflagration.  Ohoama and his allies would quickly gather their forces in an incredibly short period of time, starting with a daring trek across the mountainous path between Yoshino and the land of Ise.  At the same time, the Afumi court would levy their own forces.  It was now a race for people and positions.  And to see how that race progressed, I'll ask you to tune in next episode, when we take a look at the opening moves in the war for the throne of Yamato.Until then, thank you once again 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.

In a world flooded with information about women’s health - from TikTok trends to wellness influencers - separating fact from fiction has never been more challenging. This candid conversation between Katie Couric and gynecologist Dr. Karen Tang tackles the most persistent myths and misinformation surrounding women's health, with special focus on menstruation and incontinence.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Personal trainer Tina Tang, 54, focuses on strength and balance for women in their 50s and beyond, drawing from her untraditional path of starting lifting weights at 40 and becoming a trainer at 42. The interview highlights how perimenopause and menopause lead to physical changes like insomnia, irregular periods, hormone-related weight gain, mood swings, and critically, a significant drop in estrogen and progesterone, impacting bone density (50% of women over 50 face osteoporosis or osteopenia) and contributing to muscle mass loss. Tang debunks fitness myths, stating that worrying about supplements like creatine or tools like a weighted vest is secondary to foundational health: adults should be strength training at least twice a week (30 minutes, full body) and getting 150 minutes of moderate cardio weekly, as recommended by WHO/CDC guidelines, which are proven preventative measures against all-cause mortality. The conversation differentiates strength from power (using strength quickly), noting power is lost fastest with age, but strength is its foundation. Balance, especially unilateral activities like tree pose or even brushing teeth on one leg, is critical. Plyometrics (jump training), which involve being airborne and landing repeatedly, are vital for bone density due to impact against gravity and for improving reactivity time to prevent falls. Simple home practices to start include taking more walks, utilizing technology like YouTube for short workouts, and finding accountability through friends.

"You know, Homer, when I found out about this I went through a wide range of emotions. First I was nervous, then anxious, then wary, then apprehensive, then... kinda sleepy, then worried, and then concerned. But now I realize that being a spaceman is something you have to do." - Marge Simpson In a bid to win his family's respect, Homer enters a space program geared towards blue-collar slobs in search of Tang. But will his love of ruffled potato chips and hatred for inanimate carbon rods be his undoing? Our guest: Maddie Copp Support this podcast and get over 200 ad-free bonus episodes by visiting Patreon.com/TalkingSimpsons and becoming a patron! And please follow the official Twitter, @TalkSimpsonsPod, not to mention Bluesky and Instagram!

Last time we spoke about the Marco Polo Bridge Incident. On July 7, 1937, tensions escalated between Japan and China as the Japanese military conducted a training exercise near the Marco Polo Bridge. During the exercise, gunfire erupted, sowing confusion and leading to the unexplained disappearance of one soldier. This incident prompted Japan to demand permission to search the nearby city of Wanping, which was denied by Chinese forces, escalating tensions further. By the next day, Japanese troops attacked, resulting in fierce fighting at the bridge. Under heavy assault, Chinese defenders fought valiantly but faced overwhelming force. As the conflict intensified, both sides struggled with heavy casualties, leading to the full-scale Sino-Japanese War. The Japanese military's aggressive maneuvers and the determined Chinese resistance marked the beginning of a brutal conflict, forever altering the landscape of East Asia. The profound toll on both nations foreshadowed the horrors of war that were to come, as China prepared to defend its sovereignty against a relentless enemy.   #155 Operation Chahar 1937 Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. By the end of July of 1937 the Japanese had overwhelmed the Beiping-Tianjin region. It's pretty understandable as to how this came so fast. As we have discussed thoroughly in this series, the Japanese had gradually seized control over Northern China going back to Operation Nekka in 1933. Little by little they had carved it out. Typically when you pull out a map of a war between two nations, one nation pierces into the other and gradually seizes control of key locations until it archives victory. However with the case of the outset of the Second Sino-Japanese War its more like the Japanese are starting at multiple key locations where they have concessions, treaties or where there are autonomous regions. Thus its honestly a huge headache to follow. When the Marco Polo Bridge Incident broke out, Chiang Kai-Shek had been in Kuling, a mountain top resort where he spent his summer vacations. He received the news with