Episode 126: New Beginnings

May 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Model reconstruction of the Otsu Palace Dairi, the private palace built at Otsu, based on the archaeological findings. At the Otsu History Museum. Photo by author.

Last episode we looked at much of what led up to the new reign of Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennō. This episode we look at the start of that reign. There was a lot going on, both in the archipelago and internationally. Unfortunately, much of what we see has to be inferred—we know that there were diplomatic missions and letters, but we don’t necessarily know what was in those letters.

We do see what happened. The continued buildup of the castles, the various missions back and forth, the resettling of the Baekje refugees, and the move of the capital away from the Nara Basin and Naniwa region and up to the the area of Otsu, on the the shores of Lake Biwa. And in many ways this was the real start to the reign, as it wasn’t until the new palace was built that Naka no Oe formally ascended the throne.

Tenji's Stone Quarry

This stone appears to have been carved out of an old quarry at what is now Ishiyama temple in modern Otsu, in Shiga.

Shellmound Monument

A monument to the ancient shellmound found in front of Ishiyama temple.

Shibi - Temple roofend

This shibi, or temple roof-end, was designed to go on the top ridge of a temple roof, where there would be one on either side. This was found at the Yamanokami site in southeastern Otsu city. At the Otsu History Museum, photo by author.

Lake Biwa

View of Lake Biwa, looking north. The Otsu palace site was on the southwestern shore—to the left of the current viewpoint.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 126: New Beginnings
The local farmers couldn’t help but talk. There was so much construction, but it wasn’t entirely clear what was being built. The land between the mountains and the lake had been neatly groomed fields, but now that the government workmen had moved in, all of those fields were being cleared. This new construction was much larger than anything that people had seen before. Rocks were coming in from far flung quarries, and local kilns were being set up to create tiles, while woodcutters were sent into the forests to bring logs to the site.
There were various stories about what was going on—a new provincial government office, or perhaps a new temple, but perhaps the most outlandish was that this was going to be some kind of royal palace. The sovereign himself was taking in interest in this little slice of Afumi, and he was going to abandon the Home Territories of Yamato and bring his entire court to the shores of Lake Biwa. What a far-fetched story! …Wasn’t it?
Last episode we recapped a lot of the history of Prince Naka no Oe and how he had come to this point: the Isshi Incident, the Taika reforms, as well as the reigns of his uncle, Prince Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou, and his mother, Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou. With Takara Hime’s death, Naka no Oe was now – finally, as he might have thought -- running things officially. He had prosecuted the war in Baekje, and with that loss, he had turned his focus back to the archipelago. He now had refugees to settle, and defenses to set up. And then there were the embassies that would be coming, in an apparent attempt to normalize relations post-conflict. That could only go so far, however, given that Tang and Silla had simply turned their war efforts against Goguryeo. So one imagines that any diplomatic discussions were held with the understanding that the international order was still in flux.
And so we arrive in the 8th month of 665, as some of the first defensive castles were being erected. That same month, Tamna—the kingdom on the modern island of Jeju—sent ambassadors to the Yamato court. The diplomatic ties between Yamato and Tamna were a relatively recent occurrence, but with Baekje gone, one wonders if Yamato wasn’t feeling out a new alliance on the continent. That said, Tamna does not appear to have been a major player on the international stage. They had been a tributary of Baekje, and may have even been one of the last holdouts of the proto-Japonic language for a long time. Indeed, a 15th century Joseon history records a foundation myth of Tamna that emphasizes close early ties with the Japanese archipelago.
The following month saw another visit by Tang ambassadors, only a year after Guo Wucong had come to the court. Guo Wucong had been wined and dined, and things seem to have gone well, as this time he returned, but he wasn’t the one leading the embassy this time. That honor went to Liu Degao, sub-prefect of Yizhou, among his many titles. Yizhou is the same location where the previous missions from Yamato to the Tang court had made landfall. Presumably, Liu Degao would have had experience with the embassies that passed through Yizhou, so he seems a logical choice to be sent over to the archipelago.
This seems like an escalation, with a more titled ambassador leading the party. It is possible that the Tang were trying to not only reset their relationship with Yamato, but also attempt to woo them to their side. The Tang likely knew that if they defeated Goguryeo, then they would have another problem to work out: The alliance with Silla. At the moment both Tang and Silla were in a partnership of convenience, but the Tang empire didn’t get where it was by just giving up territory. And Silla was, itself, ambitious. It would be in the Tang dynasty’s best interest to have Yamato on its side in case Silla became a problem. At the very least, the Tang court could have just been trying to make sure that Yamato would stay out of any continental entanglements, such as by supporting Goguryeo.
Within the Yamato court, it is unclear which way, exactly, they were leaning at this point. The court was clearly building defensive positions—fortresses and more. At the same time, there were likely those who welcomed any return to stable relations with the Tang. After all, there were still Wa in Chang’an and elsewhere, and there was still a hunger in the archipelago for the books and other goods that the Silk Road could provide. On the other hand, they may have felt more at home with Goguryeo, or even Silla. The bonds with the Korean peninsula were older and likely stronger. And, as long as the Tang Empire was busy with other states, then perhaps they would be too preoccupied to attack Yamato.
Liu Degao and his entourage had arrived at Tsushima on the 28th day of the 7th month. They would have been put up there for a time, and entertained. If this embassy followed later conventions, they would have likely pulled into a harbor, like the one near Kofunakoshi. This is a narrow spot between the two parts of Tsushima, where we know that in the 9th century, ships from the Tang empire would stop, register goods and people, and likely have them transferred to Japanese ships. All of the checking and cataloging would happen at nearby Bairinji temple.
Even if they didn’t have to transport everything to another ship, it is likely that they would held at Tsushima for a while for security purposes. Tsushima was ideal, both for its distance, halfway between the Korean peninsula and the Japanese archipelago, but also for its shape, with numerous places that ships could sit at anchor in secluded bays away from any weather or rough seas that could otherwise cause problems.
We don’t know exactly what the Tang embassy’s stay was like, but we know that they were at Tsushima for roughly two months, which was probably the time it took to get a message to the Yamato court and back. We know how long it was because we learn that it is on the 20th day of the 9th month that they finally made landfall at Tsukushi, or Kyushu, and two days later they forwarded a letter-case to the Yamato court.
Two months later, we know they were at the court, as there was a banquet held for Liu Degao on the 13th day of the 11th month, and then a month after that, Liu Degao and the rest of the mission were presented gifts, after which they left and returned to the Tang court. We are also told that Mori no Kimi no Ohoishi, along with Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki and Kimi no Kishi no Harima all went to the Tang court that same month, no doubt traveling with Degao and Wucong.
On the first month of the following year, Neungnu of Goguryeo was sent to the Yamato court to offer tribute. On the same day, the 11th day of the first month, Tamna also sent someone identified as Prince Siyeo to offer presents. Immediately, I’m wondering about the way that this is presented. Both of these states – Goguryeo and Tamna - were allies of the former Baekje kingdom. I have to wonder how the Goguryeo ships made their way—did they come down the western side of the peninsula, through the Bohai sea, and thus past possible Tang patrols between their peninsular and continental territories, or did they head through the East Sea, aka the Japan Sea, where they would have to pass by the coast of Silla, whom they were also not on great terms with? The fact that both missions are mentioned at the same time suggests that maybe the Goguryeo embassy sailed down to Tamna, on Jeju Island, and then the two groups made their way over to Yamato together from there.
Other things about this entry to note is that the Chroniclers use different terms for these visits to the Yamato court. Goguryeo uses a term that Aston translates as “offering tribute” while Tamna uses a different term indicating that they were “offering presents”. This may be as simple as the difference in the various relationships between the polities, as viewed by the Chroniclers. After all, there was a long relationship between Yamato and Goguryeo, which was considered one of the three Han, or Samhan. Whether true or not, I could certainly see the Chroniclers feeling that Goguryeo was in a subordinate relationship with Yamato. Tamna, on the other hand, was a more recent addition to the Yamato diplomatic sphere. As such, it would be understandable, to me if the Chroniclers still saw it as a more independent entity.
It also may hint at different messages being communicated. As far as we can tell, Tamna wasn’t under direct threat by the Tang empire—though they may have been feeling a little bit of heat, given the fall of Baekje and the Tang empire’s new outpost on the peninsula. Goguryeo, however, was under more direct threat, and had been in conflict with the Tang for years. On top of that, based on what we can tell, it seems that Yeong Gaesomun, the despot who had been ruling Goguryeo and helping it defend against the Tang, had just passed away. It may have been that the Goguryeo court was seeking support against Tang and Silla, as they were in a moment of instability, themselves. As such, “Tribute” might indicate that they were more formally petitioning Yamato for support.
Goguryeo envoy Neungnu left about 5 months later, on the 4th day of the 6th month but then another envoy, this time Minister Eulsyang Oemchu, arrived a little more than four months later. Much like with the Tang, this feels like Goguryeo was upping the ante, sending higher ranking officials to negotiate with Yamato. That lends some credence to the theory that there was something of a bidding war going on for Yamato’s involvement in international affairs. For Yamato, however, it would seem that getting involved in continental affairs was hardly something they were itching to do. Instead, they continued their moves to fortify.
In local events, we know that on the 11th day of the 10th month of 665, while the Liu Degao delegation was still in Yamato, there was a great “review”, by which they seem to mean a sutra reading, at Uji. It is unclear just where this was held, as I haven’t found reference to any particular temple. However, it does indicate that there was activity in the area.
Uji is probably most popular, today, for its role as a setting in the Tale of Genji. There indeed numerous reminders there of the Heian period, including the hall of Ujigami Shrine, and the famous Hou-ou-do, or Phoenix Hall, of the Byoudouin. In 1053, Fujiwara Yorimichi inherited the villa from his father, Fujiwara Michinaga, and he converted it into a Pure Land temple. Michinaga is thought to have been one of the people on whom Murasaki Shikibu based the character of the Shining Prince, Hikaru Genji. That’s all too late for this moment in the Chronicles, of course., but we do have earlier references to Uji as a place, as well as in various names. It seems to have been part of the territory of the Hata, who controlled much of the area of modern Kyoto and environs. There is a temple, Houjouin, also known as Hashidera, which claims to date back to the 7th century, and may have been the site of the above-mentioned sutra reading in 665. According to the Temple’s own legend, it was built around 604, when Hata no Kawakatsu built the famous Uji bridge, or Hashi, on the orders of Prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi. Other sources give the date as 646. The temple was rebuilt in the 13th century, and as far as I can tell, nothing remains of the original temple, but it is possible that it was the site of this review.
The next non-Diplomatic record of the Chronicles is from the 3rd month in 666. The Crown Prince went to the house of Saheki no Komaro no Muraji, paying a sympathy call as Saheki appears to have passed away after having been gravely ill. Saheki no Komaro no Muraji was one of those who had helped Naka no Oe in the Isshi Incident. He had been introduced to the plot by Nakatomi no Kamatari, and then critical in the literal execution at the court. He later led forces against Furubito no Oe, assuming that “Sahekibe no Komaro” is the same as “Saheki no Muraji no Komaro”. There is also a relative, possibly his son, Takunaha, who was one of the Yamato court’s overseas envoys. Thus, one can understand that he had some importance to the Royal family, and we can probably assume that he had been involved in much more. The Crown Prince, we are told, lamented him on account of his loyal service from the very beginning.
One of the confusing things in this part of the Chronicle is the term “Crown Prince”. It doesn’t help that the Chroniclers were pulling from different records, and sometimes using anachronistic titles for individuals. Naka no Oe had been known as the Crown Prince since the time of Takara Hime, whether he actually was or not. Now he was in charge of the government, but it isn’t clear that he had been formally invested as tennou. More than that, there is mention of an investiture in either 667 or 668, several years after his quote-unquote “reign” had begun. This makes some sense. After all, when Takara Hime passed away, there was a foreign war to prosecute, and that probably took a fair bit of resources. Plus, Naka no Oe had been running things for a while before that, or so we are told. It would make sense if things just kept on going as they had been, and they held the actual investiture when they got around to it.
We also know that he was busy with building projects: not just for the defense of the archipelago, but even a new capital and a new palace. We’ll talk about it a bit more, later, but suffice it to say that he may have been taking his time and gathering everything together.
All of this makes the Chronicles themselves somewhat confusing. They throw around the terms “Crown Prince” and “Sovereign”—well, “Sumera no Mikoto”—almost interchangeably. Meanwhile, they’ve also stated that the Crown Prince was Prince Ohoama, Naka no Oe’s younger brother.
Based on my read of things, I believe we can distinguish between the two by whether or not it specifically calls them out as just “Crown Prince”, or “Crown Prince, younger brother to the sovereign”. The latter is clearly Prince Ohoama, and the first is most likely Naka no Oe. After all, in this instance, why would Prince Ohoama be the one so struck by the death of Saheki no Muraji? Based on the story the Chronicles have told us, wouldn’t it make more sense that it was Naka no Oe lamenting the death of one who had helped put him on the throne, rather than sending his brother?
So keep that in mind as we go through the narrative. I’ll try to point out whom I believe they are speaking about, at least until we reach the point where Naka no Oe actually is invested.
Getting back to the Chronicles, in the 7th month of the year 666, some four months after the illness and death of Saheki no Komaro no Muraji, another disaster struck—this time a natural disaster. Great floods were reported—how widespread we aren’t told. This is often a problem in a land with many mountains that often gets large rains. It is especially problematic when much of your agriculture is based on being just at or below the level of the rivers and streams so that it can be flooded on purpose. We are told that the government remitted the land-taxes and commuted taxes that year, likely as a form of disaster relief to those affected by the flooding.
In 666, we are also told a story that actually links this reign to the previous. We are told that a monk, named Chiyu, gave the sovereign something called a south-pointing chariot. I’ll talk about what this was in another episode. What’s important here is to note that there was a previous entry in the era attributed to Saimei Tennou, aka Takara Hime, where a monk named Chiyu, or something similar, using different characters, also created a south-pointing chariot. Likewise, we are later told in this reign how Naka no Oe installed a clepsydra, a water clock. This is also mentioned in the previous reign. It is possible that these reference completely different accounts. Or they could be connected in some way.
The south-pointing chariot is probably not something that we’ll have evidence of, as it would have been mobile and probably deteriorated over time. However, the water clock would have been a fixed installation with some clear architectural remnants, and indeed we think we know where at least one was built in Asuka. Both of the water clock entries say that it was the “first” time, so make of that what you will.
Also in 666, we see that some 2000 people of Baekje were settled in the East, possibly meaning the Kanto region, though this could be anywhere between modern Nagoya out to the far eastern edge of Honshu. They were maintained at the government expense for three years, after which they were expected to have built new lives for themselves.
In later periods, there is much to be said about “Men of the East”. There are those that point to this region as being the origin point of many of the warrior traditions that would arise and become the military samurai. Some of the weapons and fighting styles, especially some of the horse-riding archery seems to point to continental influences that made their way to the Kanto region and beyond. One has to consider just how much did they bring with them and how did it grow, often beyond the view of the court and the court chronicles. For now, though, it seems to have largely been a form of a refugee program, since the Baekje no longer had a kingdom to return to.
Finally, we have an omen. In the winter of 666, the rats of the capital, in Asuka, headed north to Afumi. As with previous entries about rats departing a capital for a direction, this is again meant as an omen. It probably didn’t happen. But it does foreshadow an account in the following year, when, on the 19th day of the 3rd month, the capital, surprise-surprise, moved to Afumi.
And perhaps I shouldn’t be flippant. It was a surprise to have the capital move to Afumi. There are accounts of legendary sovereigns that had their palace outside of the Nara Basin or Kawachi area, but at this point Yamato had been really building up those areas. So why would they suddenly relocate to Afumi, of all places?
Well, probably because of the same thing that had been driving the rest of their large-scale building projects during this period—from the Water Castle protecting the Dazai to the various Baekje style fortresses from Tsushima down to the Nara Basin. Afumi was a naturally defensive position. And in such an uncertain time, having a well-defended capital must have seen like a very good idea. In fact, though they didn’t formally change the capital until the 3rd month of 667, they probably had started work on it as soon as they got back from the loss at Hakusukinoe.
As far as locations go, it wasn’t necessarily a bad choice. There were still routes to the port at Naniwa, which could still house various delegations when they arrived. There were also routes to the east, leading to Owari and the rest of central and eastern Honshu, as well as mountain passes to get to the Japan Sea.
The area where the new palace was located was in the district of Ohotsu. Ohotsu means something like “Big Port” and I don’t know if it was already a major port along the banks of Lake Biwa or if that was a name that came from having the capital there.
Ohotsu was a long-inhabited area, even well before the 660’s, and an important site for trade. In the southern end of modern Ohotsu city is Ishiyama-dera, the stone mountain temple, it which was built in the 8th century, but in front of the temple are the remains of the largest freshwater shellmound in Asia. As you may recall from some of our earliest episodes talking about the prehistoric period in the Japanese archipelago, shell mounds are typically evidence of ancient settlements, remnants of dump sites where they could throw their detritus. This probably included a lot more than just shells, but shells, bones, and sometimes things like pottery sherds, would remain. And while much of the wood and waste of the period would have disintegrated over time, shells do not. These shell mounds accordingly provide important insight into the lives of people back in that day, and the size can also help us understand things about how large a settlement might have been or how long it was there. The sheer size of the shellmound at Ishiyama-dera likely indicates that the region had been settled for many centuries prior to the 600’s.
In addition to the shellmound, and more closely related to the current times we are discussing, is evidence of a rock quarry found at the temple site and showing evidence of techniques familiar to people of the 6th to 8th centuries. You see, Ishiyama is a source of a particular white stone called wollastonite. The quarry sits below the main hall of the temple, and so it probably would not have been quarried after the hall was built, which was in the 700s, so the site is believed to have been active before that. From the composition of the stone and the markings on the remnants, we can see similarities to stones in the base of one of the buildings at Kawaradera, in Asuka, which we’ve talked about before and which was one of the pre-eminent temples of its day. So this demonstrates a link between the region and the court even before the construction of the new Ohotsu palace.
Speaking of the palace, we’ve known of its exact position since 1974, when archeologists found evidence of the foundation of a large complex in a residential district in Nishikori. While some initially suggested it was an old temple, further evidence makes it pretty clear that it was the dairi, or inner sanctum, of a palace. This is very much in the same mould as the Toyosaki Palace in Naniwa and the various palaces in Asuka from around the same period. In front of the dairi would have been the actual government buildings, but that area has not been excavated.
That brings up another question: was this a full-on capital city, Ohotsu-kyo, or just a palace, the Ohotsu-no-miya? So far we have only found the palace, But since the area is fairly built up, it may take time to find more, assuming it hasn’t been destroyed by previous urban development in the area. There are some hints that there was more: while there were already at a couple of temples that had been built by the mid-7th century, we see several temples built in ways that not only borrow features from important Asuka temples, like the layout of Kawaradera, but they also match the alignment of the Otsu palace ruins, hinting that they were built at the same time. For example, there is are the ruins of an abandoned temple in Shiga-Minami – actually once thought to have been the Otsu palace. There was also Soufukuji, a temple in the mountains nearby meant to protect the Northwest from malign influences, likely based on continental geomantic concepts, part of what we might today think of as Feng Shui. This same kind of protective temple building is what we see in later capital cities.
Of course, we know that this would not be a permanent capital for the nation of Yamato or of Japan—we aren’t that far off from the Nara period, and then, a century later, the capital at Heian-kyo. But that couldn’t have been known at the time. There was no way to know how long tensions with the continent would last, and it was just as possible that people at the time expected this to be a permanent move. Its preeminence lasted, too: we do have evidence that even centuries later, the region was still known as an ancient “capital”.
No matter what Naka no Oe’s intentions were in moving the capital to Afumi, however, it didn’t exactly go over well. It was apparently quite unpopular—so unpopular that the move was mocked in song of the time. That said, Naka no Oe’s mind was made up, and the move took place regardless.