composure, but his message to the nation conveyed a sense of optimism and anticipation. The embarrassment of the Sian mutiny was a thing of the past. Although he wasn't overly confident, he believed that this was the pivotal moment China had been preparing for, more so than at any time in recent years. For nearly three weeks, efforts were made to resolve the situation through diplomatic means. For the first time, Chiang was in a position to make demands. He understood they would likely be rejected, but that wasn't the main point. He asked Japan to acknowledge its responsibility for the recent turmoil, to issue an apology, and to provide compensation. After making that request, he addressed his nation with a formal commitment: China would not accept any settlement that compromised its sovereign rights or territorial integrity. No changes would be permitted regarding the status of the Hubei-Chahar Council, and local officials would not be reassigned at the request of any foreign government. Any restrictions on the Twenty-ninth Army's positions would be unacceptable. He declared that the era of Japanese expansion in North China had come to a definitive end. The Japanese army achieved significant victories on the battlefield in China, leading to the inevitable expansion of the conflict. The first major campaign following the Nanyuan victory unfolded along the mountainous border marked by the inner Great Wall, separating northern Hubei from Chahar. On the Jinpu Railway, just south of Tianjin, lies a small station known as Jinghai. Adjacent to this station is the Jian River, which had swollen to a width of 20 meters due to intermittent heavy rains in northern China after the Japanese army's occupation of Tianjin. The embankments on either side of the river were overgrown with dense reeds and grass, and a wooden arch bridge spanned the river. After landing at Dagukou in Tianjin, the 10th Division, commanded by Lieutenant General Rensuke Isogai, advanced south along the Jinpu Railway. However, as the vanguard, the 10th Regiment of the 33rd Brigade made its way through the muddy terrain towards the Jian River's wooden bridge, they were suddenly taken aback. A group of Chinese soldiers appeared, their faces vividly painted red and armed with long-handled broadswords, a sight reminiscent of the legendary Chinese figure Guan Yu, as depicted in many traditional portraits. These soldiers belonged to the 26th Independent Brigade of the 38th Division of the 29th Army, who were in retreat from Tianjin. Following the city's fall, they had retreated southward to Jinghai Station, where they prepared to make a stand. Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan recognized their inferior numbers and weaponry compared to the Japanese forces. Drawing from painful lessons learned during the positional battles in Tianjin, he decided to divide his troops strategically: one battalion would defend the station, another would protect the county town, and a third would engage in guerrilla tactics along the Jinpu Road. If faced with a small number of Japanese soldiers, they would fight fiercely; if overwhelmed, they would attempt to encircle the attackers to prevent a direct assault on their main position. Despite the Japanese army's attempts to advance, including efforts to send an armored train into Jinghai Station, the Chinese soldiers cleverly laid straw on the tracks and buried mines, thwarting the train's progress. Once Japanese troops disembarked to mount an offensive, they were ambushed by the battalion executing guerrilla tactics, resulting in a chaotic retreat that left behind several dozen casualties. Over the course of weeks, the divisional headquarters ordered a battalion of Japanese troops to move south along the Jinpu Road, requiring them to cross the Jian River at the wooden bridge. The 26th Independent Brigade was assigned to halt this advance, and they managed to hold their ground for over 20 days. Recognizing the gravity of their situation, Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan gathered his group and battalion commanders to emphasize the necessity of pushing back the Japanese forces. He passionately rallied them, declaring, “We must defend this river to the death. Each regiment will select a death squad. Each member will carry a long-handled broadsword and four grenades, paint their faces red and rush across the bridge to engage in melee combat!” When Li asked for volunteers to lead the death squad, the regiment commander, Zhu, eagerly stepped forward, quickly gathering a group that followed him, uniting passionately in their cause. The death squad charged across the bridge, catching the Japanese off guard with their war paint and weapons. The sudden attack left the Japanese soldiers dazed, leading to a chaotic retreat as they struggled through the muddy terrain. In the tumult, more than 200 long-handled swords struck down a significant number of Japanese troops. Those advancing from behind panicked at the sight of their retreating comrades. An officer, dismounted during the chaos, was left behind, and the Chinese soldiers, filled with zeal, pressed forward, ignoring the orders from Brigade Commander Li Zhiyuan to fall back for their own safety. Despite moments of heroism, many fell that day by the Jian River, as the officers and soldiers burned