Before moving the capital, however, there was still business to attend to. Takara Hime and Princess Hashibito were reinterred together in the Misasagi on Wochi Hill. We are told that men of Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla all mourned along the processional route. The Crown Prince—I’m assuming Naka no Oe, this time given his connection to both of these women—apparently had started the work on a stone sarcophagus. By this was probably meant the actual stone vault of the tomb, rather than just the coffin, which was also likely made of stone. This was in Kuramaki, in Takatori, in the Takaichi District of the Nara Basin.
Three months after the move to the new capital, the district of Kadono, in the west of modern Kyoto, presented to the sovereign a white swallow—an omen of some sort.
The following month, on the 11th day of the 7th month, Tamna sent another embassy, led by a Minister known as Cheonma, with presents for Yamato. This may have been the first envoy to actually visit the new Ohotsu capital, but certainly not the last. Cheonma stuck around for a few months. In the intercalary 11th month, which is to say the extra 11th month of 667, inserted to keep the lunar and solar calendars at least partially aligned, Cheonma and his companions were presented with brocade and other cloth, as well as axes, sickles, and swords, presumably to take home to Tamna.
While Cheonma was at the court, there was apparently another bit of diplomatic ping-pong going on. Liu Jenyuan, the Tang general in charge of Baekje, sent Szema Facong and others to escort Sakahibe no Iwashiki and those with him to the Dazai in Tsukushi. They didn’t stay long, though—we are told they arrived on the 9th day of the 11th month and left only 4 days later, on the 13th day of the same. When they left, however, they, themselves, were given escorts of Yuki no Muraji no Hakatoko—the same one whose memoirs we relied on for that previous trip to the Tang court—as well as Kaso no Omi no Moroshi. So I guess they were escorting the escorts? At what point does it end? Hakatoko and others made it back about three months later, on the 23rd day of the first month of 668, and reported on their own escort mission. That suggests that they didn’t escort them that far. They may have just seen them back to the Korean peninsula and that was it.
Hakatoko’s escort mission did mean that he missed a rather important event—the Crown Prince assuming the dignity. That is to say, Naka no Oe finally took the title of sovereign. A note in the text suggests that there were other sources that said it was the third month of the previous year—the same time that the Otsu capital was built. Four days later they held a banquet in the palace for all of the court ministers.
A little over a month later, his wife, Yamato bime, was appointed queen. We are then told of his other wives and consorts. To be clear, Naka no Oe had been collecting consorts for ages. So let’s talk about a few of them.
To start with there was Yamatobime, the Yamato Princess, daughter of none other than Naka no Oe’s half-brother, Prince Furubito no Oe, his former rival to the throne.
Then there was Wochi no Iratsume, aka Princess Miyatsuko, the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa Maro. She had a son, Prince Takeru, who died in 651 at the age of 8. That suggests that she and Naka no Oe had been together since at least 643, two years before the Isshi Incident. Another one of her daughters, Princess Uno, would go on to marry Naka no Oe’s younger brother, Prince Ohoama, the new Crown Prince. Wochi no Iratsume seems to have died of grief in 649, after her father and much of her family were destroyed on the orders of her husband, Naka no Oe.
We are told that Naka no Oe also married Wochi no Iratsume’s younger sister as well, Mehi no Iratsume. She had two daughters, Princess Minabe and Princess Abe. At this point Abe was only about 7 or 8 years old, herself, but she would eventually be married to Prince Kusakabe, the son of Prince Ohoama and Princess Uno, whom we just mentioned.
Naka no Oe also had two other consorts. Tachibana no Iratsume was the daughter of Abe no Kurahashi no Maro no Oho-omi—he was the first Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, at the start of the Taika reforms, immediately following the Isshi Incident. And then there was Hitachi no Iratsume, the daughter of Soga no Akaye.
Soga no Akaye is an interesting figure. You may recall the name from Episode 118. Soga no Akaye was the acting minister in charge in Yamato when Prince Arima tried to start up a revolt against Takara Hime. It was in his house where Prince Arima laid out his plan, but a broken armrest convinced Soga no Akaye to turn against the conspirators and turn them in. And so it is interesting to hear that his daughter was married to Naka no Oe.
We are also told of four “palace women” that Naka no Oe is said to have had children with. The implication seems to be that these were women at the palace but they were not formally recognized with the same status as that of the formal consorts and, of course, the queen, his primary wife. This fits in with at least one theory I’ve seen that Naka no Oe was something of a ladies’ man. It seems he got around even more than Murasaki Shikibu’s fictional “Shining Prince”, Hikaru Genji. We are told that there were at least 14 children among the nine official wives—and one has to consider that they were unlikely to record many of the women whom he may have slept with that he didn’t also have children with. And there is a theory that one of those not mentioned, may have been his own sister, full blooded sister. Specifically, his sister Princess Hashibito, who was married to none other than Naka no Oe’s uncle, Prince Karu, aka Jomei Tennou.
To be clear: we have no clear evidence that they were anything other than close siblings, but as you may recall how we mentioned back in Episode 114 that there was something that caused a falling out between Prince Karu and Naka no Oe, such that Naka no Oe disobeyed the sovereign’s direct order in moving himself and the royal family back to Asuka. That meant Naka no Oe, his wives, his mother, AND his sister, Princess—now Queen—Hashibito. So, yeah, he absconded with Prince Karu’s wife who was Naka no Oe’s full-blooded sister. And, as we’ve noted before, ancient Yamato’s concept of incest was pretty narrow. It was only if you had the same mother that you were considered full siblings—even if the father were someone else. I suspect that this is related to the matrilineal nature of succession as well, which is why it was so important to insist that the ancient sovereigns had a direct lineal connection to the royal line through their mother as much as through their father.
So if Naka no Oe and his sister were having any kind of relationship that was considered wrong or scandalous, then that could also help explain why he didn’t take the throne sooner, and why it passed over to his mother. But now, both Takara Hime and Hashibito were quite literally dead and buried, and Naka no Oe had ascended to the throne.
Of the so-called “Palace Women” that are listed as being likewise married to—or at least in a relationship with—Naka no Oe, I’d like to focus on one: Iga no Uneme no Yakako. For one, she is specifically mentioned as an uneme—one of the women sent to the court specifically to serve in the palace. But her parentage isn’t further illuminated other than the name “Iga” which is probably a locative, possibly referring to the area of Iga.
This is also interesting because we are also told that she gave birth to a son named Prince Iga, also known as Prince Ohotomo. Despite his mother’s apparently unremarkable status, Prince Ohotomo seems to have been quite the apple of his father’s eye. He was born in 648, so in 668 he was about 20 years old, meaning that around this time he was probably just coming into his own at court. He was married to his cousin, Princess Touchi, daughter of his uncle, Crown Prince Ohoama. He was also married to Mimotoji, who appears to have been a daughter of Nakatomi no Kamatari, meaning that he was pretty well connected.
But we’ll get into that in a future episode. For now, I think we’ll leave it here: with the move of the capital to Ohotsu and the formal ascension of Naka no Oe to the throne.
We’ll talk about what that might mean in the future. 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.

References

倉本一宏. (2007). 壬申の乱.
Bentley, J. (29 May. 2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789047418191.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 125: The Sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom

May 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Image representing Tenji Tennō from an Edo era copy of the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu. This is a card game based on 100 famous poets. Image from Wikimedia Commons.

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Takara Hime had passed away, and now Naka no Oe had finally become the sovereign. He would be be known as Tenji Tennō (天智天皇), and the posthumous name he was given by the Chroniclers means something like “Heavenly Wisdom”. It is also a good indication that they were being handed out by the Chroniclers posthumously because the name appears to be directly related to the name of his successor… but we’ll get to that in a future episode.

Naka no Ōe had a lot to focus on when he took the reins of the government. Not only was he keeping things going on the death of Takara Hime, he also had the aftermath of the failed war on the Korean peninsular to deal with. He had thousands of Baekje refugees now living in the archipelago, and the very real threat that the Tang empire might decide to punish Yamato for its participation—it might even invade. For the time being it was perhaps preoccupied with their war against Goguryeo, but that wouldn’t last forever. Yamato needed to get ready.

Dramatis Personae

Here we’ll cover some of the people mentioned in the record.

Crown Prince Naka no Ōe

Son of Takara Hime, and the main perpetrator of the Isshi incident of 645. He was originally known as Prince Katsuraki. He has clearly been a powerful political force, and was probably organizing much of the military efforts. He is considered responsible for many of the reforms in the Great Change, which kicked off the Ritsuryō reforms. As sovereign he was given the name Tenji Tennō

Nakatomi no Kamatari (aka Nakatomi no Kamako)

Scion and eventual head of the Nakatomi uji. He was apparently out to take down the Soga, and found Prince Karu and Prince Naka no Ōe. The latter he met through a kemari game, and then they started studying together under the priest Min. They used those study sessions as an excuse to talk and plot. Eventually, Kamatari would be granted the position of Naidaijin (内大臣) in the new government. This was a special ministerial position that gave him particular access to the Crown Prince, allowing him to help Naka no Ōe with his Great Change.

Takara Hime, aka Kōgyoku Tennō, aka Saimei Tennō

Sovereign of Yamato from 654, in her second reign on the throne, her first being interrupted in 645. She had moved the capital back to Asuka after the stand up of the Naniwa Palace in modern Ōsaka.

Soga no Iname

Soga no Iname was the patriarch of the Soga family during the early to mid-6th century. He came to power while the Mononobe clan was still largely at the head of the court, and when the most powerful position appears to have been that of Ōmuraji (大連), the head of the most powerful Muraji level at court. The Mononobe had usurped the position of the Ōtomo, and Soga no Iname was climbing that ladder. He had been able to get several of his daughters married off to royal princes who became sovereign. The Soga were an Omi level family. The Omi, or Ministerial, families appear to have originally been less influential than the Muraji level families. Soga no Iname eventually became Ōmi, or Great Omi (大臣), much like the Ōmuraji. There are previous Ōmi listed in the Nihon Shoki, but it is unclear how many of them really held the title, or if it meant the same thing. Eventually Ōmi would come to mean “Prime Minister”. Soga no Iname kicked off much of this. He also was responsible for bringing Buddhism to the archipelago, though he was opposed by the Mononobe and the Nakatomi.

Soga no Umako

Son of Soga no Iname. His sisters were married to the sovereign, and thus his nieces and nephews were royal princes and princesses. He inherited the position of Ōmi, and he led the Soga family to victory during the bloody Soga-Mononobe conflict, and he eventually established Buddhism permanently. He would later be one of the three leaders of Yamato, along with Kashikiya Hime (aka Suiko Tennō) and Prince Umayado (aka Shōtoku Taishi).

Soga no Emishi

Son of Soga no Umako, who inherited his father’s position of Ōmi. He also was instrumental in ensuring that Prince Tamura, rather than Prince Yamashiro no Ōe, would take the throne.

Soga no Iruka

Son of Soga no Emishi. When his father grew ill and could no longer attend court, he took on the role of Ōmi. He decided to go after Yamashiro no Ōe, sending forces out to kill him and end his threat to the Soga backed candidate, Furubito no Ōe.

Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro

A member of a separate branch of the Soga family. His father, Soga no Kuramaro, opposed Soga no Emishi and his attempt to place Prince Tamura on the throne. Soga no Ishikawa no Maro likely supported Yamashiro no Ōe. He was eventually killed by forces sent after him by Naka no Ōe based on spurious allegations.

Prince Umayado (aka Shōtoku Taishi)

Crown Prince, and son of the sovereign Tachibana no Toyohi (Yōmei Tennō), and thus a grandson of Soga no Kitashi Hime, and a great-grandson of Soga no Iname. Much of the credit for the changes that happened during the reign of his aunt, Kashikiya Hime, aka Suikō Tennō, were attributed to him, rightly or wrongly. He is also praised for supporting Buddhism, becoming the first Japanese Buddhist saint. He passed away before assuming the throne, leaving his family, including his son, Yamashiro no Ōe.

Yamashiro no Ōe

Son of Prince Umayado, and a contender for the throne on the death of Kashikiya Hime. Eventually he stood down, supposedly to help keep the peace and avoid a bloody conflict, allowing Prince Tamura to take the throne. He was again passed over when Tamura (aka Jomei Tennō) died, and his wife, Takara Hime, took the throne. He was eventually killed by a force sent after him by Soga no Iruka.

Furubito no Ōe

Son of Tamura (Jomei Tennō) and Soga no Hōde no Iratsume, daughter of Soga no Umako. Furubito may have been the Crown Prince during Takara Hime’s reign—Naka no Ōe is noted as “Crown Prince”, but it was likely that he received that appellation under Karu’s reign. He took vows to become a monk after the Isshi Incident, but was dragged back into politics and ended up being killed to prevent his supporters from putting him on the throne.

Karu (aka Kōtoku Tennō)

Brother to Takara Hime. He took the throne when she abdicated, at the insistence of Naka no Ōe. This was apparently to placate those who felt that Naka no Ōe should not take the throne after murdering the heads of the Soga Clan. It also likely sidestepped the issue of legitimacy between Naka no Ōe and his half-brother, Furubito no Ōe.

Liu Jenyuan

The Tang general in charge of Baekje. After the Tang-Silla alliance destroyed Baekje, the Tang empire occupied Baekje, which gave them a strategic base of operations from which they could more easily launch attacks against Goguryeo.