their boats and set fire to the wooden bridge, rendering retreat impossible. As the Japanese military consolidated its power in the Pingjin region, many leaders underestimated the tenacity of Chinese resistance. Plans were made to defeat the Chinese army and air force swiftly, aiming to resolve the issue in North China decisively, with no diplomatic negotiations or external interventions allowed during military operations. Now, in late July to early August, Chiang Kai-shek issued orders to improve defenses at Nankou. He mobilized Tang Enbo's 13th Army in Suidong for battle readiness, tasked Liu Ruming to sabotage railways, and directed Fu Zuoyi and Yan Xishan in Suiyuan to prepare for conflict. Troops were reorganized rapidly, with divisions merging to strengthen the 17th Army under Liu Ruming's command. Chiang insisted that Nankou's defenses be deep and wide to thwart enemy cavalry and tank assaults, rendering Japanese mechanized advantages ineffective. He called for close cooperation among commanders and a resolute defense. Tang Enbo's 13th Army, consisted of the 4th and 89th Divisions, whom established defensive positions along the Peiping-Suiyuan Railway at Nankou, with additional units positioned further back at Juyongguan. The 13th Army, was 20,000 men strong, all motivated soldiers committed to fighting the Japanese, but their equipment was woefully inadequate. The 89th Division had a few outdated artillery pieces, whilst other units were in even worse condition, hampering their effectiveness against the well-armed Japanese forces. Liu's 17th Army stationed its 84th Division at Chihcheng, Yanqing, and Longguan, effectively securing the flank of the 13th Army against potential Japanese advances from Chahar. The 21st Division was deployed in Huailai, situated along the railway to the rear of Tang's forces. Additionally, Zhao Chengshou's 1st Cavalry Army, Liu 's 143rd Division, and two Peace Preservation Brigades commenced an offensive against Mongol forces in northern Chahar. As the Japanese launched initial assaults on Nankou on August 4, fierce fighting erupted. The Chinese defenders fought valiantly, but heavy bombardments by artillery and air raids took a toll. The Japanese began using tanks to support their infantry, yet the 530th Regiment successfully repelled an attack at Deshengkou. Meanwhile, the Japanese intensified their efforts, culminating in poison gas assaults that overwhelmed Chinese positions on Longhutai, leading to significant losses. Despite the escalating pressure and casualties, the determination to hold Nankou was unwavering. On August 5, the Kwantung Army requested permission for the advance guard to move to Changpei, arguing that the Central Army's invasion of Chahar had jeopardized the security of Manchukuo. This request was denied, yet the advance guard proceeded to Changpei on August 8. This unauthorized movement by the Kwantung Army was a serious act of defiance, as Tolun lay outside Manchukuo's borders, and troop deployments required imperial authorization. Although imperial sanction had been obtained for the move to Tolun on July 28, permission for the advance guard to proceed was only granted retroactively, with the stipulation that they would not advance further into Inner Mongolia. Nevertheless, this unauthorized action ultimately compelled the high command to approve the advance to Changpei. On August 7, the Japanese army launched a large assault on Nankou with its three main divisions, aiming to breach the Great Wall and advance westward along the Pingsui Railway to flank the strategic city of Shanxi. By August 8, the Japanese forces that had captured Beiping and Tianjin deployed the entire 20th Division, commanded by Lieutenant General Kawagishi Fumisaburo, and supplemented their efforts with the 5th and 10th Divisions, along with the Sakai Brigade, to attack Nankou along the Pingsui Railway. On August 8, the Japanese 11th Independent Mixed Brigade, led by General Shigiyasu Suzuki, initiated an attack on the left flank of the 13th Corps' position at Nankou. However, their efforts were halted after three days due to challenging terrain and the determined resistance from Chinese forces.  On the same day, Chiang Kai-shek ordered the activation of the 14th Group Army, comprising the 10th, 83rd, and 85th Divisions, under General Wei Lihuang. Elements of the 14th Group Army traveled by rail from Yingchia-chuang to Yi County and then embarked on a ten-day march through the plains west of Beiping to flank and support Tang Enbo's forces. Meanwhile, the Chinese 1st Army Region launched attacks against the Japanese in Liangxiang and Chaili to divert their attention and dispatched a detachment to Heilung Pass to cover the advance of the 14th Group Army. On August 9, the central high command ordered the China Garrison Army to eliminate resistance in the area and instructed Kwantung Army Commander Ueda Kenkichi to send reinforcements from Jehol and Inner Mongolia to support the operation. The China Garrison Army deployed its 11th Independent Mixed Brigade and the 5th Division, recently arrived from Hiroshima under Lieutenant-General Itagaki Seishirö, to launch an attack on the mountainous regions around Nankou and Pataling within the Great Wall. Following intense fighting, they succeeded in crossing into Chahar.    