Guo Wucong

Tang ambassador to Yamato. Initial contacts with Yamato may have been an attempt to simply re-establish diplomatic relations. It may have also been trying to feel out the archipelago, though they don’t exactly mention this. Certainly, however, we have seen how Tang ambassadors have, in the past, been able to make observations and bring back intelligence on a foreign country.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 125: The Sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom
The people of Baekje looked around at the strange and unfamiliar land. They had fled a wartorn country, and they were happy to be alive, but refugee status was hardly a walk in the park. Fortunately, they still knew how to farm the land, even if their homeland was hundreds of miles away, across the sea, and occupied by hostile forces. Here, at least, was a land where they could make a home for themselves.
Some of them had to wonder whether this was really permanent. Was their situation just temporary until their kingdom was restored? Or were they truly the last people of Baekje, and what would that mean?
Either way, it would mean nothing if they didn’t work the land and provide for their families. And so, as with displaced people everywhere, they made the best of the situation. They had been given land to work, and that was more than they could have asked for. They might never return to Baekje, but perhaps they could keep a little of it alive for themselves and their descendants.
Greetings, everyone, and welcome back. Last episode we talked about the downfall of Baekje and the defeat of the Yamato forces at the battle of Hakusukinoe, also known as the Battle of Baekgang, in 663. And yet, something else happened as well: the sovereign, Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, died as the Yamato forces were setting out. Immediately Prince Naka no Oe took the reins of government. He would be known to later generations as Tenji Tennou, with Tenji meaning something like “Heavenly Wisdom”.
Now Prince Naka no Oe has been in the forefront of many of our episodes so far, so I’d like to start this episode out with a recap of what we’ve heard about him so far, as all of this is important to remind ourselves of the complex political situation. I’m going to be dropping – and recapping – a lot of names, but I’ll have many of the key individuals listed on the podcast website for folks who want to follow along. I would note that this episode is going to be a summary, with some extrapolation by me regarding what was actually happening. Just remember that history, as we’ve seen time and again, is often more messy and chaotic than we like, and people are more complex than just being purely good or evil. People rarely make their way to the top of any social hierarchy purely through their good deeds.
To start with, let’s go back to before the year 645, when Naka no Oe instigated a coup against Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi. In the Isshi Incident, covered in Episode 106, Naka no Oe had Soga no Iruka murdered in court, in front of his mother, Takara Hime, when she sat on the throne the first time. And yet, though he could have taken the throne when she abdicated in apparent shock, he didn’t. Instead, he took the role of “Crown Prince”, but this wasn’t him just sitting back. In fact, evidence suggests that he used that position to keep a strong hand on the tiller of the ship of state.
Prior to the Isshi Incident of 645, the rule of the Yamato sovereign had been eroded by noble court families. These families, originally set up to serve the court and its administration, had come to dominate the political structures of the court. The main branch of the Soga family, in particular, had found its way to power through a series of astute political marriages and the support of a new, foreign religion: Buddhism. Soga no Iname, Emishi’s grandfather, had married his daughters to the sovereigns, and thus created closer ties between the Soga and the royal line. He also helped ensure that the offspring of those marriages would be the ones to take over as future sovereigns. Soga no Iname, himself took the position of Oho-omi, the Great Omi, or the Great Minister, the head of the other ministerial families. As Prime Minister, he held great sway over the day-to-day running of the court, and execution of much of the administration. Much of this was covered in previous episodes, but especially episodes 88, 90, 91, 92, 95, 98, 99, and 103.
Soga no Umako, who succeeded his father as Oho-omi, was joined in his effort to administer the government by his grand-nephew, Prince Umayado, also known as Shotoku Taishi, son of Tachibana no Toyohi, aka Youmei Tennou, and thus grandson of Umako’s sister, Kitashi-hime, and the sovereign known as Kimmei Tennou. Umayado’s aunt, sister to Tachibana no Toyohi, was Kashikiya Hime, or Suiko Tennou. The three of them: Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and Kashikiya Hime, together oversaw the development of Yamato and the spread of Buddhism. Buddhism was also controversial at first, but they turned it into another source of ritual power for the state—ritual power that Soga no Umako, Prince Umayado, and even Kashikiya Hime were able to harvest for their own use.
Unfortunately, the Crown Prince, Umayado, died before Kashikiya hime, suddenly leaving open the question of who would take the throne. Soga no Umako himself, passed away two years before Kashikiya Hime. When she in turn passed away, there was another struggle for the throne, this time between the descendants of Crown Prince Umayado and Soga no Umako. Eventually, Soga no Umako’s son and heir, Soga no Emishi, made sure that a more pliant sovereign, Prince Tamura, would take the throne, and Prince Umayado’s own son, Prince Yamashiro no Oe, was cut out of the succession.
Soga no Emishi, serving as prime minister, effectively ran things much as his father had. When Tamura diedhis queen, Takara Hime, took the throne, rather than passing it back to Umayado’s line—no doubt with Emishi’s blessing. He was careful, however, not to provoke direct action against Yamashiro no Oe, possibly due to the reverence in which Yamashiro’s father, Prince Umayado, aka the Buddhist Saint Shotoku Taishi, was held. Meanwhile, Emishi appears to have been cultivating his grandson by way of Prince Tamura, Furubito no Oe, to eventually succeed to the throne, trying to duplicate what his own father Umako and even grandfather had been able to accomplish.
Soga no Emishi’s son, Soga no Iruka, was not quite so temperate, however.   Who would have thought that growing up at the top of the social hierarchy might make one feel a bit arrogant and entitled?   When Soga no Emishi was ill, Soga no Iruka took over as Prime Minister, and he didn’t just stand back. He decided that he needed to take out Furubito no Oe’s competition, and so he went after Yamashiro no Oe and had him killed.
Unfortunately for him, he apparently went too far. There were already those who were not happy with the Soga family’s close hold on power—or perhaps more appropriately, this particular line of the Soga family. This kind of behavior allowed a group of discontented royals and nobility to gain support.
According to the popular story recounted in the Nihon Shoki, the primary seed of resistance started with a game of kickball, or kemari. Nakatomi no Kamako, aka Nakatomi no Kamatari, was the scion of his house, which was dedicated to the worship of the traditional kami of Yamato. The Nakatomi were ritualists: in charge of chanting ritual prayers, or norito, during court ceremony. This meant that their powerbase was directly challenged by the increasing role of Buddhism, one of the Soga patriarchs’ key influences on the political system.
Kamatari was feeling out the politics of the court, and seemed to be seeking the support of royal family members who could help challenge the powerful Soga ministers. He found that support in two places. First, in Prince Karu, brother to Takara Hime, the current sovereign, who had been on the throne ever since her husband, Tamura, had passed away. And then there was the Prince Katsuraki, better known to us, today, as Prince Naka no Oe. A game of kemari, where a group of players tried to keep a ball in the air as long as they could, using only their feet, was a chance to get close to the Prince. When Naka no Oe’s shoe flew off in the middle of the match, Kamatari ran over to retrieve it. As he offered the shoe back to its owner, they got to talking, and one of the most impactful bromances in Yamato history was born.
The two ended up studying together. The unification of the Yellow River and Yangzi basin regions under the Sui and Tang, and the expansion of the Silk Road, had repercussions felt all the way across the straits in Yamato. Naka no Oe and Kamatari were both avid students and were absorbing all that the continent had to throw at them about philosophy and good governance. As is so often the case, it seems like idealistic students were the fertile ground for revolutionary new thoughts.
There were problems implementing their vision, however. Although the Nihon Shoki claims that Naka no Oe was the Crown Prince, that honor was probably given to Prince Furubito no Oe, who would have no doubt perpetuated the existing power structures at court. This is something that the Chroniclers, or perhaps those before them, glossed over and may have even tried to retconned, to help bolster the case that Naka no Oe was actually working for the common good and not just involved in a naked power grab for himself. There is also the question as to where Yamashiro no Oe had stood in the succession, as he likely had a fair number of supporters.
With the destruction of Yamashiro no Oe’s family, however, the balance of power shifted. Although Soga no Emishi had long been an influential member of the court, and not solely because of his role as Prime Minister, Soga no Iruka was relatively new to power. Yamashiro no Oe’s family, in turn, likely had a fair number of supporters, and even neutral parties may have been turned off by Iruka’s violent methods to suppress an opponent who had already been defeated politically. Naka no Oe and Kamatari seem to have seized on this discontent againt the Soga, but they needed at least one other conspirator. They achieved this by offering a marriage alliance with Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, a lesser member of the Soga household, whose own immediate family had been supporters of Yamashiro no Oe, and so likely had plenty of grievances with his cousins. Naka no Oe married Ishikawa no Maro’s daughter, Wochi no Iratsume, also known as Chinu no Iratsume. Together, these three—Naka no Oe, Kamatari, and Ishikawa no Maro—brought others into their plot, and finally, in 645, they struck. Soga no Iruka was killed at court, in front of a shocked Takara Hime and Prince Furubito no Oe. By the way, this is another thing that suggests to me that Furubito no Oe was the Crown Prince, because why was he front and center at the ceremony, while Naka no Oe was able to skulk around at the edges, tending to things like the guards?
After the assassination at the court – the Isshi Incident -- Naka no Oe gathered forces and went after Soga no Emishi, since they knew they couldn’t leave him alive. With both Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka dead, and Takara Hime having abdicated the throne in shock at what had just occurred, Naka no Oe could have taken the throne for himself. However, in what was probably a rather astute move on his part, he chose not to. He recognized that Furubito no Oe’s claim to the throne was possibly stronger, and those who had supported the Soga would not doubt push for him to take the throne. And so, instead, he pushed for his uncle, Prince Karu, to ascend as sovereign. Karu was Takara Hime’s brother, and they could use Confucian logic regarding deference to one’s elders to support him. Plus, Karu’s hands weren’t directly bloodied by the recent conflict.
As for Prince Furubito, he saw the way that the winds were blowing. To avoid being another casualty, he retired from the world, taking the vows of a Buddhist monk. However, there were still supporters who were trying to put him on the throne and eventually he would be killed, to avoid being used as a rallying point.
Prince Karu, known as Jomei Tennou, ruled for around a decade. During that time, Naka no Oe and his reformers helped to cultivate a new image of the state as a bureaucratic monarchy. Naka no Oe was designated the Crown Prince, and Nakatomi no Kamatari was made the “Inner Prime Minister”, or Naidaijin. Ishikawa no Maro was made the minister of the Right, while Abe no Uchimaro was made Minister of the Left, and they ran much of the bureaucracy, but the Naidaijin was a role more directly attached to the royal household, and likely meant that Kamatari was outside of their jurisdiction, falling into a position directly supporting Naka no Oe. They instituted Tang style rank systems, and set up divisions of the entire archipelago. They appointed governors of the various countries, now seen as provinces, and made them report up to various ministers, and eventually the sovereign. After all, if you were going to manage everything, you needed to first and foremost collect the data. This period is known as the Taika, or Great Change, period, and the reforms are known as the Taika reforms, discussed in episode 108. They even built a large government complex in the form of the Toyosaki Palace, in Naniwa, though this may have been a bit much—for more, check out episodes 112 and 113.
Years into the project, though, things seem to have soured, a bit. Rumors and slander turned Kamatari against his ally, Ishikawa no Maro, resulting in the death of Ishikawa no Maro and much of his family. Naka no Oe and other members of the royal family eventually abandoned the Naniwa palace complex, leaving now-Emperor Karu and the government officials there to run the day-to-day administration, while much of the court made its way back to the Asuka area.
Karu would later pass away, but the throne still did not pass to Crown Prince Naka no Oe, despite his title. Instead, the throne went back to Takara Hime. This was her second reign, and one of only two split reigns like this that we know of. The Chroniclers, who were creating posthumous titles for the sovereigns, gave her two names—Kogyoku Tennou for her reign up to 645, and then Saimei Tennou for her second reign starting in 655.   During her latter reign, Naka no Oe continued to wield power as the Crown Prince, and the Chroniclers don’t really get into why she came back into power. It may be that Naka no Oe, in his role as Crown Prince, had more freedom: although the sovereign is purportedly the person in power, that position can also be limiting. There are specific things which the sovereign is supposed to do, rituals in which they are expected to partake. In addition, there were restrictions on who was allowed into the inner sanctum of the palace, and thus limits on who could interact with the sovereign, and how. That meant that any sovereign was reliant on intermediaries to know what was going on in their state and to carry out their orders. As Crown Prince, Naka no Oe may have had more flexibility to do the things he wanted to do, and he could always leverage the sovereign’s authority.
When Baekje was destroyed, and Yamato decided to go to their aid, Naka no Oe appears to have had a strong hand in raising forces and directing movements, at least within the archipelago. When Takara Hime passed away rather suddenly, he accompanied her funerary procession much of the way back, and then returned to Tsukushi—Kyushu—to direct the war.   This is the same thing that Toyotomi Hideyoshi would do when he sent troops to Korea in the late 16th century. Moving headquarters closer to the continent would reduce the time between messages. Theoretically he could have moved out to the islands of Iki or Tsushima, but I suspect that there were more amenities at Tsukushi, where they even built a palace for Takara Hime—and later Naka no Oe—to reside in. It was likely not quite as spectacular as the full-blown city that Hideyoshi developed in a matter of months, but the court could also leverage the facilities previously created for the Dazaifu.
The war took time. This wasn’t like some “wars” that were more like specific military actions. This was a war that dragged on for several years, with different waves of ships going over to transport people and supplies. Things came to a head in the 9th month of 663, roughly October or November on the Western calendar. The Baekje resistance was under siege, and their only hope was a fleet of Yamato soldiers coming to their aid. The Yamato fleet met with a much smaller Tang fleet at the mouth of the Baek River—the Hakusukinoe. They attempted to break through the Tang blockade, but the Tang had positional advantage and were eventually able to counterattack, destroying the Yamato fleet. Without their relief, the Baekje resistance fell.
The remnants of the Yamato army, along with those Baekje nobles that were with them, headed out, fleeing back to the archipelago. One presumes that there may have been other Baekje nobles, and their families, who had already made the trip.
After the entry describing this rout, on the 24th day of the 9th month of 663, we have a gap in the Chronicles of just a little more than 4 months. We then pick up with Naka no Oe’s government starting to look at internal affairs. For one thing, we are told that he selected his younger brother, the Royal Prince Ohoama, as Crown Prince, and he made updates to the cap-rank system, changing it from 19 ranks to 26 ranks. The first six ranks remained the same, but the name “kwa”, or “flower”, for the 7th through 10th ranks was changed to “Kin”, meaning “brocade”. Furthermore, a “middle” rank was added between the Upper and Lower ranks, further distinguishing each group, and adding 6 extra ranks. Finally, the initial rank, Risshin, was divided into two: Daiken and Shouken. We aren’t told why, but it likely meant that they could have more granular distinctions in rank.
At the same time that was going on, the court also awarded long swords to the senior members of the great families, and short swords to the senior members of lesser families. Below that, senior members of the Tomo no Miyatsuko and others were given shields and bows and arrows. Furthermore, the vassals, or kakibe, and the domestic retainers, or yakabe, were settled, to use Aston’s translation. The kanji used in the text appears to refer to settling a decision or standardizing something, rather than settling as in giving a place to live. It seems to me to mean that the court was settling servants on families: determining what kind and how many servants that various houses could have based on their position in the hierarchy.
I can’t help but notice that all of these gifts were very martial in nature. That does not mean, of course, that they were necessarily because of the war over Baekje, nor that they were in response to the concern about a possible Tang invasion -- we’ve seen in the past where swords were gifted to people who had served the court --but it is hard not to connect these gifts with recent worries. We also know that this year, Naka no Oe turned his focus on building defenses, setting up guards and beacon fires on the islands of Tsushima and Iki.   Should any unknown fleet be seen coming to the archipelago, the fires would alert the forces at Kyushu, so they could send word and prepare a defense.
In addition, the court built an impressive defense for Tsukushi—for the Dazai itself, the seat of the Yamato government in Kyushu. It is called the Mizuki, or Water Castle, though at the time “castle” was more about walls and fortifications than the standalone fortress we tend to think of, today. Along those lines, the Mizuki was an earthen embankment, roughly 1.2 kilometers long, extending from a natural ridgeline to the west across the Mikasa river. Archeological evidence shows it had a moat, and this line of fortifications would have been a line of defense for the Dazai, should anyone try to invade. This construction was so large and impressive that you can still see it, even today. It stands out on the terrain, and it is even visible from overhead photographs.
In the third month of 664, we are told that Prince Syeongwang of Baekje and his people, were given a residence at Naniwa. In fact, even though Baekje was no longer an independent kingdom, there appear to have been thousands of Baekje people now living in Yamato, unable to return home. Many of these were former nobles of the Baekje court, which Yamato treated as a foreign extension of its own. Resettling these people would be a major theme for the Chronicles, but we will also see, as we read further on, how their talents were leveraged for the state.
Also in the third month, a star fell in the north—it says “in the north of the capital”, but I suspect that anywhere north, south, east, or west of the capital would have seen the same thing “in the north”. There was also an earthquake, which isn’t given any particular significance, beyond its mention as a natural phenomenon.
On the 17th day of the 5th month of 664, so roughly 2 months later, we are told that Liu Jen’yuan, the Tang dynasty’s general in Baekje, sent Guo Wucong to Yamato with a letter and gifts. We aren’t told the contents of the letter, but one imagines that this may have been a rather tense exchange. Yamato had just been involved in open warfare against Tang forces on the peninsula, and they still weren’t sure if the Tang empire would come after them next. Their only real hope on that front was Goguryeo, since the Tang and Silla were still trying to destroy the Goguryeo kingdom, and that may have kept the Tang forces tied up for a while. No doubt Guo Wucong would have seen some of the defenses that Yamato was constructing during his visit.
Guo Wucong would hang around for about seven and a half months. He was given permission to take his leave on the 4th day of the 10th month. Naka no Oe had his friend and Inner Prime Minister, Nakatomi no Kamatari send the Buddhist Priest, Chisho, with presents for Guo Wucong, and he and his officers were granted entertainments before they left as well. Finally, Guo Wucong and his people returned to the Tang on the 12th day of the 12th month.
While the delegation from the Tang was in Yamato, we are told of several tragedies. First was that Soga no Murajiko no Oho-omi had passed away. Soga no Murajiko appears to have been another son of Soga no Kuramaro, and thus brother to Soga no Ishikawa no Maro. Unfortunately, we don’t have much more on him in the record.
Just a month later, we are told that the “Dowager Queen” Shima passed away. Aston translates this as the Queen Grandmother, suggesting that she was Naka no Oe’s grandmother.
We are also told, that in the 10th month of 664, around the time that Guo Wucong was given leave to depart, that Yeon Gaesomun, the Prime Minister—though perhaps more correctly the despotic ruler—of Goguryeo, died. It is said that he asked his children to remain united, but, well, even if we didn’t know how it all turned out, I think we would look somewhat skeptically on any idea that they all did exactly as they were told. Sure enough, in 667 we are told that Gaesomun’s eldest son, Namseng, left the capital city of Pyongyang to tour the provinces, and while he was gone his younger brothers conspired with the nobility, and when he came back they refused to let him back in. So Namseng ran off to the Tang court and apparently helped them destroy his own country.
This is largely corroborated by other stories about Goguryeo, though the dates do seem to be off. Tang records put Gaesomun’s death around 666 CE, which the Samguk Sagi appears to follow, but on his tomb the date would appear to be 665. Confusion like this was easy enough given the different dates and trying to cross-check across different regnal eras. Sure, there were some commonalities, but it was very easy to miscount something.
One last note from the twelfth month of 664—it seems that there were omens of apparent prosperity that came to the court from the island of Awaji.    First, there was rice that grew up in a farmer’s pig trough. The farmer’s name is given as Shinuta no Fumibito no Mu, and Mu gathered this rice and stored it up, and thus, every day his wealth increased. Then there was the bridal bed of Iwaki no Sukuri no Oho, of Kurimoto district. They claimed that rice grew up at the head of his brides’ mattress during her first night’s stay with him. And this wasn’t just some brand new shoot, but overnight it formed an ear, and by the morning it bent down and ripened. Then, the following night, another ear was formed. When the bride went out into the courtyard, two keys fell down from heaven, and after she gave them to her husband, Oho, he went on to become a wealthy man.
The exact purpose of these stories is unclear, but it seems to be that the Chroniclers are choosing to focus on stories of wealth and growth, which speak to how they wanted this reign as a whole, including the sovereign, to be remembered.
However, more tragedy struck the following year, in 665, when Hashibito, another Dowager Queen – this time the wife of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou - passed away on the 25th day of the 2nd month. On the first day of the 3rd month, 330 people took Buddhist vows for her sake.
We are also told that in the second month the ranks of Baekje were cross-referenced with the ranks of Yamato, and then ranks were given out to some of the Baekje nobles that had come over to Yamato. Kwisil Chipsa, who was originally ranked “Dalsol” in Baekje, was accorded “Lower Shoukin”. That was rank 12 of the 26. In comparison, “Dalsol” seems to have been the 2nd rank of 16 in Baekje. Along with handing out rank, over 400 Baekje commoners, both men and women, were given residence in the Kanzaki district in Afumi. This appears to be an area along the Aichi river, running from the Suzuka Mountains, west towards Lake Biwa. The court granted them rice-lands in the following month. At the same time, several high ranking Baekje nobles were put in charge of building castles at strategic points around the archipelago. These included one castle in Nagato, as well as the castles of Ohono and Woyogi, in Tsukushi. Two years later, in 667, we also see the building of Takayasu castle, in Yamato and Yashima castle in Yamada, in Sanuki—modern Kagawa, on Shikoku, facing the Seto Inland Sea passageway. Kaneda castle in Tsushima was also a Baekje-built one.
We mentioned something about these castles last episode. They were in the Baekje style, and as I said, the term “castle” here is more about the walls, which were largely made of rammed earth ramparts. This means that you pile up earth and dirt in a layer and then the laborers use tools specifically to tamp it down until it is thick and hard. Then another layer is piled on top and the process is repeated. These walls were often placed on mountain tops, and they would follow the terrain, making them places that were easy to defend. Beyond that, they didn’t necessarily have a donjon keep or anything like that—maybe a tower so that one could see a little further, but being at the top of a mountain usually provided all the visual cues that one needed.
We know there were other castles made as well. For example, I mentioned last week about Kinojo, in Okayama, the ancient Kibi area. Kinojo is not mentioned in the Nihon Shoki, but it clearly existed back then, and matches the general description of a 7th century mountain castle as built in Baekje. The name means Demon Castle, and there is a story about it that is connected to the local Kibitsu Jinja—the Shrine to Prince Kibi. According to legend, Kibitsu Hiko, aka Prince Kibitsu or, perhaps more appropriately, the Prince of Kibi, came to the area around the time of the Mimaki Iribiko, so probably about the 3rd century, at the head of a large force. Kibitsu Hiko had come to defeat the demon, Ura, who lived in the nearby castle, hence Kinojo, and legend says that he freed the people from the demon’s rule.
As I also mentioned, last week, this particular castle may have ended up in the Momotaro story. There are those who believe that the story of Momotarou is based on the story of Prince Kibitsu Hiko, and his defeat of the so-called demon, “Ura”.   Certainly the story has grown more fantastical, and less connected to the ancient history of the Kibi region, but it still may have its origin in a much more standard legend of a founding prince of the ancient Kibi kingdom that was later changed into a fairy tale.