The Kwantung Army aimed to conquer Chahar and, upon receiving approval from the Japanese General Staff, established an expeditionary headquarters on August 14, led by its chief of staff, Lieutenant General Tojo Hideki. Yes that Tojo. Tokyo's objective was to secure the strategic flank of Manchukuo, while the Kwantung Army sought to create puppet regimes in northern China and integrate the occupied territories into a Japanese sphere of influence. The Chahar Expeditionary Force comprised three mixed brigades, including Japan's only fully mechanized unit, which was equipped with medium tanks, heavy and light armored vehicles, and light tanks. The Japanese troops shifted their main attack toward Zhangjiakou via the Pingsui Railway due to pressures from the Kwantung Army eager to occupy Inner Mongolia, Suiyuan, and Chahar. They sought to eliminate threats from the rear before launching further operations along the Pinghan Line and Jinpu Line. The 11th Independent Mixed Brigade of the 20th Division of the Chinese Garrison Army was ordered to assault Chinese defenders in the Nankou area, with the goal of capturing key locations on the Great Wall, like Badaling, to facilitate the Fifth Division's advance. The Chinese assessed the Japanese strategy, believing they would first secure critical points along the Pingsui route to facilitate further incursions into Shanxi and Zhengding. They understood that holding the Nankou line was vital for both logistical support and tactical maneuvering. Nankou, a key town on the Pingsui Railway connecting Beijing to Zhangjiakou and Baotou, was surrounded by mountains and the Great Wall, marking it a significant natural defense line. As the Japanese army aimed to capture Zhangjiakou and divide their forces into Shanxi and Suiyuan, the Chinese army's control over Nankou became crucial. A renewed assault on August 11, bolstered by tanks and aircraft, successfully captured Nankou Station, allowing General Suzuki's brigade to advance toward Juyong Pass. On August 12, Tang Enbo's army launched a counterattack, encircling the Japanese forces and severing their supply and communication lines. That day, Tang Enbo sent a telegram to Luo Fanggui: “Brother Fanggui, Commander Luo of the 529th Regiment, I have received your telegram. Your regiment has recently defeated formidable enemies, laying the groundwork for our army's future victories. Your efforts bring me great relief! The Nankou position is critical to our nation's war of resistance. Despite the enemy's numerical superiority and fierce artillery fire, we cannot surrender this area. It is our fighting spirit, not our numbers or advanced weaponry, that will help us withstand these powerful foes. We vow never to abandon our positions. Life is transient, and we must embrace our fate. A hero perishing on the battlefield is the glorious destiny of a soldier.” On the same day, he also sent a telegram to Wang Zhonglian: “Brother Jieren Wang, commander of the 89th Division, I have read your telegram. Brigade Li has triumphed against formidable foes, establishing a precedent for our army's victory. Your successes bring me much comfort! The Nankou position is our glorious objective. If I perish, the country lives on. If I survive, the country perishes. We would rather die defending this position than live in disgrace. Please convey to all the officers and soldiers of your division, who share in this struggle, the importance of striving for victory!” On August 13, Tang Enbo ordered the defensive positions at Nankou to be abandoned as the remaining troops pulled back to stronger positions at Badaling and Juyongguan. Renowned journalist Fan Changjiang noted Tang Enbo's physical and emotional toll, describing him as a mere shadow of his former self after enduring relentless battles without rest. His subsequent thoughts and fears reflected the despair of facing insurmountable odds, with the Japanese army overwhelming the Nankou defenses. Casualty reports from the Battle of Nankou reveal stark discrepancies; average estimates suggest Chinese losses neared 26,000, while Japanese casualties were around 2,600,an alarming ratio of 10 to 1. Despite the devastating defeat, Tang Enbo's leadership gained national recognition for his efforts, though he viewed the loss of Nankou as a blemish on an otherwise honorable defense. The indomitable spirit displayed during the relentless struggle at Nankou, despite the defeat and challenges faced, inspired a sense of resilience among the Chinese people, reminding them that even in dire circumstances, they would not yield to oppression. Meanwhile in response to having their supply and communication lines severed, on August 14, Seishirō Itagaki dispatched the 5th Division to relieve the 11th Independent Mixed Brigade at Juyonggua. Fu Zuoyi's troops attacked Chahar from Suidong. Dong Qiwu 's troops attacked Shangdu and recaptured it on the 14th, while Shi Yushan 's troops attacked Dehua and recaptured it on the 16th. By the 16, Itagaki had arrived at Nankou and initiated an enveloping assault targeting the right flank of the 13th Army, executing a five-pronged attack at Huanglaoyuan. In anticipation, the 7th Brigade of the 4th Division, commanded by Shi Jue, was positioned to counter this maneuver. Reinforcements, including Li Xianzhou's 21st Division and Zhu Huaibing's 94th Division, were brought in, resulting in several days of intense fighting. On August 17, General Yan Xishan, Director of the Taiyuan Pacification Headquarters, ordered the 7th Group Army, commanded by Fu Zuoyi, to move the 72nd Division and three additional brigades by rail from Datong to Huailai to support Tang Enbo's forces. Chiang Kai-shek urged steadfastness in the face of adversity, emphasizing that retreat was not an option. But with communication breakdowns and logistical challenges, Tang Enbo faced dilemmas that would lead him to issue the order for his troops to break out on August 26. As the Japanese army occupied Huailai and Yanqing, Tang Enbo's forces executed a withdrawal, retreating via various routes before suffering further losses.  