More likely, the castle was built by a Baekje nobleman, often thought to be a prince, who settled in the area. There is the possibility that the demon’s name “Ura” came from a mistranslation of his name, or it is also possible that he was unrelated to the story at all. The Kibitsu Hiko legend may have incorporated the castle, Kinojo, at a later date, once people had forgotten when and why the castle was actually built.
It would make sense if Kinojo had been built as part of the defenses for Yamato, as that area overlooks a large part of the fertile plains of Okayama and out beyond Kojima to the Seto Inland Sea -- it is perched over a key overland route from the western edge of Honshu to Yamato, and there would have been several ways to signal boats to put to sea to intercept forces on the water. . This all suggests to me that Kinojo was probably part of Naka no Oe’s castle-building effort, even if it isn’t specifically remembered in the Chronicle.
But building castles wasn’t enough to bring peace of mind that Yamato would survive a Tang invasion, and it is possibly as a defensive measure that Naka no Oe would go on to do something truly incredible—he would eventually move the capital from Asuka and Naniwa all the way to the shores of Lake Biwa itself, establishing the Ohotsu palace. This was a truly extreme step that didn’t endear Naka no Oe to the court, but it had several advantages.
For one thing, this move pulled the capital further away from the sea routes, meaning that if they were attacked, they had a more defensible position. Even more so than Yamato, the Afumi region around Lake Biwa is surrounded by mountains, with a few narrow passes that restricted movement in and out. One of these is the famous Sekigahara, which remained a choke point even up to modern times. The name even means the Field of the Barrier, indicating the barrier and checkpoint that had been set up there in ancient times.
Moving the capital also pulled the court away from some of the previous political centers, which may have been another feature that made it attractive to Naka no Oe. Many capital moves have been made, at least in part, to get farther away from strong Buddhist temples, and this certainly would have moved things out of the Asuka region, which by now was a hotbed of Buddhist temple activity.
But we’ll talk about that all more, 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

References

倉本一宏. (2007). 壬申の乱.
Bentley, J. (29 May. 2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. https://doi.org/10.1163/9789047418191.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 124: The Battle of Hakusukinoe (aka the Battle of Baekgang

April 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Tang era figurines of soldiers. From the Shaanxi history museum. Photo by author.

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This episode we will talk about the Battle of Hakusukinoe (白村江の戦い), known in Korean as the Battle of Baekgang. This was a naval battle at the mouth of the Baek river where an overwhelming force of Yamato ships took on a fleet from the Great Tang empire during the 7th century.

Dramatis Personae

Here we’ll cover some of the people mentioned in the record.

Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō

Sovereign of Yamato from 654, in her second reign on the throne, her first being interrupted in 645. She had moved the capital back to Asuka after the stand up of the Naniwa Palace in modern Ōsaka.

Crown Prince Naka no Ōe

Son of Takara Hime, and the main perpetrator of the Isshi incident of 645. He has clearly been a powerful political force, and was probably organizing much of the military efforts.

King Uija (Wicha)

King of Baekje, who came to the throne in the early 640s and almost immediately started to make war on Silla.

Prince Pung

Son of King Uija who was sent to the Yamato court as a diplomatic “hostage”. When his father and brothers were captured, he was brought out of his hostage state to take the throne and restore his kingdom.

Prince Tae

The second son of King Uija. After the King and the Crown Prince fled, Prince Tae claimed the throne and took up the defense of the royal city. Regrettably, his usurpation of the throne drove away his other brothers and their retinues, which would lead to a massive exodus from the city.

Gwisil Boksin (Kwisil Poksin)

Gwisil Boksin was a distant relative of King Uija, through the noble Gwisil family, and it was he who rallied the people of Baekje to try and take back their kingdom after it was destroyed by the Silla-Tang alliance. He requested Yamato support and the return of Prince Pung to come and reinstate the throne.

Gyebaek

Baekje general who went out to try and halt the advance of the Silla force. Unfortunately, his 5,000 troops were little match for the 50,000 troops of Silla.

Kim Yusin

Silla general who had fought against Baekje in the past. He led the Silla troops that killed general Gyebaek and linked up with the Tang forces. He is considered the primary unifier of the peninsula for his campaigns against Silla and Goguryeo, bringing all of the peninsula under Silla rule. His line would marry into the Silla royal family, so that the royal line traced back through him. It is thought that he may have been descended from the kings of Geumgwan Gaya (or Kara).

Tang Gaozong

Only peripherally mentioned, Tang Gaozong was the ruler of the Tang empire who decided to send troops to help Silla defeat Baekje. A major reason for this may have been less the destruction of Baekje, but rather because defeating Baekje allowed the Tang to take a strategic position on the peninsula, from which they could attack Goguryeo without being hassled by any of Goguryeo’s allies.

Su Dingfang

The Tang general who was given command of the troops to take Baekje.

Echi no Hada no Miyatsuko no Takutsu

A Yamato general who appears to have been leading the naval forces at the battle of Hakusukinoe. We are told that he personally slew “tens of men”, so he wasn’t just sitting off in the rear eschelon.

Adzumi no Omi no Hirafu

One of the generals and a regular traveler between Yamato and Baekje. He was given command of the front division.

Abe no Omi no Hirafu

The general of the rear division. He was also responsible for the campaigns against the Mishihase up in Hokkaidō.

The Aftermath

After entering into direct conflict with the Tang empire, Yamato feared reprisals, and they would build a series of peninsular style fortifications from Tsushima all the way to Asuka. Some of which can be seen today. For example, there is the Ki no Jō, or Demon’s Castle,　（鬼ノ城） in the region of ancient Kibi, now Okayama. Centuries later, its true purpose was forgotten, though it was said to be the home of a Baekje prince. Later this is thought to have been at least partial inspiration for the story of Momotarō, the Peach Boy, who is said to have subdued a castle of Oni with his animal companions. The original earthworks have been studied and recreated, and a gate has been installed that is believed to be similar to what might have existed in the 7th century.

Model of a Korean castle in Japan

This shows the Ki no Jō, a Korean style mountain castle built around the 7th century in the area of ancient Kibi—modern Okayama

Reconstructed Gate of Kinojō

The reconstructed gate of the Kinojō, or Demon’s Castle. The pounded earthworks were done with reconstructed techniques based on the current understanding of castle construction.

Model of the gate at Ki no jō

Model of the gate that was reconstructed at Ki no jō based on archaeological evidence.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 124: The Battle of Haku-suki-no-e.
Echi no Takutsu looked out from where he stood on the deck of his ship. The horizon seemed to bob up and down, but he knew that was just an illusion caused by the waves. And upon those waves, hundreds of Yamato ships floated, ready to do battle. As a veteran of this and other wars, Takutsu was used to surveying flotillas of ships, and yet, none of his years of experience had quite had this kind of impact upon him. Yamato’s ally, Baekje, had fallen in battle to the combined might of the Tang and Silla forces, and now they were assisting a band of rebels who were trying to once again restore their kingdom. Silla was, of course, an all too common adversary for the Yamato court, but the Tang: now that was another matter.
The Tang dynasty had only grown in the four and a half decades since it was founded. They had destroyed their enemies and continued to expand. They had defeated the Gokturks and expanded into the heart of Eurasia. Even in cases like Goguryeo, who had so far managed to hold out against their attacks, it was clear that they had an effect. The Tang dynasty was the superpower of its day, and for whatever airs Yamato may have put on, they were still a backwater in comparison.
And yet, on this day, that backwater seemed, by all rights, to have the upper hand. In response to the destruction of Baekje, Yamato had marshalled all of their forces. Their boats greatly outnumbered those of their opponents, and if they could defeat the Tang navy, then they could make landfall and connect with the remaining Baekje forces attempting to restore their kingdom. And so here they were, at the mouth of the Baengma River, also known as the Baekgang, or, in Japanese, the Haku-suki-no-e. The Tang forces were bottled up, and the greater Yamato forces seemed poised to take them out.   The only problem was that the river mouth narrowed quickly, so that only a few ships could attack at any given time. Still, with overwhelming numbers, Echi no Takutsu and his fellow soldiers expected that they would still be able to overcome their enemies and place their allies back in control of their territory.
With confidence in their victory, the Yamato ships sailed forward, prepared to crush their enemies, and restore Baekje…

Greetings, everyone, and welcome back. As you may have figured out we are still in the later half of the 7th century. During the last episode we talked about the embassy to the Tang dynasty court that got delayed—placed under house arrest for a year—because the Tang dynasty was conducting their special military operations over on the Korean peninsula. That was in the year 660. Specifically, the Tang were working in conjunction with Silla to destroy the Kingdom of Baekje, and they even returned to the Tang capital with prisoners, including the royal family and many high-ranking nobles. That they didn’t want the ambassadors leaving, and presumably informing Baekje on their way back, would seem to speak to the strong ties between Baekje and Yamato. After all, several times in the Nihon Shoki we have seen where the Baekje royal line was endangered and a prince that had been living at the Yamato court was brought across the strait with Yamato support to place them back on the throne.
This episode, we are going to look a little closer at what happened on the peninsula and what happened when news of the event reached the Yamato court. This would culminate in one of the most famous naval battles in east Asia—certainly one of the most famous in Japanese history. It is recorded in records from various sides, so unlike many of the raids on Silla, and other conflicts on the peninsula, we have multiple accounts documenting it, and if the Japanese account is to be believed than it may have been among the largest naval conflicts in the world at that time.
So let me take you through what the Chronicles have to say up until the battle and then we can talk about what happened and a little bit about what it would mean for Yamato in the years to come.
We’ll start a bit before the conflict, while Baekje was still going strong. The Chronicles are filled with portents and omens, and of course, they already knew what had happened. Still, let’s talk about some of what they mentioned leading up to the battle, as well as some of the remaining accounts demonstrating the cross-strait exchanges.
We’ll start in 655, the year after Takara Hime had assumed the throne, being given the name Saimei Tennou by the Chroniclers. On the first day of the 5th month we are told that a “man of Tang” was seen riding a dragon in the sky. He is described as wearing a broad hat of blue—or green—oiled cloth. He rode fast from the peak of Mt. Katsuraki and disappeared on Mt. Ikoma. At noon he galloped over the pines of Sumiyoshi and disappeared into the west.
This is obviously a fantastical story, but let’s talk about what we can. It is hard not to see in this some of the importance that the Tang dynasty would play in this reign, especially given the fact that this occurred in the first year after Takara hime had ascended the throne. It would seem to have been meant here as an omen. I have not seen specific comments about this, though I’m sure someone has looked into it. But for me, I am struck by the fact this person was, first and foremost, identifiable as Tang, likely meaning because of his clothing. And he was riding a dragon. Dragons were known in Japan, but not quite as popular in folklore as they are shown to be on the mainland. The Dragon was the imperial symbol of the Tang and other dynasties. Japan had its own stories of dragon kings and other such things, but in this case I can’t imagine that the connection with the imperial throne would be ignored.
The hat is also interesting. The color is listed as “blue” though Aston translates this as “green”. The term “aoi” was used for any color on the spectrum from blue to green. In fact, it is still the case that the “green” light on a Japanese traffic signal is still referred to as “blue”. There were more specific colors, but the word “midori” would have been more like a specific word, like “teal”, “cerulean”, or “aquamarine”, rather than a core color like we would use blue, yellow, or, in this case, green. The fact that it was made of oiled stuff suggests to me that it was waterproofed. It is noted specifically with the character for “kasa”, which typically refers to a wide brimmed hat used to keep the rain off.
I suspect that in this case it was the kind of hat that we often see on Tang dynasty figurines of riders. They often have a tall, wide-brimmed hat, often with drape of sheer fabric around the edge. This kind of hat would eventually be popular in Japan amongst traveling noblewomen, as it helped keep them out of the sun and away from the bugs and, well, it also acted as a barrier between the them and the rest of the world. The versions seen on the Tang figurines are usually somewhat short, probably just enough to obscure the face, and may have helped to cut down on glare. These often aren’t obviously oiled, but that certainly could have been the case, and that may have been another method of protecting travelers from anything that nature could throw at them.
It does seem a very particular image.
The course of the rider is somewhat interesting. From Katsuraki, on the southwestern edge of the Nara basin, north to Mt. Ikoma. Then west to Sumiyoshi and off to the far west—in other words, back to the Tang dynasty. Sumiyoshi is also of particular interest. The pines of Sumiyoshi are a particular poetic trope, or utamakura. They help to conjure famous imagery of a place, and so it is hardly surprising that they would be found in this context. In this case I suspect that is the main reason they are mentioned. However, Sumiyoshi also has its own importance. Sumiyoshi was once on the seashore, and Sumiyoshi was a common shrine for travelers to pray at for safe travels. In fact, there are Sumiyoshi shrines across the archipelago that all are tied back to the Sumiyoshi in the modern Ohosaka area, and they often found near the shore as places where travelers could pray for safe passage before they headed off on the sea.
And so it would make sense that the rider would head off over Sumiyoshi and to the west, much as the various ambassadors would travel off to the west.
There may be more to it, but I suspect that this was either referencing the growing links between Yamato and the Tang, or perhaps simply referring to the various kentoushi—the ambassadors who crossed the seas to the Tang court and brought back so much to the archipelago.
The next obvious omen seems to come in 657. In this case it was a white fox seen in the land of Iwami. It was mentioned in the same record as when ambassadors Adzumi no Tsuratari and Tsu no Kutsuma came back from the Western Seas via Baekje. It isn’t clear that the two are connected, though. Perhaps there is something I’m missing. It is notable that this seems to be the only mention of Iwami that I could find, at least doing a quick search for the characters in the electronic version of the text. Iwami is the land to the west of Izumo, on the western end of modern Shimane prefecture, and the western end of the San’in-do, along the northern edge of western Honshu. It is a mountainous region on the edge of the Japan Sea, the Nihonkai.
We’ve talked about many of the other accounts after that, until the following year, 658. We have a note about a south-pointing chariot, which we’ll discuss in a later episode, but that was clearly another connection to continental technologies. After that we have an account from Izumo. Huge numbers of dead fish were washing ashore, up to three feet, or roughly a meter, deep. The fish were apparently the size of a pufferfish, with beaks like a sparrow and thorny scales, several inches long. I wonder if, by the description, they could be referring to triggerfish or parrotfish, which are found in the Japan Sea. Fish kills, or mass die-offs, are unfortunate events that occasionally happen for a variety of reasons. The most common is actually asphyxiation—algae blooms or other such events that eat up the oxygen, causing fish to die off in an area. Fish kills might also happen because of disease, undersea quakes, and other factors. Of course, to anyone in Izumo, this would have been a terribly random event. I can’t tell whether or not it was an omen, but it certainly could have been. If so, I doubt it would have been a very good one.
The strange fish that were brought up were called “sparrow fish” by the locals. They believed they were sparrows that had gone to the ocean and turned into fish.
Immediately after that, in the Chronicle, we get a somewhat odd entry in that it seems out of place. We are told that Baekje had sent to Japan requesting aid. Tang and Silla had teamed up and captured King Wicha, his queen, and the heir to the throne. It is probably notable that this is written as “one book says”. Also, recall that dates were still somewhat problematic at this time. They were based on the regnal years of the monarch or the dates according to the sexagesimal cycle, either of which could have been off, particularly at this time, in different sources. I suspect that the fact that they mention it as “one book says” indicates that even the compilers of the Nihon Shoki weren’t quite sure that this was in the right spot, but it was an account of what did eventually happen—just not until two years later. This position is bolstered by the fact that the next account talks about how Azumi no Muarji no Tsuratari had returned from what was apparently another trip to the Western Seas and Baekje, just a year after the previous. Again, this could be the same expedition, with accounts misplacing the dates, or with dates according to when he left and others when he arrived back. Still, it brings us yet another omen.
Apparently, around this point, Baekje had been successful against Silla. This is a good reminder that Baekje was not exactly an innocent bystander in everything that had happened. King Wicha was rather famous in his own day, seen as a paragon of courage, largely because he was taking the fight to Silla, often allying with Goguryeo to block Silla from their access to the Tang and others. Silla, who had been adopting Tang culture and style, and even claimed some distant descent from ethnic Han immigrants during the time of the Han commandries on the peninsula, were still able to forge close ties with the Tang, who seemed to preference them over Baekje and Goguryeo. This may have been part of the general diplomatic game of the Middle Kingdom going back to the Han times, where they would often look to ally with those states beyond the immediate border states, so that those on their immediate border would have to defend themselves on two fronts. This was likely more aimed at Goguryeo than Baekje, at least initially, but the alliance meant that Baekje, whom the Tang regularly chastised for their actions against Silla, was also in the crosshairs.
However, up through 658, it seems Baekje’s actions were largely successful. Both the Baekje and Silla annals mention attacks by Baekje against the country of Silla in the following year, which otherwise correlate with the record in the Nihon Shoki. Here we should remember that the author of the Samguk Sagi, which preserved these records, was writing centuries later, and had a clear pro-Silla bias. There are several years missing from the Baekje annals at this time, but the idea that Baekje was attacking Silla is hardly controversial. In the Silla Annals, in 659, we also get word that Silla sent envoys to the Tang court protesting Baekje’s aggression and asking the Tang court for aid. Aid that would soon come, unbeknownst to others—even Silla wasn’t quite sure until they showed up.
And this is likely why the Nihon Shoki records a strange incident in Baekje, where a horse, of its own accord, started circling the Golden Hall of a Buddhist temple in the Baekje capital, continuing day and night, and stopping only to graze. In some regions, walking around a sacred temple or stupa was considered a particular form of prayer, and perhaps the horse knew something and was trying to make merit. In the text we are told explicitly what this meant: the downfall of Baekje was nigh, and it would fall in the coming year, 660. In a similar fashion, the Baekje annals, and the Samguk Yusa, likely pulling from the same sources, go through a series of omens, from birds to fish, to various ghosts, all saying that Baekje was about to fall. The annals at this point paint Wicha as consumed with the material world and debauchery, likely a largely later indictment to add a moral explanation to the events that would soon occur.
In Yamato, there were other omens as well. Things were not entirely well in the Yamato capital. Remember, this was Takara Hime’s second reign, and her son was fully grown, himself, so she was no spring chicken. On the 13th day of the 7th month of the year 659, she had the ministers expound the Urabon sutra in all the temples in Asuka and had a requital made to the ancestors for 7 generations. We are also told that in that same year, the Miyatsuko of Izumo was made to repair the Itsuki god’s shrine. I have to wonder if these were to help make merit, or were just regular occurrences, but we are also told that fox bit at the head of a creeper that a man was carrying and ran off with it, and a dog found a dead man’s hand and forearm and dropped them at Ifuya shrine. The chroniclers claim these omens were not about Baekje, but rather about Takara Hime herself—claiming that she was not long for this world.
It is good to remember that it is only now that we can look back and see where things were leading. At the time, nobody really knew what the future held, and business went on as normal. The omens and portents were all well and good, but they are being interpreted after the fact. There is no indication that people were telling Takara Hime that her time was about to come. This is illustrated by the fact that there are plenty of regular accounts in here as well. We have a few episodes that actually reference the “shiguma”—the polar bear or the brown bear—and Gogureyo. The first is of Goguryeo merchants—likely part of an embassy—trying to sell a shiguma fur in the local markets for 60 pounds of floss silk, a price that was apparently laughable, as the market commissioner turned them down. And here I’ll digress briefly because this is rather a remarkable entry, even though it seems like almost nothing, because it demonstrates something we rarely see but often suspect. For all that the ambassadors to various courts were performing their diplomatic functions, they were also there to trade. This is part of how they funded the journey. They would bring some goods for the court and the sovereign, of course, and hopefully get as much or more in return. But they would also trade in the local markets. This is probably part of what the embassy to the Tang was doing when they made landfall and then stayed put for a month or so. I suspect they were working with the local government to ship off the tribute, but also availing themselves of the local markets. You didn’t necessarily exchange currency, but you would sell your trade goods and that would likely help fund the embassy for the time they were in the country, at least for anything the host nation didn’t provide.
It is also interesting that we talk of a market commissioner. We’ve mentioned markets before, and their existence is likely more than just a random assortment of shops with goods to sell. They were overseen by local officials, and they would have been regulated to some extent by the larger state, probably with taxes and other goods making their way up to the government. I don’t know that we have a clear idea of what it looked like until later, and so an entry like this just gives us a little hint at what was going on in the day to day administration of the entire country.
Continuing with the shiguma theme, apparently a painter named Komaro—a Japanese name, but he’s described as a “Goguryeo” painter, which could mean that he trained in Goguryeo, or came from there and changed his name. It is also possible, I supposed, that he was simply trained in the Goguryeo style. Anyway, he was apparently quite successful because he entertained guests from his own uji—his own surname—and so borrowed 70 official shiguma skins for them to sit on. Apparently this was a garish display that left the guests astonished and ashamed to even be part of the event, so they went away.
So sitting on fur rugs was apparently not a thing to do—or perhaps just not that many. But I would note that he apparently borrowed them from the government—they were “official” after all. So what was the government doing with them? They were probably tribute from the Emishi in the north, or perhaps just the result of regular trade. And Komaro must have had some pull to be able to request them for his own private use. Unfortunately, I don’t have any further details, so we are left to guess at most of the rest.
But we do continue on with the Goguryeo theme in the following year, the first month of 660, with envoys from Goguryeo arriving in Tsukushi. They likely had no idea that while they were in Yamato, big changes were about to take place back on the peninsula. It would take them four months to get to Naniwa, arriving on the 8th day of the 5th month. They couldn’t have known everything that was happening on the peninsula, behind them.
And that’s because it was in the third month of tha year that Tang Gaozong commanded Su Dingfang, along with Kim Inmun and Liu Boying, to take 130,000 land and see troops to subdue Baekje. They landed at Teongmul islands, west of Baekje, and, word having reached their court, the King of Silla sent the renowned general Kim Yusin in charge of a force of 50,000 troops to lend their support. Kim Yusin was a veteran of fighting between Baekje and Silla, and he had already face the enemy on the battlefield, but now he had the aid of the Tang troops.
King Wicha had heard of their advance, and asked his court for advice. One suggestion was to try to crush the Tang soldiers as soon as they came ashore—force them to stay on their boats and destroy them before they could get on land and organized. Another suggested that the Tang army, for all its size, was built for speed and a decisive victory. If Baekje could simply harry them long enough, it would wear them down, and they would have to return. They could then turn their sights on Silla, an enemy they knew how to deal with.
One noble, Heungsu, who had been out of favor in the court, and even exiled at one point, offered his advice—that they should fortify the Baek river and Tanhyeon Pass, so that they could not approach. It would be a near suicidal task, but brave soldiers could defend those narrow points against larger forces, since they would be forced to engage with fewer forces at a time. Heungsu was ridiculed, however, and his ideas were abandoned.
Instead, they devised a scheme whereby they would let the Tang ships enter the river, until they could only go two abreast, and then they would attack them from the shore and destroy them. Likewise, at the pass, rather than fortifying it, as suggested, they would wait in ambush until the Tang forces could not maneuver, and they would then destroy them as well. This seemed like a plan, and it was given to the general Kyebaek to carry out.
At first, it looked like it would work. General Kyebaek took five thousand soldiers to Hwangsan as soon as the heard that the Silla soldiers were advancing through the pass. They engaged the Silla forces four separate times, defeating Silla each time. However, every assault took its toll. The five thousand troops could not prevail against a force 10 times their size, and eventually they were wiped out, along with general Kyebaek. Without opposition, the Silla forces met up with the Tang, and the two armies joined forces. They actually were able to use the mountainous terrain, which otherwise would have been used to keep them out, to their own advantage. Eventually they were able to advance on the capital. The Baekje forces fought to exhaustion, but they were outmatched by the Tang-Silla alliance. Eventually, they marched on the city, and King Wicha knew that they would be defeated.
Four years before this, an official had spoken up against King Wicha, and had been thrown in prison, where he died, emaciated. However, before he died he offered advice that if an enemy were ever to come, the army should be deployed to the passes and to the upstream banks of the rivers, and that no enemy should be allowed to pass those points. Looking at the enemy at his gates, King Wicha regretted that he had not listened to that advice. He grabbed his son and fled to the northern border of Baekje while Su Tingfang and the combined forces besieged the capital. He sought refuge at Ungjin fortress, in modern Kongju. This all happened in the 7th lunar month of the year 660.
With King Wicha fled, along with the crown prince, his second son, T’ae, declared himself king and led the defense of the city. However, several others of King Wicha’s sons looked at this and were afraid that it now didn’t matter what happened. If T’ae defended the city, then they would be next on his hit list, as they were clearly his rivals to power, and if the Tang defeated them, well, it didn’t look good, either. So they and their retainers all fled the city as well. This sparked a mass exodus as other citizens tried to do the same, and T’ae could not stop them. Eventually, the forces weakened, Su Tingfang took the city and raised the Tang banners. T’ae opened the gates and pleaded for his life. When King Wicha heard all of this, he knew there was no escape. He and his sons surrendered themselves and the fortresses to the Tang-Silla alliance. He and his sons, and many of his people, were taken captive and taken back to the Tang court, where the Yamato ambassadors saw them being paraded around.
Now the king may have been captured, but Baekje was not completely subdued. A few of the remaining citizens held out hope that they could gather their forces and kick out the Tang and Silla and take back their country. They knew that, although most of the royal family was captured there was still one more: Prince Pung. Prince Pung, as you may recall from previous episodes, was residing in Yamato, a royal hostage—or perhaps more of a restrained guest. The rebels acknowledged him as their king and sent word to Yamato asking that he come back, along with reinforcements, and retake the kingdom. In the meantime, they gathered and fought as they could, wearing down the Tang and Silla forces. The rebels, after all, knew the land, and the invaders were still reliant on their supply lines. This situation persisted for several years.
Back in Yamato, in the 5th month of 660, they still were likely unaware of what had happened on the peninsula. There was no social media to alert them to the dangers, and it would still be a few months before the Baekje capital actually fell. They were busy entertaining the envoys from Goguryeo, or preparing 100 raised seats an one hundred kesa, or Buddhist vestments, for a Benevolent King ritual. They were focused on their wars in the north, with the Mishihase, which they had been successful in Praising Abe no Hirafu for his successful campaign. There is one record that says that in the 5th month people started carrying weapons around with them for no good reason, because they had heard of the destruction of Baekje, but that hadn’t actually happened yet, so this is likely out of place—possibly by a couple of years.
There is a note about the destruction of Baekje in the 7th month, but that is from the “Records of the reigns of Japan” or Nihon Seiki, a work that is no longer extant that was apparently written by a Goguryeo priest, who noted Baekje’s destruction in his history, but this was probably not exactly information available to Yamato at the time. And no, I don’t want to gloss over the fact that we are given another source that was likely being used by the Chroniclers. I want to delve into the fact that this was by a Goguryeo priest, known in Japanese as Doken. I want to talk about how this work pops up throughout the reigns of Saimei, Tenchi, and apparently even in the Fujiwara Kaden. It seems like he was close to Nakatomi no Kamatari and the Fujiwara house, which probably explains how he had access to the events mentioned and why his work was known. However, I don’t really have time for all of that because we are trying to focus on what was happening with Baekje and what was happening Yamato at the time.
And in Yamato it wasn’t until the 9th month that word finally arrived via a Buddhist novice named “Kakchyong”, according to Aston. He carried word of the defeat, but also word that Kwisil Poksin had taken up arms and was leading a rebellion against Tang and Silla control.    The royal city, which some records say had fallen in mere days, was once more under Baekje control, according to the word that reached Yamato. It does seem that Poksin held it for a time, but they weren’t able to set in for any kind of prolonged fight in any one spot. It seems that the fighting was going back and forth, and the rebels were remaining on the move while fighting actions against the invading forces. Poksin had apparently captured some of the enemy troops, though, and sent them to Yamato, possibly as tribute and payment for future reinforcements, and possibly to demonstrate their victories.
And if that was the case, it seemed to have worked. Takara Hime agreed to help Baekje. She agreed to send troops, commanding them to go from a hundred directions and meet up in Sateok—likely meaning that this was an emergency deployment and rather than everyone gathering in Kyushu and heading over together, they were getting there as fast as they could, however they could, to try and come to Baekje’s aid. She also released Prince Pung to return as well, and basically named him the King of Baekje herself.
As for Takara Hime and the main force, they moved first to Naniwa and gathered there. She was considering going on to Tsukushi and then traveling with the bulk of the navy from there.
Omens were also coming in, and it wasn’t good. In the province of Suruga, they built a boat, but apparently, overnight, the bow and stern switched places, which the Chroniclers saw as a bad omen. And then there were a swarm of insects reported in Shinano as coming from a westerly direction. Another bad sign, especially given that Tang and Silla were both west of Yamato.
Although they started preparing in the 9th month of 660, it took them until the first month of 661 to have the royal ship ready to go. It is likely that much of what was happening was not just a waiting navy putting to sea, but rather there were emergency build orders to build or repair ships and make them ready for the crossing and eventual attack. The royal ship made its through the Seto Inland Sea, past Bizen, the nearer part of ancient Kibi, and on to Iyo, on Shikoku. They seem to have had a few setbacks in their journey, and it wasn’t until the 5th month that they reached the Asakura palace, though to be in Chikuzen, in Tsukushi, aka northern Kyushu. The month before, Poksin had written and asked to wait upon the prince, which I suspect was a polite way of asking when the reinforcements would finally arrive.
Unfortunately, at Asakura, disaster struck. The Chroniclers claim this was because they had cleared sacred trees in order to make room for the palace and the kami were none to pleased. The palace itself was demolished and several notable people, including the Grand Treasurer, took ill and died. Not a great start to things. It was here that they met up with the envoys coming back from Chang’an who no doubt told them about their house arrest and everything else. On top of this, we are told that in the 6th month Prince Ise, of whom little more is given, died, and then, a little more than a month later, he was followed by the sovereign herself: Takara Hime.
I suspect that Prince Ise may have been one of Takara Hime’s sons, possibly in line for the throne, otherwise, why make mention of his death. However, Takara’s passing would have no doubt thrown the war plans into disarray. It is quite likely that she wasn’t actually the one doing most of the heavy lifting—in all likely that was her son, Prince Naka no Oe, who was handling a lot of that. But still, the death of the sovereign just before you head off to war, was not great. They had to send a funeral procession back to Naniwa and Asuka. Prince Naka no Oe accompanied it as far as the Iwase Palace, but didn’t go all the way back. As the procession headed for Naniwa, he composed a poem:
Longing as I do
For a sight of thee
Now that I have arrived here,
Even thus do I long
Desirous of a sight of thee!
Prince Naka no Oe had just lost his sovereign and his mother, and he was now fully in charge of the armada headed to try and relieve Baekje. He would have to continue the plans while Takara Hime’s remains headed back to Asuka. The funeral procession arrived in the 10th month, and her body was put in temporary interment for at Asuka-gahara as 9 days of mourning began. Her son, however, would continue to mourn from afar. He put on white clothing—a symbol of purity and associated with funerals and death, at least in Buddhist tradition.
He had no time, though. By the 8th month, Prince Naka no Oe was sending Adzumi no Hirafu no Omi and Kawabe no Momoye no Omi, as generals of the Front Division, while Abe no Hirafu no Omi and Mononobe no Muraji no Kuma took up the mantle of generals of the rear division. They sent men, along with arms and grain to help relieve the Baekje forces.
After sending the initial forces to make way, in the 9th month he conferred a cap of woven stuff on Prince Pung, indicating his high rank in the Yamato court, and gave to him as a wife, the sister of a high ranking court official. He then sent him off, with the help of Sawi no Muraji no Ajimasa and Hada no Miyatsuko no Takutsu, along with 5,000 troops to escort him back. They made it to Baekje and were able to meet up with Poksin and their forces.
On the Korean peninsula, one of the strategic objectives of the Tang was to create a foothold on the peninsula so that they could finally take out the Kingdom of Goguryeo. That year was particularly cold, and apparently Tang forces tried to invade Goguryeo again, attacking with siege weapons and other war machines. The Goguryeo soldiers fought valiantly, but appear to have reached a stalemate.
In 662, some of the Yamato material started appearing for Poksin. It included 100,000 arrows, 500 kin of raw silk, 1000 kin of floss silk, 1000 tan of cloth, 1000 hides of leather, and 3000 koku, or over 15,000 bushels, of seed rice. The next month, he sent another 300 tan of silk to the king. The Silk may not make much sense, but it would have likely been a form of currency that they could use to purchase other goods, and it could be used for clothing. The leather may have even been useful for armor and other accoutrements.   But mostly, this was probably economic aid, outside of the 100,000 arrows. That same month, the 3rd month of 662, the Tang-Silla alliance was trying to body Goguryeo, and Goguryeo reached out for aid. Yamato troops were reportedly sent to help, and the attacks against Goguryeo were blunted. This really was, now, the Goguryeo-Baekje-Yamato alliance against the Tang-Silla alliance.
Poksin and the rebels had holed up in a place called Chuyu, which they were using as their base of operations. King Pung had arrived, and Poksin was officially made his Minister, but they decided to move out from Chuyu. It was fine for defense, but the land was not fertile, and they wanted to establish a base where they apparently had more resources, so they found Phisyeong, with rivers to the north and west, and large earthworks to the south and east. It had fertile land for growing crops, which could then feed the army.
However, one of the veterans pointed out the Phisyeong was less than a day’s march from their enemies’ encampment, and it would be a simple nights march and the army could be at their doorstep. Chuyu, for all it was not the most appealing place, was much more defensible. In the end, though, they decided that they would move the capital to Phisyeong.
In the 2nd month of the following year, in 663, Silla troops were ravaging southern Baekje, setting fire to the land, possibly trying to starve out any resistance. Sure enough, they moved in close to Phisyeong, and King Pung and his troops realized they were in danger, and moved back to the defensive position of Chuyu. In the following month, the Yamato and Baekje forces began to take the fight to Silla. They advanced on Silla territory with 27,000 troops. They took some cities and fortresses.
As all of this was going on, King Pung was beginning to wonder about Poksin and his loyalties. After all, Poksin had been running things before Pung showed up, and why wouldn’t he think he could run things just fine without Pung once this was all over? He had raised the soldiers, right? So who would they be loyal to? Would they be loyal to Pung, who barely knew Baekje, having lived for so long in Yamato. Or would they be loyal to Poksin, who had rallied them together at the brink of defeat?
And so in the 6th month he conferred with his other ministers. They all agreed that Poksin should be dealt with, and so Pung had Poksin taken into custody and beheaded.
Now I don’t know if it needs to be said, but putting your own top general to death in the middle of a war is not exactly the best thing for morale. Silla heard about it, and made plans to attack, hoping to catch Baekje offguard. Baekje heard about it, and they also knew that about 10,000 reinforcements were supposed to be arriving soon from Yamato. Those were reinforcements that could turn the tide of any fight. They just needed to make it up the Baek river, known in Japanese as the Haku-suki-no-e.
The Silla and Tang troops surrounded the fortress of Chuyu, and Baekje desperately needed the reinforcements from Yamato. The Tang navy had 170 ships sitting at the mouth of the Baek River, ready to prevent any reinforcements from getting in. On the 17th day of the 8th month, according to the Nihon Shoki, the first ships of the Yamato fleet arrived, but they could make no headway against the Tang forces. Based on other records, it appears that the Yamato fleet swelled to more than 400 ships, well over twice the size of the defending Tang navy. They attacked at least four separate times, but despite their smaller size, the Tang ships had the advantage of the terrain, using the narrowing at the river, and they also had superior tactics. Although the Yamato soldiers fought ferociously, they couldn’t move the Tang fleet.
Speaking of fighting, let’s talk about what it meant. There were no cannons or anything like that. It is likely that the projectile weapons of the day were arrows, and based on the ship designs, it was likely that ships would need to get close and grapple with each other so that soldiers could actually do the fighting. In this way, ships were like floating battlefields. If you could burn the ships, then that was something, but fire would also be a danger to your own wooden vessel. And so it is likely that ships would have to engage with each other and effectively let the other side grapple if you wanted to fight, unless you just wanted to exchange arrows.
After being repulsed four times, ten days after they had first engaged, the Tang vessels finally counterattacked. They were able to swarm out and envelope the right and left flanks or the Yamato ships. Four hundred ships were burned and sent to the bottom of the sea. The Yamato forces were unable to break through the blockade and had to turn around. The Battle of Haku-suki-no-e was a total defeat, and only ten days later, Chuyu fell. King Pung was able to escape, fleeing to Goguryeo, but the writing was on the wall: The Kingdom of Baekje would never be reconstituted. The Yamato forces departed the continent and headed back to the archipelago. They met up at Honye on the 24th day of the 9th month and started out for the archipelago on the following day, eventually returning to Yamato, along with some of the Baekje nobles and ministers who had fled with them.
The results of this defeat were resounding. The battle of Haku-suki-no-e, known in Korean as the Battle of Baekgang, or the Battle of the Baek River, would change the political landscape. The Tang-Silla alliance would eventually continue to pressure Goguryeo, and the dictator, Yeong Gaesomun, would die three years later, in 666. He had held out against Tang and Silla, but with his death, there was a moment of chaos as an internal struggle broke out in the Goguryeo court. The divisions this caused weakened the country, which fell to the Tang-Silla alliance in 667.
With both Goguryeo and Baekje gone, suddenly Silla was now the country on the Tang empire’s borders. Without their shared enemies, there was not longer an alliance between the two, and Silla would push back against the Tang. The Tang held out on the peninsula for another decade, but without Silla support, it became too costly to continually ship supplies to the troops. Silla was eventually able to force the Tang forces off of the peninsula, and thus began the period on the Korean peninsula known as Unified Silla, where Silla ruled all of the what is now north and south Korea.
In the archipelago, in the aftermath of their ally’s defeat, there was worry in the Yamato court. They were afraid that the Tang empire would come after them, next, and they began building fortresses from Tsukushi all the way along Kyushu and the Seto Inland sea area. These are peninsular style fortresses, often using earthworks and walls that were built up around the tops of mountains, using the terrain. A large earthwork was put up between the coast and the Dazaifu, in case Tang troops landed in Hakata bay. Today, many of these earthworks still exist. Some were even repurposed for gun emplacements in the lead up to what would become World War II, as they were still highly defensible positions.
The feared invasion never came, and the fortresses would eventually be abandoned, but they are still a testament to just how seriously Yamato took this threat.
Next up, we’ll take a look at Naka no Oe’s reign. Naka no Oe is known in the Chronicles as Tenchi Tennou, the sovereign of Heavenly Wisdom. We’ll talk about that some more as we get into his time on the throne. Since 645 he had been a force in the Yamato court, but he had not taken the throne at a younger age. Now, however, his power seemed secure. He took the throne upon his mother’s death, and we’ll talk about that and more in future episodes.
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.
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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