Meanwhile Liu Ruming's troops of the 143rd Division of the 29th Army took Zhangbei from Zhangjiakou . Proceed to Wanquan Dam , the junction of Wanquan and Zhangbei. The members of the pseudo-Mongolian military government fled to Duolun under the leadership of King De . In order to relieve the danger in Zhangjiakou, Liu Ruming's troops began to attack the enemy in Zhangbei. On August 20, they captured key points such as Bolicai Village outside Zhangbei City. At this time, the mechanized troops of the Japanese Kwantung Army led by Hideki Tojo rushed from Rehe to support Zhangbei. When passing through Guyuan, they were divided into two groups: one group of Japanese troops, the Suzuki Brigade and Homma Brigade went south to attack Zhangjiakou. On the night of August 21, the Chinese army retreated to Shenweitai, 25 kilometers south of Zhangbei County. On August 22, the Japanese army began its attack. Shenwei Tower fell at midnight on the 23rd. At the same time, another part of the Japanese army launched a roundabout attack on Wanquan County. On the morning of August 24, they captured Wanquan County, and then headed straight for Zhangjiakou along the highway with an infantry regiment and an artillery battalion. From August 25 to 27, the Japanese army attacked Bajiaotai, the highest point of Cir Mountain west of Zhangjiakou. At noon on the 27th, Zhangjiakou fell. Gao Guizi's 17th Army marched to Dushikou to resist the enemy from Duolun Akagi and Longguan and intercepted the Pingsui Railway. Gao Guizi's troops failed to withstand the Japanese attack, and the 301st Regiment of the 29th Army stationed in Xuanhua also retreated southward. On August 28, Xuanhua fell into the hands of the enemy. Meanwhile, in northern Chahar, the Chinese 1st Cavalry Army successfully captured Shangdu, Nanhaochan, Shangyi, and Huade from the puppet Mongolian Army led by Demchugdongrub. Elements of the 143rd Division secured Zhongli, while the main force advanced to Zhangbei. During this Chinese offensive, the Japanese Chahar Expeditionary Force, consisting of the mechanized 1st Independent Mixed Brigade along with the 2nd and 15th Mixed Brigades, prepared for a counteroffensive from Zhangbei to Kalgan. Tojo personally commanded the units of the 1st Independent Mixed Brigade during Operation Chahar, which would serve as his only real combat service for his career. From August 18 to 19, the Chahar Expeditionary Force launched a counterattack from Zhangbei, capturing Shenweitaiko on the Great Wall and the Hanno Dam. The scattered and ill-equipped Chinese forces were unable to halt the Japanese advance, which now threatened the Peking–Suiyuan Railway at Kalgan. On August 20, General Fu Zuoyi's 7th Group Army diverted its 200th and 211th Brigades, which had been moving south by rail to join General Tang Enbo's forces, back to defend Kalgan. Fu's remaining 72nd Division arrived to reinforce Chenpien, while his 7th Separate Brigade was dispatched to protect the railhead at Huailai.On August 21, the Japanese forces breached the defenses at the villages of Henglingcheng and Chenbiancheng. General Tang Enbo's forces, awaiting reinforcements but having suffered over 50% casualties, continued to defend Huailai, Juyong Pass, and Yanqing. Liu Ruming's 143rd Division retreated to safeguard Kalgan from the advancing Japanese troops. On August 23, as Seishirō Itagaki's 5th Division advanced toward Huailai from Chenpien against Ma Yenshou's 7th Separate Brigade, advance elements of the 14th Army Group arrived on the Japanese flank at Chingpaikou. They successfully drove off the Japanese outpost and made contact with Japanese forces advancing toward Chenpien. However, delays in crossing the Yongding River postponed their attack until it was too late to halt the Japanese advance. Due to poor communications, they also failed to coordinate with General Tang Enbo's forces during the battle. After eight days and nights of fierce fighting, on August 24, Itagaki linked up with the Kwantung Army's 2nd Independent Mixed Brigade at Xiahuayuan. By August 24, the Japanese army breached the defensive line of the Chinese defenders' Wang Wanling Division along the western Hengling, crossed the Great Wall, and advanced into the Huailai area. At this time, the Japanese forces attacking Zhangjiakou from Chabei also secured control of the railway line west of Zhangjiakou, posing a significant threat to the Chinese defenders at Nankou. On August 25, the Chinese defenders were compelled to withdraw from Nankou and retreat to Juyongguan. By August 27, they received orders to break out and relocate