References

Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Kim, P., Shultz, E. J., Kang, H. H. W., & Han'guk Chŏngsin Munhwa Yŏn'guwŏn. (2012). The Koguryo annals of the Samguk sagi. Seongnam-si, Korea: Academy of Korean Studies Press.
Lewis, Mark Edward (2009). China’s Cosmopolitan Empire: The Tang Dynasty. The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts / London, England. ISBN 978-0-674-03306-1
Best, J. (2006). A History of the Early Korean Kingdom of Paekche, together with an annotated translation of The Paekche Annals of the Samguk sagi. Cambridge (Massachusetts); London: Harvard University Asia Center. doi:10.2307/j.ctt1tg5q8p
Lee, K. (1988). A New History of Korea. Translated by E. W. Wagner & E. J. Schutz. Harvard University Press.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4
Iryon, (1206-1289) & Ha, Tae Hung & Mintz, Grafton K. (1972). Samguk yusa : legends and history of the three kingdoms of ancient Korea / written by Ilyon ; translated by Tae-Hung Ha [and] Grafton K. Mintz. Seoul : Yonsei University Press

Episode 123: Embassy Interrupted

April 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

A large red and white ship with masts but no sails against a blue sky. — Life-sized model of a ship similar to those that some of the ambassadors to the Tang dynasty may have sailed on in the 8th century and earlier, from an exhibition at the Heijo Palace Site in Nara during the 1300 year anniversary celebration. Photo by author.

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This episode, we’ll cover records of some of the missions to and from the continent, including a record from Iki no Hakatoko, who provided one of the first relatively in depth discussions of a mission to the Tang court.

Iki no Hakatoko no Sho (伊吉博徳書)

Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko lived during the latter half of the 7th century and is referenced in the Nihon Shoki both as a member of the court and as the author of several records included in the Chronicle. Here I’ll note that Aston translates his family name as “Yuki” (which I had previously referred to him by), but after searching for it, the modern Japanese reading would appear to be “Iki”. The Iki no Hakatoko no Sho are the writings of Iki no Hakatoko, and it is presumed that these were a diary or travelogue, or possibly just notes that he wrote down. We don’t know exactly when or why he wrote them down, and we don’t have a copy of his text beyond what was included in the Nihon Shoki, but the Chroniclers chose to give him full credit, starting passages that state: “Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko Says:”. Based on the evidence, this may be the first example we have of a personal record, rather than the formal and official court records of the time. That isn’t to say that others weren’t doing it as well—it may have been relatively common practice, and explain where later authors pulled information from—but it is one of the earliest to really be used and explicitly called out in this way.

The text largely revolves around the embassy in 659, which Iki no Hakatoko was a part of, and therefore it largely recounts those things he directly witnessed or heard about during that trip, though there are some earlier references that may have been more explanatory setup than anything else.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 123: Embassy Interrupted.

Iki no Hakatoko sat in his room, gazing out at the city.   It was truly an amazing place, filled with all kinds of people from around the world. And yet, still, after 9 months of confinement, the place felt small. Sure, there he hadwere visits from ranking nobles and dignitaries, but even the most lenient of house arrests was still house arrest.
But that didn’t mean that he had nothing to do. There were books and more that he had access to—many that had not yet made it to the archipelago, and some of which he no doubt hoped he could bring back with him. And of course, there was paper, brush, and ink. And then there were the experiences he and others had acquired on this mission to the Great Tang. From the very beginning the missionit washad been plagued with disaster when they lost half of their ships and company mission to rogue winds on the open seas. Now they were trapped because the Emperor himself wouldn’t let them return home. They had experienced and seen so much, and that provided ample material for one to catalogue.
As the seasons changed, and rumors arrived that perhaps his situation would also something would change soon, Iki no Hakatoko spread out the paper on the desk in front of him, dipped his brush in the ink, and began to write. He wrote down notes about his experiences, and what had befallen him and the others. He had no idea who It is unclear whom he thought might read it, and if he was intending this to be an official or personal record, but he wrote it down anyway.
Hakatoko He couldn’t have known then that his words would eventually be captured in a much larger work, chronicling the entire history of Yamato from its very creation, nor that his would be one of the oldest such personal accounts records to be handed down. His Itwords wwould only survive in fragments—or perhaps his writing was simply that terse—but his words they would be preserved, in a format that was still being read over a thousand years later.