southward, completely evacuating the Nankou battlefield. Since Wei Lihuang's troops lost their intended target for reinforcement and Baoding along the Pinghan Line was in a state of emergency, they engaged the enemy in the Wanping area for over a month before retreating south. Following the abandonment of both Nankou and Juyongguan, the Japanese army invaded Huailai City on the night of August 27. The Chinese army suffered over 16,000 casualties, while the Japanese army reported more than 15,000 casualties. On August 26, General Tang Enbo's forces were ordered to break out toward the Sangchien River, while Liu Ruming's troops were directed to withdraw to the opposite side of the Hsiang-yang River. On August 29, a Japanese unit known as the Oui Column by the Chinese and the Ohizumi Detachment by the Japanese launched an attack. According to Hsu Long-hsuen, this unit moved south from Tushihkou, and on August 30, it attacked Yenching via Chihcheng but was repelled by the Chinese 17th Army. The unit had moved to Guyuan by August 25 and reached Xuanhua by September 7, effectively cutting the railway behind Tang's forces and east of the Chinese defenders along the Great Wall. Following the repulsion of the Oui Column's attack, the Chinese 17th Army withdrew to join the rest of Tang Enbo's forces on the far side of the Sangchien River. Kalgan fell to the Japanese on August 27. After General Fu Zuoyi's 200th and 211th Brigades failed in their counterattack to recapture Kalgan, Fu's forces retreated to the west to defend the railway to Suiyuan at Chaikoupao.  On August 30, the army high command ordered the task force and the China Garrison Army to occupy Chahar Province. The North China Area Army deployed Lieutenant General Itagaki Seishiro's Fifth Division, the theater's strategic reserve, for this operation. The Japanese forces relied on armored units to breach Chinese defenses and utilized rail lines to transport troops and supplies effectively to critical locations throughout Chahar. Although the First Independent Mixed Brigade's tanks and armored cars demonstrated proficiency, the Kwantung Army's assessment of the operation criticized the armored units for their lack of shock effect and frequent mechanical breakdowns. Additionally, these vehicles required significant supplies and maintenance, leading the army to deem them ineffective in combat situations. The Second Air Group provided crucial support for the ground offensive in Chahar. From mid-August, this air group, stationed in Chengde and Jingzhou, conducted bombing raids on enemy positions and transport routes, performed reconnaissance missions, and even airdropped supplies to encircled Japanese forces. To match the rapid advance of the mechanized ground forces, air units were repositioned to advanced airfields. After bombing Taiyuan in late August, some units returned to their home bases, leaving behind two fighter squadrons and two heavy bomber squadrons, which formed a provisional air regiment. By mid-September, the Fifth Division and the Chahar Expeditionary Force were advancing southwest through the rugged mountains of Shanxi Province and captured Datong on September 13. Five days later, anticipating a decisive battle, Lieutenant General Katsuki ordered the Fifth Division to pivot southeast toward Baoding to encircle the retreating Chinese forces. Shortly after repositioning, Itagaki learned from aerial reconnaissance that Chinese units were assembling near Pingxingguan (Dayingzhen) Pass. Concerned that these forces might advance eastward through the pass and threaten his rear, Itagaki dispatched a regimental-sized task force under the command of Major General Miura Keiji, leader of the Twenty-first Brigade, to disperse the enemy troops and control the road on both sides of the pass. Miura's task force departed by truck in the mid-afternoon of the following day, but the overland movement proved much slower and more challenging than anticipated. Travelling along a single rutted dirt track through steep mountains, the forty-nine trucks carrying his infantry and heavy weapons, including crew-served machine guns and battalion artillery, could only manage a speed of seven miles per hour. By late afternoon, the lead elements were still about five miles east of the pass when they encountered a few hundred Chinese troops who had retreated after a brief firefight. As night fell, the Japanese moved cautiously forward and reached a village approximately a mile from the pass, where they encountered stiff resistance, including mortar and automatic weapons fire. After successfully repelling a counterattack by the Chinese Seventy-third Division, Miura launched a night assault. Supported by pack artillery and heavy machine guns, two Japanese companies pushed through the pass and seized the high ground on its west side by early morning. However, Chinese reinforcements soon arrived and attempted to reclaim the lost territory, resulting in ongoing fighting for the heights on September 24. Meanwhile, the Chinese Communist 115th Division, comprising the 685th, 686th, and 687th regiments of the Eighth Route Army, consisting of around 6,000 effective troops under the command of twenty-nine-year-old Lin Biao, maneuvered south around the Japanese rear. By September 24, they had interposed themselves on the road east of the pass, effectively