Last episode we finished up the story of Xuanzang and his Journey to the West—which is to say the Western Regions -- , and thence on to India, or Tianzhu, where he walked in the footsteps of the historical Buddha, studied the scriptures at the feet of venerable teachers, such as Silabadhra at the Great Monastery of Nalanda, and eventually wound up bringingbrought back hundreds of manuscripts to Chang’an to , which he and others be translated and disseminated, impacting Buddhist thought across East Asia. HisXuanzang’s travels lasted from around 629 to 645, and he was still teaching in Chang’an in the 650s when various student-monks from Yamato arrived to study and learn from him, eventually bringing back his teachings to the archipelago as part of the Faxiang, or Hossou, school of Buddhism.
Before that we talked about the visitors from “Tukhara” and “Sha’e” recorded in the Chronicles. As we noted, these peopley were morest likely from the Ryukyuan islands, and the names may have been conflated with distant lands overseas – but regardless, . Whether or not it was a mistake, this it does seem to indicated that Yamato had at least an inkling of the wider world, introduced through the continental literature that they had been importing, if not the direct interactions with individuals from the Korean peninsula and the Tang court.
This episode, we’re going to talk about some of the relations between Yamato and the continent, including the various embassies sent back and forth, as well as one especially detailed embassy from Yamato to the Tang Court that found itself in a bit of a pickle. After all, what did you do, back in those days, when you were and ambassador, and your country suddenly went to war? We’ll talk about that and what happened.
To reorient ourselves in time, we’re in the reign of Takara Hime, called aka Kyogoku Tennou during her first reign, who had reascended to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu. The Chroniclers would dub her Saimei Tennou in her second run on the throne.
From the very beginning of her second reign, Takara Hime was entertaining foreign envoys. In 654, the Three Han of the Korean Peninsula—Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla—all sent ambassadors to express their condolence on the death of her brother, and presumably to witness her ascension. And in the 8th month of her reign, Kawabe no Maro no Omi, along with others, returned from Chang’an. He Kawabe no Maro no Omi had been the Chief Ambassador to the Tang on an embassy sent , traveling there in the 2nd month of the previous year. Originally he had been He was under the command of the controlling envoy, Takamuku no Obito no Kuromaro, but Kuromaro who unfortunately died in Chang’an and so Kawabe no Mari no Omi took over his role.
That same year, 655, we know that there were about 100 persons recorded in Yamato from Baekje, along with envoys of Goguryeo and Silla. These are likely the same ones we mentioned back in episode 117 when 150 Baekje envoys were present at court along with multiple members of the Emishi.
Silla, for their part, had sent to Yamato a special hostage , whom we know as something like “Mimu”, along with skilled workmen. Unfortunately, we are told that Mimu fell ill and died. The Chronicles are pretty sparse on what this meant, but I can’t imagine it was great. After all, the whole idea of sending a hostage to another nation was as a pledge of good behavior – the idea being that the hostage was the idea that they werewas valuable enough that the sending nation wouldn’t do anything too rash. The flip side of that is if the hostage died, Of course, if they perished, the hosting country lost any leverage—and presumably the sending nation would be none too pleased. That said, people getting sick and passing away was hardly a hostile action, and likely just considered an unfortunate situation.
The following year, in 656, we see that Goguryeo, Baekje, and Silla again all sent ambassadords were all sent to offer “tribute”. The Chronicles mention that dark purple curtains were drawn around the palace site to entertain the ambassadors—likely referring to the new palace site at Asuka no Wokamoto, which probably was not yet fully built out, yet.   We are given the name of the Goguryeo ambassador, Talsa, and associate ambassador, Ilchi, in the 8th month, Talsa and Ilichi, with 81 total members in the Goguryeo retinueof the embassy. In seeming response, Yamato sent an embassy was sent to Goguryeo with the likes of Kashiwade no Omi no Hatsumi as the Chief Ambassador and Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwasuki as the Associate Ambassador. Other names mentioned include We also see the likes of Inugami no Shiromaro, Kawachi no Fumi no Obito—no personal name is given—and Ohokura no Maro.
We also see thea note in the Chronicles that Yamato ambassadors to the quote-unquote “Western Sea”—which seems to refer to the Tang court, but could possibly refer to anything from the Korean Peninsula west—returned in that same year. The two are named as Saheki no Muraji no Takunaha and Oyamashita no Naniha no Kishi no Kunikatsu. These are both families that were clearly involved in cross-strait relations , based on how they are frequently referenced in the Chronicles as being associated with various overseas missions. but However, we don’t seem to have clear evidence of them when these particular individualsy leavingft on this mission. “Kunikatsu” mightay refer to an earlier ambassador to Baekje, but the names are different, so that is largely just speculation. In any case, Uupon their return, they are said to have brought with them a parrot. This wasn’t the first parrot the court had seen—that feathery traveler had arrived in 647, or at least that is the first parrotinstance we have in the written record -- . Aand that one came from Silla as part of that embassy’s gifts.
Continuing on, in 657, The following year there was another group of ambassadors returned coming from the “Western Seas”, in this case coming back from—or through—Baekje. Thisese wasere Adzumi no Muraji no Tsuratari and Tsu no Omi no Kutsuma. The presents they brought back were, of all things: one camel and two donkeys. And can you imagine bringing a camel back across the sea at this point? Even if they were using the larger ships based on continental designs, it still must have been something else to put up with a camel and donkeys onboard, animals that are not exactly known for their easy-going and compliant nature.
Speaking of boats, we should probably touch on what we think they were usinghas been going on here. I say think because we only get glimpses of the various boats being used in the archipelago, whether from mentions in or around Yamato, archaeology, or artistic depictions, many of which came from later periods., and wSo while it is generally assumed that they the Yamato were using Tang style vessels by the 8th and 9th century, there does not appear to be clear evidence of exactly what kind of boats were being used during the early earlier periods of contact.
A quick note on boat technology and navigation: while travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, wasn’t safe, it would have been possible with the vessels of the time. Japan sits on the continental shelf, meaning that to the east where the shelf gives way to the Pacific Ocean with the Phillippine Sea to the south, the waters are much, much deeper than they are to the west. In deep waters, waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor, meaning they can build up much more energy and require different kinds of technology to sail. In shallower areas, such as the Sea of Japan, the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea or the Korean Straits to the west of the archipelago, there’s more drag that dampens out the wave effect – it’s not that these areas are uniformly shallow and calm, but they are calmer and easier to navigate in general.
Our oldest example of boats in the archipelago of any kind are dugout canoes, . These are logs that are hollowed out and shaped. , and tThese appear to be what Jomon era populations used to cross to the archipelago and travel between the various islands. Though they may be considered primitive, without many of the later innovations that would increase stability and seaworthiness—something I’ll touch on more a bit later—, they were clearly effective enough to populate the islands of the Ryukyuan chain and even get people and livestock, in the form of pigs, down to the Hachijo islands south of modern Tokyo.    So they weren’t ineffective.
Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor. Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves. This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves. That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well.
We probably should note, however, that Japan sits on the edge of the continental shelf. To the west, the seas are deep, but not nearly as deep as they are to the east, where continental shelf gives way to the Pacific ocean, with the Philippine Sea to the south. These are much deeper waters than those of the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea, or the Korean Straits. The Sea of Japan does have some depth to it, but even then it doesn’t compare in both size and depth.
Deep waters mean that the waves are not necessarily affected by the ocean floor. Once it hits shallower water, there is more drag that affects larger waves. This means that there can be more energy in these ocean waves. That usually means that shallower areas tend to be more calm and easier to navigate—though there are other things that can affect that as well.
All this to say that travel between the Japanese archipelago and the Korean Peninsula, and up the Yellow Sea, were all things that were likely much easier to navigate with the vessels available at the time, but that doesn’t mean that it was safe.
Later, we see a different type of vessel appear: . This is a built vessel, made of multiple hewn pieces of wood. The examples that we see show a rather square front and back that rise up, sometimes dramatically, . There are with various protrusions on either side. We see examples of this shape , and we’ve seen examples in haniwa from about the 6th century, and we have some corresponding wooden pieces found around the Korean peninsula that pretty closely match the haniwa boat shapesuggest similar boats were in use there as well, . Nnot surprising given the cultural connections. These boats do not show examples of sails, and were likely crewed by rowers. Descriptions of some suggest that they might be adorned with branches, jewels, mirrors, and other such things for formal occasions to identify some boats as special -- , and we even have one record of the rowers in ceremonial garb with deer antlers. But none of this suggests more than one basic boat typevery different types of boats.
In the areas of the Yellow and Yangzi rivers, area of modern China, particularly in the modern PRC, the boats we see are a little different. They tend to be flat bottomed boats, possible evolved from which appear to have been designed from rafts or similar .   These vessels would have evolved out of those used to transport goods and people up and down the Yellow and Yangzi rivers and their tributaries. These boats y had developed sails, but still the boats wwere n’ot necessarily the most stable on the open ocean. Larger boats could perhaps make their way through some of the waves, and were no doubt used throughout the Yellow Sea and similar regions. However, for going farther abroad, we are told thatcourt chronicles note that there were other boats that were preferred: .
These are sometimes called the Kun’lun-po, or Boats of the Kunlun, or the Boats of the Dark-skinned people. A quick dive here into how this name came to be.
Originally, “Kunlun” appears to refer to a mythical mountain range, the Kunlun-shan, which may have originated in the Shan-hai-jing, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, and so may not have referred to anything specific terrestrial mountain range, ally. Italthough the term would later attach be used to describe to the mountain chain that forms the northern edge of the Tibetan plateau, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin.
However, at some point, it seems that “Kunlun” came to refer to people -- . Sspecifically, it came to refer to people of dark complexion, with curly hair. There are Tang era depictions of such people, but their origin is not exactly known: it might . It is thought that it may have have equally referred to dark-skinned individuals of African descent, or possibly referring to some of the dark-skinned people who lived in the southern seas—people like the Andamanese living on the islands west of modern Thailand or some of the people of the Malay peninsula, for example.
It is these latter groups that likely were the origin, then, of the “Kun’lun-po”, referring to the ships of the south, such as those of Malay and AsutronesianAustronesian origin. We know that from the period of at least the Northern and Southern Dynasties, and even into the early Tang, these foreign ships often , which were often plyingied the waters from trade port to trade port, and were the preferred sailing vessels for voyages to the south, where the waters could be more treacherous. Indeed, the Malay language eventually gives us the term of their vessels as “Djong”, a term that eventually made its way into Portuguese as “Junco” and thus into English as “junk”, though this terms has since been rather broadly applied to different “Asian” style sailing vessels.
So that leaves us with three ship types that the Yamato court could have been using to send these embassies back and forth to the continent: . Were they still using their own style of native boat as seen on haniwa,, or were they adopting continental boats to their needs?   If so, were they using the flat-bottomed boats of the Tang dynasty, or the more seaworthy vessels of the foreign merchants?. Which were they using?
The general thinking is that IMost depictions I have seen of the kentoushi, the Japanese embassies to the Tang court, depict them as t is generally thought that they were probably using the more continental-style flat-bottomed, riverine vessels. After all, they were copying so much of what the Sui and Tang courts were doing, why would they not consider these ships to likewise be superior to their own? At least for diplomatic purposes. I suspect that local fishermen did their own were keeping their own counsel as far as ships are concernedthing, and I also have to wonder about what got used they were using from a military standpoint for military purposes. Certainly we see the Tang style boats used in later centuries, suggesting that these had been adopted at some earlier point, possibly by the 650s or earlier.
Whatever they used, and while long-distance sailing vessels could Sailing vessels could be larger than short-distance riverine craft, this was not a luxury cruise. , but conditions on board were not necessarily a luxury cruise. From later accounts we know that they would really pack people into these shipspeople could be packed in. It should be noted that individual beds and bedrooms were a luxury in much of the world, and many people probably had little more than a mat to sleep on. Furthermore, people could be packed in tight.   Think of the size of some of these embassies, which are said to be 80 to 150 people in size. A long, overseas journey likely meant getting quite cozy with your neighbors on the voyage. So how much more so with a camel and two donkeys on board a vessel that was likely never meant to carry them? Not exactly the most pleasant experience, I imagine – and this is not really any different than European sailing vessels during the later age of exploration..
So, from the records for just the first few years of Takara-hime’s second reign, we see that there are lots of people going back and forth, and we have a sense of how they might be getting to and from the continent and peninsula. Let’s dive into Next, we are going to talk about one of the most heavily documented embassies to the Tang court, which set out in the 7th month of the year 659. Not only do we get a pretty detailed account of this embassy, but we even know who wrote the account: as in our imagined intro, , as this is one of the accounts by the famous Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko, transcribed by Aston as “Yuki” no Muraji.
Iki no Hakatoko’s name first appears in an entry for 654, where he is quoted as giving information about the status of some of the previous embassies to the Tang court. Thereafter, various entries are labeled as “Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko says:”, which   This would seem to indicate that these particular entries came are taken directly from another work written by Iki no Hakatoko and referred to as the “Iki Hakatoko Sho”. Based on the quoted fragments found in the Nihon Shoki, itthis appears to be one of ourthis oldest Japanese travelogues. It , and spends considerable time on the mission of 659, of which it would appear that Iki no Hakatoko was himself a member, though not a ranking one. Later, Iki no Hakatoko would find himself mentioned in the Nihon Shoki directly, and he would even be an ambassador, himself.
The embassy of 659 itself, as we shall see, was rather momentous. Although it started easily enough, the embassy would be caught up in some of the most impactful events that would take place between the Tang, Yamato, and the states of the Korean peninsula.
This embassy was formally under the command of Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza. It’s possible In the first instance it is not clear to me if this isthat he is the same person as the previously mentioned associate envoy, Sakahibe no Iwasuki—but the kanji are different enough, and there is another Sakahibe no Kusuri who shows up between the two in the record. However, they are both listed as envoys during the reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennou, and as we’ve abundantly seen, and it wouldn’t be the first time that scribal error crept in. has taken place, especially if the Chroniclers were pulling from different sources.
The ambassadors took a retinue with them, including members of the northern Emishi, whom they were bringing along with them to show to the Tang court.
TheThey also embassy ttook two ships—perhaps because of the size of the retinue, but I suspect that this was also because if anything happened to the one, you still had the other. A kind of backup plan due to the likelihood something went wrong. And wouldn’t you know it, something did go wrong.
You see, things started out fine, departing Mitsu Bay, in Naniwa, on the 3rd day of the 7th month. They sailed through the Seto Inland Sea and stopped at Tsukushi, likely for one last resupply and to check in with the Dazai, located near modern Fukuoka, who would have been in charge of overseeing ships coming and going to the archipelago. They departed from Ohotsu bay in Tsukushi on the 11th day of the 8th month.
A quick note: Sspeedboats these were not. Today, one can cross from Fukuoka to Busan, on the southeast corner of the Korean peninsula, in less than a day. The envoys, however, were taking their time. They may have even stopped at the islands of Iki and Tsushima on their way. By the 13th day of the 9th month—over a month from leaving Kyushu behind -- , the ships finally came to an island along the southern border of Yamato’s ally, Baekje. Hakatoko does not recall the name of the island, but o
On the following morning, around 4 AM, so just before sunrise, the two ships put out to sea together to cross the ocean, heading south, towards the mouth of the Yangzi river. Unfortunately, the following day, the ship Iwashiki was on met with a contrary wind, and was driven away from the other ship – with nothing known of its fate until some time afterwards.
Meanwhile, the other ship, under the command of Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza, continued on and by midnight on the 16th day, it arrived at Mt. Xuan near Kuaiji Commandary in the Yue district, in modern Zhejiang. Suddenly a violent northeast wind blew up, and p. Tthey were saileding another 7 days before they finally arrived at Yuyao. Today, this is part of the city of Ningbo, at the mouth of the Qiantang river, south of Shanghai and considered a part of the Yangzi Delta Region. This area has been inhabited since at least 6300 years ago, and it has long been a trade port, especially with the creation of the Grand Canal connecting between the Yangzi and the Yellow River, which would have allowed transshipment of goods to both regions.
The now half-size Yamato contingenty left their ship at Yuyao and disembarked, and made their way to Yuezhou, the capital of the Kuaiji Commandary. This took them a bit of time—a little over a month. Presumably this was because of paperwork and logistics: they probably because they had to send word ahead, and I suspect they had to inventory everything they brought and negotiate carts and transportationfigure out transportation., since   Tthey didn’t exactly have bags of holding to stuff it all in, so they probably needed to negotiate carts and transportation. The finally made it to Yuezhou on the first day of the 11th intercalary month.
An “intercalary” month refers to an extra month in a year. It was determined by various calculations and was added to keep the lunar and solar years in relative synch.
From Yuezhou, things went a bit more quickly, as they were placed on post-horses up to the Eastern Capital, or Luoyang, where the Emperor Tang Gaozong was in residence.   The Tang kept a capital at Luoyang and another to the west, in Chang’an. The trip to Luoyang was long—over 1,000 kilometers, or 1 megameter, as it were. The trip first took them through the Southern Capital, meaning the area of modern Nanjing, which they entered on the 15th day of the month. They then continued onwards, reaching Luoyang on the 29th day of the 11th month.
The following day, on the 30th day of the 11th intercalary month of the year 659, the Yamato envoys were granted an audience with Emperor Tang Gaozong.
As was proper, he inquired about the health of their sovereign, Takara Hime, and the envoys reported that she was doing well. He asked other questions about how the officials were doing and whether there was peace in Yamato. The envoys all responded affirmatively, assuring him that Yamato was at peace.
Tang Gaozong also asked about the Emishi they had brought with them. We mentioned this event previously, back in Episode XXX117 , how the Emishi had been shown to the Tang Emperor, and how they had described them for him. This is actually one of the earliest accounts that we have describing the Emishi from the Yamato point of view, rather than just naming them—presumably because everyone in Yamato already knew who they were. From a diplomatic perspective, of course, this was no doubt Yamato demonstrating how they were, in many ways, an Empire, similar to the Tang, with their own subordinate ethnicities and “barbarians”.
After answering all of the emperor’s questions, the audience was concluded. The following day, however, was something of its own.
This was the first day of the regular 11th lunar month, and it also was the celebration of the Winter Solstice—so though it was the 11th month, it may have been about 22 December according to our modern western calendars. The envoys once again met with the emperor, and they were treated as distinguished guests—at least according to their own records of it. Unfortunately, during the festivities, it seems that a fire broke out, creating some confusion, and . Tthe matters of the diplomatic mission were put on hold while all of that went on.
We don’t know exactly what happened in the ensuing month. Presumably the envoys took in the sites of the city, may have visited various monasteries, and likely got to know the movers and shakers in the court, who likely would have wined and dined them, inviting them to various gatherings, as since they brought their own exotic culture and experiences to the Tang court.
Unfortunately, things apparently turned sour. First off, it seems clear that the members of this embassyy weren’t the only Japanese in the court. There may have been various merchants, of course, but and we definitely know that there were students who had come on other missions and were still there likely still studying, such as those who had been learning from studying with Master Xuanzang, whose journeys we mentioned in the last several episodes. But Wwe are given a very specific name of a troublemaker, however: Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro, and we are told that he was aa servant of Han Chihung, who . Han Chihung, himself, is thought to have possiblymay have been of mixed ethnicity—both Japanese and ethnic Han, and may . Hhe may have traveled to the Tang court on or around 653. , based on some of the records, but it isn’t entirely clear.
For whatever reason, on the 3rd day of the 12th month of the year 659, Kawachi no Aya no Ohomaro slandered the envoys, and although . Wwe don’t know exactly what he said, but the Tang court caught wind of the accusations and found the envoys guilty. They were condemned to banishment, until the author of our tale, none other than Iki no Hakatoko himself, stepped up, . He made representation to the Emperor, pleading against the slander. , and tThe punishment was remitted, . Sso they were no longer banished. However, they were also then told that they could no’t return home. You see, the Tang court was in the middle of some sensitive military operations in the lands east of the sea—in other words they were working with Silla to and invadeing the Kingdom of Baekje. Since Yamato was an ally of Baekje, it would be inconvenient if the envoys were to return home and rally Yamato to Baekje’s defense.
And so the entire Yamato embassy was moved to the Western Capital, Chang’an, where they were placed under individual house arrest. They no doubt were treated well, but they were not allowed to leave, and . Tthey ended up spending the next year in this state. of house arrest.
Unfortunately, we don’t have a record of just how they passed their time in Chang’an. They likely studied, and were probably visited by nobles and others. They weren’t allowed to leave, but they weren’t exactly thrown in jail, either. After all, they were foreign emissaries, and though the Tang might be at war with their ally, there was no formal declaration of war with Yamato, as far as I can make out. And so the embassy just sat there, for about 9 months.
Finally, in the 7th month of 660, the records tell us we are told thatthat tThe Tang and Silla forces had been successful: . Baekje was destroyed.. The Tang and Silla forces had been successful.   News must have reached Chang’an a month later, as Iki Hakatoko writes that this occurred in the 8th month of the year 660. With the Tang special military operation on the Korean peninsula concluded, they released the envoys and allowed them to return to their own countries. They envoys began their preparations as of the 12th day of the 9th month, no doubt eager to return home, and left were leaving Chang’an a week later, on the 19th day of the 9th month. From there, it took them almost a month to reach Luoyang, arriving on the 16th day of the 10th month, and here they were greeted with more good news, for here it was that they met up once again with those members of their delegation who had been blown off course.
As you may remember, the ship carrying Iwashiki was blown off-course on the 15th day of the 9th month in the year 659, shortly after setting out from the Korean peninsula. The two ships had lost contact and Tsumori no Muraji no Kiza and his ship had been the one that had continued on.   Iwashiki and those with him, however, found themselves at the mercy of the contrary winds and eventually came ashore at an island in the Southern Sea, which Aston translates as “Erh-kia-wei”.   There appears to be at least some suggestion that this was an island in the Ryukyuan chain, possibly the island of Kikai. There, local islanders, none too happy about these foreigners crashing into their beach, destroyed the ship, and presumably attacked the embassy. Several members, including Yamato no Aya no Wosa no Atahe no Arima (yeah, that is a mouthful), Sakahibe no Muraji no Inadzumi (perhaps a relative of Iwashiki) and others all stole a local ship and made their way off the island. They eventually made landfall at a Kuazhou, southeast of Lishui City in modern Zhejiang province, where they met with local officials of the Tang government, who then sent them under escort to the capital at Luoyang. Once there, they were probably held in a similar state of house arrest, due to the invasion of Baekje, but they met back up with Kiza and Hakatoko’s party.
The envoys, now reunited, hung out in Luoyang for a bit longer, and thus . Thus it was on the first day of the 11th month of 660 that they witnessed war captives being brought to the capital. This included 13 royal persons of Baekje, from the King on down to the Crown Prince and various nobles, including the PRimiePrime Minister, as well as 37 other persons of lower rank—50 people all told. TheThese captives y were delivered up to the Tang government and led before the emperor. Of course, with the war concluded, and Baekje no longer a functioning state, while he could have had them executed, Tang Gaozong instead released them, demonstrating a certain amount of magnanimity.
The Yamato envoys remained in Luoyang for most of the month. On the 19th, they had another audience with the emperor, who bestowed on them various gifts and presents, and then five days later they departed the Luoyang, and began the trek back to the archipelago in earnest.
By the 25th day of the first month of 661, the envoys arrived back at Yuezhou, head of the Kuaiji Commandery. They stayed there for another couple of months, possibly waiting for the right time, as crossing the sea at in the wrong season could be disastrous. They finally departed east from Yuezhou on the first day of the fourth month, coming to . They came to Mt. Cheng-an 6 days later, on the 7th, and set out to sea first thing in the morning on the 8th. They had a southwest wind initially in their favor, but they lost their way in the open ocean, an all too commonall-too-common problem without modern navigational aids. Fortunately, the favorable winds had carried them far enough that only a day later they made landfall on the island of Tamna, aka Jeju island.
Jeju island was, at this point, its own independent kingdom, situated off the southern coast of the Korean peninsula. Dr. Alexander Vovin suggested that the name “Tamna” may have been a corruption of a Japonic or proto-Japonic name: Tanimura. The island was apparently quite strange to the Yamato embassy, and they met with various residents natives of Jeju island. They, even convincinged Prince Aphaki and eight other men of the island to come with them to be presented at the Yamato court.
The rest of their journey took a little over a month. They finally arrived back in Yamato on the 23rd day of the fifth month of 661. They had been gone for approximately two years, and a lot had changed, especially with the destruction of Baekje. The Yamato court had already learned of what had happened and was in the process of drawing up plans for an expedition back to the Korean peninsula to restore the Baekje kingdom, and pPrince Naka no Oe himself was set to lead the troops.
The icing on the cake was: Tthe reception that the envoys received upon their return was rather cold. Apparently they were had been slandered to the Yamato court by another follower of Han Chihung—Yamato no Aya no Atahe no Tarushima—and so they weren’t met with any fanfare. We still don’t know what it was that Tarsuhima was saying—possibly he had gotten letters from Chihung or Ohomaro and was simply repeating what they had said.
Either way, the envoys were sick of it. They had traveled all the way to the Tang capitals, they had been placed under house arrest for a year, and now they had returned. They not only had gifts from the Tang emperor, but they were also bringing the first ever embassy from the Kingdom of Tamna along with them. The slander would not stand. And so they did what anyone would do at the time: They apparently appealed to the Kami. We are told that their anger reached to the Gods of the High Heaven, which is to say the kami of Takamanohara, who killed Tarushima with a thunderbolt. Which I guess was one way to shut him up.
From what we can tell, the embassy was eventually considered a success. Iki no Hakatoko’s star would rise—and fall—and rise again in the court circles. As I noted, his account of this embassy is really one of the best and most in depth that we have from this time. It lets us see the relative route that the envoys were taking—the Chronicles in particular note that they traveled to the Great Tang of Wu, and, sure enough, they had set out along the southern route to the old Wu capital, rather than trying to cross the Bohai Sea and make landfall by the Shandong peninsula or at the mouth of the Yellow River. From there they traveled through Nanjing—the southern “capital” likely referring, in this instance, to the old Wu capital—and then to Luoyang. Though they stayed there much longer than they had anticipated, they ended up living there through some of the most impactful events that occurred during this point in Northeast Asia. they
And that is something we will touch on 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.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan

References

Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 122: Journey to the West, Part 3

March 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Ruins of Nalanda University, where Xuanzang spent the bulk of his time in India studying and teaching. Public Domain, obtained from Wikimedia Commons.

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After a long journey, Xuanzang finally made it to the Indian subcontinent. He traveled all across the land, visiting cultural and religious sites and studying at the feet of various masters. There are at least two main sources for this journey. One is the “Records of the Western Regions” that Xuanzang wrote, or at least had written, where it gives his recollections of all the various places. For the most part, this talks of each place in relatively sequential terms. On the other hand, there is also his biography, based on his accounts, focused specifically on him and his travels. For much of the journey, the two largely align, but there are places, particularly in India, where they don’t. This could be in part because his biographers were particularly interested in stories of Xuanzang and stories related to various religious matters. On the other hand, it may also be because Xuanzang went back and forth between various locations. That’s fine for a biography, but unnecessary for a work that is focused on providing an account of the various places—there is no need to discuss them multiple times.

Map of Xuanzang’s journey, showing his departure and return routes. From the Shaanxi History Museum. For an English map, check out this article by the Smithsonian: https://sogdians.si.edu/sidebars/xuanzang/

In my own narrative, I’ve skipped over many of the names and the various stories given in the two primary sources for these travels, as they were not always entirely relevant. However, for any students interest in Xuanzang’s journeys and for students of Indian history, those might be something to look into.