cutting off Miura's task force from its supply base. That same day, the Central Army's Seventy-first Division launched several sharp counterattacks against Miura's outnumbered forces west of the pass, threatening to overrun the Japanese positions. Central Army and Communist forces had planned to attack both flanks of the Japanese at dawn on September 25, but torrential rains delayed the advance of the Central Army reserves. The downpour also muffled the sounds of an approaching Japanese night assault. Utilizing the poor night security of the Chinese, Japanese assault parties surprised the Seventy-first and Eighty-fourth divisions, pushing them from their positions west of the pass. Miura mistakenly believed he controlled both sides of the pass and assumed the Chinese forces were in full retreat. Unbeknownst to him, Lin Biao's troops had blocked the eastern entrance to the pass, prompting him to order a resupply column with rations and ammunition forward from about fifteen miles east of the pass to replenish his depleted task force. The supply train, consisting of seventy horse-drawn wagons and eighty trucks, struggled to make progress along the single dirt track, where sections had become muddy bogs due to the heavy rains. Most of the hundred-plus soldiers handling the horses and wagons were untrained and unarmed. The few regular service corps soldiers carried only ten cavalry carbines, while a single infantry platoon of thirty men provided security. The eighty trucks transported another 176 men, most of whom were not infantry. Therefore, the resupply column was ill-prepared for any trouble. Following a sunken road worn down by centuries of caravans, the column approached the pass through a narrow man-made defile, with its sides rising as high as thirty-five feet above the track. Around mid-morning, about four miles east of the pass, the Chinese Communist 115th Division launched an ambush. Communist troops rained grenades and small-arms fire from the high ground overlooking the road onto the trapped convoy. Although the Japanese fought back desperately, the combination of surprise, advantageous terrain, and overwhelming numbers turned the road into a killing ground. The ambush decimated almost all of the teamsters and the infantrymen who protected the wagons. At his field headquarters, Miura heard the heavy gunfire and explosions and quickly ordered a battalion-sized rescue force to assist the convoy. However, the Chinese 685th Regiment, blocking the only road to the trapped supply train, halted the Japanese battalion. Elements of the 685th and 686th regiments then finished off the motorized convoy, with only five trucks at the rear escaping. After looting weapons, equipment, and clothing, the Communists burned the remaining vehicles and withdrew southwest into the rugged mountains. Although the Communists claimed to have killed 3,000 Japanese troops, the more realistic number is around 200. Nonetheless, Lin Biao's guerrillas had achieved a significant tactical success. While the 115th Division destroyed the Japanese resupply column east of the pass, the Central Army's Sixth and Seventh Army Groups, including the Seventy-first Division, launched a series of day and night assaults against Miura's dispersed units west of the pass. Both sides incurred heavy losses, and the Japanese struggled to maintain control of the high ground as the Chinese fanned out through the valleys and attacked from all sides. Isolated and under heavy attack, the Japanese were low on ammunition, food, and water, lacked proper cold-weather clothing in the frigid mountains, and were greatly outnumbered. They resorted to scavenging ammunition and weapons from fallen Chinese soldiers. Itagaki promptly ordered his 41st and 21st infantry regiments, supported by an infantry regiment from the Kwantung Army located about fifty miles northeast of the pass, to rescue the beleaguered task force. These regiments moved along a narrow mountain road amidst heavy rain, which slowed their progress. The relief force split up about forty miles north of Pingxingguan, with the Twenty-first Regiment swinging westward to outflank the Chinese, while the other two regiments continued toward the pass. To the northwest, the Fifteenth Brigade of the Chahar Expeditionary Force advanced southeastward from Datong to encircle the Chinese. Central Army forces defending along the inner Great Wall, about fifty miles northwest of Pingxingguan, inflicted substantial casualties on the Japanese. The Japanese Forty-first Regiment finally reached Miura on September 28, and on the same day, the Twenty-first Regiment dislodged the stubborn defenders along the Inner Great Wall, roughly forty miles northwest of the pass, disrupting the entire Chinese defense and threatening to surround the besieging forces. Nonetheless, fighting continued through September 29, when the Second Brigade broke through the Chinese Central Army's defenses and advanced westward. Facing potential encirclement and certain destruction, the Japanese Sixth Army Group withdrew southwest the following day. Japanese accounts do not specify overall losses, but Chinese reports claim nearly 3,000 Japanese casualties while acknowledging they suffered ten times that number. After five days of intense fighting in rugged terrain, Miura's forces managed to hold their ground, but their heavy losses and those sustained by relief columns rendered it a Pyrrhic victory. Both Communist and Nationalist Chinese forces retreated southwest, surviving to fight another day. The determination of the Chinese Central Army in both offensive and defensive maneuvers, combined with the skillful hit-and-run tactics of the 115th Division, inflicted significant damage on the Japanese and became a cornerstone of Chinese propaganda. On October 1, the Japanese General Staff ordered the North China Area Army to destroy the Chinese forces in Shanxi Province, which were estimated to number over twenty divisions from either the Shanxi Army or the Central Army, and were fortifying positions in Taiyuan, Yangquan, and Yuanpingzhen. The Japanese Fifth and Twentieth Divisions advanced toward Taiyuan, while the Fifteenth Division, reinforced by a mixed brigade, launched an assault south from Yuanpingzhen on October 13. The Fifteenth Division quickly encountered strong Chinese resistance from well-prepared defenses, which halted its advance. From October 19 to 26, the Twentieth Division faced thirteen Chinese divisions entrenched near Jiuguan. Although they successfully repelled numerous fierce counterattacks, the division was unable to breach the Chinese lines. A maneuver by one of its regiments to the rear of the Chinese defenses forced a withdrawal of Chinese troops. The reconstituted Fifth Division joined the pursuit of the retreating Chinese forces on November 3, reaching Taiyuan five days later. Meanwhile, the Twentieth Division, moving westward, inflicted heavy losses on the Chinese units that were withdrawing from Taiyuan. Overall, given that the offensive aimed to secure territory, it can be considered a tactical and operational success. Shortly thereafter, all Japanese forces, except for the Twentieth Division, withdrew from Shanxi Province. The Chahar campaign concluded with the Kwantung Army in control of Chahar, Suiyuan, and the northern half of Shanxi Province. The Japanese quickly established puppet regimes in the captured territories. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In July 1937, tensions between Japan and China erupted following the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, leading to fierce fighting as Japanese troops attacked. Chinese defenders, under command of Chiang Kai-shek, bravely resisted despite overwhelming odds, determined to protect their sovereignty. The Battle of Nankou saw relentless assaults, tank warfare, and desperate defense tactics, revealing the depth of Chinese resolve. 

This week, Jason is joined by Shiliang and Josh to discuss derivatives, perps, trade ideas, the state of the overall market and Public Crypto Vehicles' impact on the market.  -- Start your day with crypto news, analysis and data from Katherine Ross. Subscribe to the Empire newsletter: https://blockworks.co/newsletter/empire?utm_source=podcasts -- Follow Shiliang: https://x.com/ShiliangTang Follow Josh: https://x.com/joshua_j_lim Follow Santi: https://x.com/santiagoroel Follow Jason: https://x.com/JasonYanowitz Follow Empire: https://twitter.com/theempirepod -- Join the Empire Telegram: https://t.me/+CaCYvTOB4Eg1OWJh -- Crypto never sleeps. So we built an Al analyst that never blinks. Meet Focal by FalconX: a GenAI insights engine built for institutional crypto.Already used by 80+ funds managing $10B+ in AUM.- Screen, chart, and analyze 1300+ tokens- Summarize market-moving news instantly- Integrates data from CoinGecko, Kaito, Token Terminal, Tokenomist, The Tie Get started today: https://askfocal.com -- SKALE is the next evolution in Layer 1 blockchains with a gas-free invisible user experience, instant finality, high speed, and robust security. SKALE is built different as it allows for limitless scalability and has already saved its 50 Million users over $11 Billion in gas fees. SKALE is high-performance and cost-effective, making it ideal for compute-intensive applications like AI, gaming, and consumer-facing dApps. Learn more at https://skale.space and stay up to date with the gas-free invisible blockchain on X at @skalenetwork -- Ledn is the leading platform for Bitcoin-backed loans, offering a secure and transparent way to unlock liquidity without selling your Bitcoin. Ledn has issued over $9 billion in loans since 2018 and has never lost a single satoshi of client assets, earning a reputation as the name you can trust in the crypto space. Visit https://www.ledn.io to learn more. -- Chapters: (00:00) Intro (02:47) Arbelos Founding Story (09:25) Still One Big Trade? (12:14) Ads (Skale) (13:07) Derivatives Market Explained (18:26) Perps Explained (20:53) Venture & Liquid Funds (23:41) Inefficiencies In Crypto Market (24:56) State Of The Market (29:49) Impact Of Liquidity Drains (32:54) Ads (Skale) (33:46) Public Crypto Vehicles + Risks (48:27) Ads (Falcon x,LEDN) (50:15) Does The Cycle Still Exist? (51:38) Deribit Deal (57:38) Bitcoin ETFs (01:03:34) Hyperliquid (01:07:42) Trade Ideas — Disclaimer: Nothing said on Empire is a recommendation to buy or sell securities or tokens. This podcast is for informational purposes only, and any views expressed by anyone on the show are solely our opinions, not financial advice. Santiago, Jason, and our guests may hold positions in the companies, funds, or projects discussed.