Nalanda Monastery

A quick note about Nalanda Monastery, also known as Nalanda University and Nalanda Mahavihara—the Great Monastery. It was founded in the 5th and 6th centuries, and continued until at least the 13th century. Faxian visited Nalanda, but it was before the monastery was apparently founded. Later, other monks from China and even Korea would also travel to Nalanda, though they would typically take the sea route, rather than the overland silk road. Famous monks from Nalanda would be known in Japan and elsewhere, as their teachings became particularly important and influential in Buddhist thought and teaching. And in Japan, while many concepts such as math, astronomy, and calendrical studies would come from China, there was also influence from Indian and Buddhist studies.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 122: Journey to the West, Part 3
The courtyard at Nalanda was quiet. Although hundreds of people were crowded in, trying to hear what was being said, they were all doing their best to be silent and still. Only the wind or an errant bird dared speak up. The master’s voice may not have been what it once was—he was definitely getting on in years—but Silabhadra’s mind was as sharp as ever.
At the front of the crowd was a relatively young face from a far off land. Xuanzang had made it to the greatest center of learning in the world, and he had been accepted as a student of perhaps the greatest sage of his era. Here he was, receiving lessons on some of the deepest teachings of the Mahayana Buddhist sect, the very thing he had come to learn and bring home.
As he watched and listened with rapt attention, the ancient teacher began to speak….

For the last two episodes, and continuing with this one, we have been covering the travels of the monk Xuanzang in the early 7th century, starting around 629 and concluding in 645. Born during the Sui dynasty, Xuanzang felt that the translations of the Buddhist sutras available in China were insufficient—many of them had been made long ago, and often were translations of translations. Xuanzang decided to travel to India in the hopes of getting copies in the original language to provide more accurate translations of the sutras, particularly the Mahayana sutras. His own accounts of his journeys, even if drawn from his memory years afterwards, provide some of our most detailed contemporary evidence of the Silk Road and the people and places along the way. After he returned, he got to work on his translations, and became quite famous. Several of the Japanese students of Buddhism who traveled to the Tang dynasty in the 650s studied under him directly and brought his teachings back to Japan with them. His school of “Faxiang” Buddhism became known in Japan as the Hosso sect, and was quite popular during the 7th and 8th centuries. Xuanzang himself, known as Genjou in Japan, would continue to be venerated as an important monk in the history of Buddhism, and his travels would eventually be popularized in fantastic ways across East Asia.
Over the last couple of episodes we talked about Xuanzang’s illegal and harrowing departure from the Tang empire, where he had to sneak across the border into the deserts of the Western Regions. We then covered his time traveling from Gaochang, to Suyab, and down to Balkh, in modern Afghanistan. This was all territory under the at least nominal control of the Gokturk empire. From Balkh he traveled to Bamyan, and then on to Kapisa, north of modern Kabul, Afghanistan. However, after Kapisa, Xuanzang was finally entering into the northern territories of what he knew as “India”, or “Tianzhu”.
Here I would note that I’m using “India” to refer not to a single country, but to the entirety of the Indian subcontinent, and all of the various kingdoms there -- including areas now part of the modern countries of Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka. The Sinitic characters used to denote this region are pronounced, today, as “Tianzhu”, with a rough meaning of “Center of Heaven”, but it is likely that these characters were originally pronounced in such a way that the name likely came from terms like “Sindhu” or “Induka”. This is related to the name of the Sindh or Indus river, from which India gets its name. Xuanzang’s “Record of the Western Regions” notes that the proper pronunciation of the land should be “Indu”.
In Japan, this term was transmitted through the Sinitic characters, or kanji, and pronounced as “Tenjiku”. Since it featured so prominently in the stories of the life of the Buddha and many of the Buddhist sutras, Tenjiku was known to the people of the Japanese archipelago as a far off place that was both real and fantastical. In the 12th century, over a thousand stories were captured for the “Konjaku Monogatarishu”, or the “Collection of Tales Old and New”, which is divided up into tales from Japan, China, and India. In the famous 9th or 10th century story, “Taketori Monogatari”, or the “Bamboo-Cutter’s Tale”, about princess Kaguya hime, one of the tasks the princess sets to her suitors is to go to India to find the begging bowl of the Buddha. Records like those produced by Xuanzang and his fellow monks, along with the stories in the sutras, likely provided the majority of what people in the Japanese archipelago knew about India, at least to begin with.
Xuanzang talks about the land of India as being divided into five distinct parts—roughly the north, south, east, west, and center. He notes that three sides face the sea and that the Snow Mountains—aka the Himalayas—are in the north. It is, he says, “Wide in the north and narrow in the south, in the shape of a crescent moon”. Certainly the “Wide in the north and narrow in the south” fit the subcontinent accurately enough, and it is largely surrounded by the waters of what we know as the Indian Ocean to the west, the east, and the south. The note about the Crescent Moon might be driven by Xuanzang’s understanding of a false etymology for the term “Indus”, which he claims comes from the word for “moon”. Rather, this term appears to refer to the Indus River, also known as the Sindh or Sindhus, which comes from an ancient word meaning something like “River” or “Stream”.
Xuanzang also notes that the people of the land were divided into castes, with the Brahman caste at the top of the social hierarchy.    The land was further divided into approximately 70 different countries, according to his accounts. This is known broadly as the Early Medieval period, in India, in which the region was divided into different kingdoms and empires that rose and fell across the subcontinent, with a total size roughly equivalent to that covered by the countries of the modern European Union. Just like Europe, there were many different polities and different languages spoken across the land – but just as Latin was the common language in Europe, due to its use in Christianity, Sanskrit was the scholarly and religious language in much of India, and could also be used as a bridge language. Presumably, Xuanzang understood Sanskrit to some extent as a Buddhist monk. And, just a quick note, all of this was before the introduction of Islam, though there were other religions also practiced throughout the subcontinent, but Xuanzang was primarily focused on his Buddhist studies.
Xuanzang describes India as having three distinct seasons—The hot season, the rainy season, and the cold season, in that order. Each of these were four month long periods. Even today, the cycle of the monsoon rains is a major impact on the life of people in South Asia. During the rainy season, the monks themselves would retreat back to their monasteries and cease their wanderings about the countryside. This tradition, called “Vassa”, is still a central practice in many Theravada Buddhist societies such as Thailand and Laos today, where they likewise experience this kind of intensely wet monsoon season.
Xuanzang goes on to give an in depth analysis of the people and customs of the Indian subcontinent, as he traveled from country to country. So, as we’ve done before, we’ll follow his lead in describing the different locations he visited.
The first country of India that Xuanzang came to was the country of Lampa, or Lamapaka, thought to be modern Laghman province in Afghanistan. At the time it was a dependency of Kapisa. The Snow Mountains, likely meaning the Hindu Kush, the western edge of the Himalayas, lay at its north, while the “Black Mountains” surrounded it on the other three sides. Xuanzang mentions how the people of Lampa grow non-glutinous rice—likely something similar to basmati rice, which is more prevalent in South Asian cuisine, as compared to glutinous rice like more often used in East Asia.
From Lampa he headed to Nagarahara, likely referring to a site near the Kabul River associated with the ruins of a stupa called Nagara Gundi, about 4 kilometers west of modern Jalalabad, Afghanistan. This was another vassal city-state of Kapisa. They were still Mahayana Buddhists, but there were other religions as well, which Xuanzang refers to as “heretical”, though I’m not entirely sure how that is meant in this context. He does say that many of the stupas were dilapidated and in poor condition.
Xuanzang was now entering areas where he likely believed the historical Buddha had once walked. In fact, Lampa was perhaps the extent of historical Buddha’s travels, according to the stories and the sutras, though this seems unlikely to have been true. The most plausible locations for the Historical Buddha’s pilgrimages were along the Ganges river, which was on the other side of the subcontinent, flowing east towards modern Kolkatta and the Bengal Bay. However, as Buddhism spread, so, too, did stories of the Buddha’s travels. And so, as far as Xuanzang was concerned, he was following in the footsteps of the Buddha.
Speaking of which, at Nagarahara, Xuanzang mentions “footprints” of the Buddha. This is a Buddhist tradition found in many places. Xuanzang claims that the Tathagatha, the Englightened One, or the Buddha, would fly, because when he walked the land itself shook. Footprint shapes in rock could be said to be evidence of the Buddha’s travels. Today, in many Buddhist areas you can find footprints carved into rock conforming to stories about the Buddha, such as all the toes being of the same length, or other various signs. These may have started out as natural depressions in the rock, or pieces of artwork, but they were believed by many to be the actual point at which the Buddha himself touched down. There are famous examples of these footprints in Sri Lanka, Thailand, and China.
Of course there are also traditions of creating images of the footprint as an object of worship. Images of footprints, similar to images of the Great Wheel of the Law, may have been some of the earliest images for veneration, as images of the Buddha himself did not appear until much later in the tradition. One of the oldest such footprints in Japan is at Yakushiji temple, and dated to 753. It was created based on a rubbing brought back by an envoy to the Tang court, while they were in Chang’an.
Like Buddha footprints, there are many other images and stories that show up multiple times in different places, even in Xuanzang’s own narrative. For example, in Nagarahara Xuanzang also shares a story of a cave, where an image of the Buddha could be just barely made out on the wall – maybe maybe an old carving that had just worn away, or maybe an image that was deliberately placed in the darkness as a metaphor for finding the Buddha—finding enlightenment. This is not an uncommon theme in Buddhism as a whole. In any case, the story around this image was that it had been placed there to subdue a naga.
Now a naga is a mythical snake-like being, and we are told that this particular naga was the reincarnation of a man who had invoked a curse on the nearby kingdom, then threw himself from a cliff in order to become a naga and sow destruction. As the story went, the man was indeed reborn, but before he could bring destruction, the Buddha showed up and subdued him, convincing him that this was not right. And so the naga agreed to stay in the cave, where the Buddha left an image—a shadow—to remind the naga any time that its thoughts might turn to destruction.
Later in his travels, at a place name Kausambi, Xuanzang mentions another cave where the Buddha had subdued a venomous dragon and left his shadow on the cave wall. Allowing for the possibility that the Buddha just had a particular M.O. when dealing with destructive beings, we should also consider the possibility that the story developed in one region—probably closer to the early center of Buddhism, and then traveled outward, such that it was later adopted and adapted to local traditions.
From Nagarahara, Xuanzang continued to the country of Gandhara and its capital city of Purushapura, aka modern Peshwar. This kingdom was also under vassalage to the Kapisan king. Here and elsewhere in the journey, Xuanzang notes not only evidence of the historical Buddha, but also monasteries and stupas purported to have been built by King Kanishka and King Asoka. These were important figures who were held in high regard for spreading Buddhism during their reign.
Continuing through the region of Gandhara, he also passed through Udakhand and the city of Salatura, known as the birthplace of the ancient Sanskrit grammarian, Daksiputra Panini, author of the Astadhyayi [Aestudjayi]. This work is the oldest surviving description of classical Sanskrit, and used grammatical and other concepts that wouldn’t be introduced into Western linguistics for eons. Daksiputra Panini thrived around the 5th or 4th century BCE, but was likely one of the reasons that Sanskrit continued to be used as a language of scholarship and learning even as it died out of usage as the day to day language of the common people. His works and legacy would have been invaluable to translators like Xuanzang in understanding and translating from Sanskrit.
Xuanzang continued on his journey to Kashmira, situated in the Kashmir Valley. This valley sits between the modern states of Pakistan and India, and its ownership is actively disputed by each. It is the namesake of the famous cashmere wool—wool from the winter coats of a type of goat that was bred in the mountainous regions. The winter coat would be made of soft, downy fibers and would naturally fall out in the spring, which the goatherds harvested and made into an extremely fine wool. In the 7th century and earlier, however, the region was known not as much for its wool, but as a center for Hindu and Buddhist studies. Xuanzang ended up spending two years in Kashmira studying with teachers there.
Eventually, though, he continued on, passing through the country of Rajpura, and continuing on to Takka and the city of Sakala—modern day Sialkot in the Punjab region of modern Pakistan. Leaving Sakala, he was traveling with a group when suddenly disaster struck and they were accosted by a group of bandits. They took the clothes and money of Xuanzang and those with him and then they drove the group into a dry pond in an attempt to corral them while they figured out what they would do—presumably meaning kill them all. Fortunately for the group, there was a water drain at the southern edge of the pond large enough for one man to pass through. Xuanzang and one other went through the gap and they were able to escape to a nearby village. Once they got there, they told the people what had happened, and the villagers quickly gathered weapons and ran out to confront the brigands, who saw a large group coming and ran away. Thus they were able to rescue the rest of Xuanzang’s traveling companions. Xuanzang’s companions were devastated, having lost all of their possessions. However, Xuanzang comforted them. After all, they still had their lives. By this time, Xuanzang had certainly seen his fair share of life and death problems along the road.
They continued on, still in the country of Takka, to the next great city. There they met a Brahman, and once they told him what had happened, he started marshalling the forces of the city on their behalf. During Xuanzang’s stay in Kashmira, he had built a reputation, and people knew of the quote-unquote “Chinese monk”. And even though the people in this region were not necessarily Buddhist—many were “heretics” likely referring to those of Hindu faith—the people responded to this pre-Internet “GoFundMe” request with incredible generosity. They brought Xuanzang food and cloth to make into suits of clothes. Xuanzang distributed this to his travel companions, and ended up still having enough cloth for 50 suits of clothes himself. He then stayed at that city a month.
It is odd that they don’t seem to mention the name of this location. Perhaps there is something unspeakable about it? Still, it seems that they were quite generous, even if they were “heretics” according to Xuanzang.
From the country of Takka, he next proceeded to the kingdom of Cinabhukti, where he spent 14 months—just over a year—studying with the monks there. Once he had learned what he could, he proceeded onwards, passing through several countries in northern India until he came to the headwaters of the sacred Ganges rivers. The Indus and the Ganges rivers are in many ways similar to the Yellow River and Yangzi, at least in regards to their importance to the people of India. However, whereas the Yellow River and Yangzi both flow east towards the Pacific Ocean, the Indus and Ganges flow in opposite directions. The Indus flows southwest, from the Himalayas down through modern India into modern Pakistan, emptying into the western Indian Ocean. The Ganges flows east along the base of the Himalayas and enters the eastern Indian Ocean at Kolkatta.   At the headwaters of the Ganges, Xuanzang found a Buddhist monk named Jayagupta and chose to spend the winter and half of the following spring listening to his sermons and learning at his feet.
From there he continued his travels, and ended up being summoned by King Harshavardhana of Kanyakubja, known today as the modern city of Kannauj. Harshavardhana ruled an immense state that covered much of the territory around the sacred Ganges river. As word of this strange monk from a far off land reached him, the King wanted to see him for himself. Xuanzang stayed in Kannauj for three months, completing his studies of the Vibhasha Shastra, aka the Abhidarmma Mahavibhasha Shastra, known in Japanese as the Abidatsuma Daibibasharon, or just as the Daibibasharon or the Basharon, with the latter two terms referring to the translations that Xuanzang performed.   This work is not a sutra, per se, but rather an encyclopedic work that attempted to speak on all of the various doctrinal issues of its day. It is thought to have been authored around 150 CE, and was influential in the Buddhist teachings of Kashmira, when that was a center of Orthodoxy at the time. This is what Xuanzang had started studying, and it seems that in Kannauj he was finally able to grasp everything he felt he needed to know about it in order to effectively translate it and teach it when he returned. That said, his quest was not over. And after his time in Kannauj, he decided to continue on.
His next stop was at the city of Ayodhya. This was—and is—a city of particular importance in Hindu traditions. It is said to be the city mentioned in the epic tale known as the Ramayana, though many argue that it was simply named that later in honor of that ancient city. It does appear to be a city that the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, visited and where he preached. It was also the home of a famous monk from Gandhara who authored a number of Buddhist tomes and was considered, at least by Xuanzang, a proper Boddhisatva. And so Xuanzang spent some time paying homage to the places where the Buddha and other holy figures had once walked.
“Ayodhya” appears in many forms across Asia. It is a major pilgrimage center, and the city of “Ayutthaya” in Thailand was named for it, evoking the Ramayana—known in Thai as the Ramakien—which they would adopt as their own national story. In Silla, there is a story that queen Boju, aka Heo Hwang-ok, wife to the 2nd century King Suro of Geumgwan Gaya, traveled to the peninsula all the way from the foreign country of “Ayuta”, thought to mean Ayodhya. Her story was written down in the Gaya histories and survives as a fragment found in the Samguk Yusa. Members of the Gimhae Kim, Gimhae Heo, and Incheon Yi clans all trace their lineage back to her and King Suro.
From Ayodhya, Xuanzang took a trip down the Ganges river. The boat was packed to bursting with some 80 other travelers, and as they traveled towards a particularly heavily forested area, they were set upon by bandits, who rowed their ships out from hiding in the trees and forced the travelers to the shore. There the bandits made all the travelers strip down and take off their clothing so that the bandits could search for gold or valuables. According to Xuanzang’s biography, these bandits were followers of Durga, a Hindu warrior-goddess, and it is said that each year they would look for someone of particularly handsome features to sacrifice to her. With Xuanzang’s foreign features, they chose him. And so they took him to be killed. Xuanzang mentioned that he was on a pilgrimage, and that by interrupting him before they finished he was worried it might be inauspicious for them, but he didn’t put up a fight and merely asked to be given time to meditate and calm his mind and that they perform the execution quickly so that he wouldn’t even notice.
From there, according to the story, a series of miracles occurred that ended up with Xuanzang being released and the bandits worshipping at his feet. It is times like this we must remember that this biography was being written by Xuanzang’s students based on stories he told them about his travels. While being accosted by bandits on the river strikes me as perfectly plausible, we don’t necessarily have the most reliable narrators, so I’m going to have to wonder about the rest.
Speaking of unreliable narration, the exact route that Xuanzang traveled from here on is unclear to me, based on his stated goals and where he was going. It is possible that he was wandering as opportunities presented themselves —I don’t know that he had any kind of map or GPS, like we’ve said in the past. And it may be that the routes from one place to another were not always straightforward. Regardless, he seems to wander southeast for a period before turning again to the north and eventually reaching the city of Shravasti.
Shravasti appeared in our discussion of the men of Tukhara in Episode 119. With the men of Tukhara there was also mentioned a woman from Shravasti. While it is unlikely that was actually the case—the names were probably about individuals from the Ryukyuan island chain rather than from India—it is probably worth nothing that Shravasti was a thriving place in ancient times. It was at one time the capital city of the kingdom of Kosala, sharing that distinction with the city of Ayodhya, back in the 7th to 5th centuries BCE. It is also where the historical Buddha, Siddhartha Gautama, was said to have spend many years of his life. This latter fact would have no doubt made it a place of particular importance to Xuanzang on his journeys.
From there he traveled east, ending up following the foothills of the Himalayas, and finally came to some of the most central pilgrimages sites for followers of the historical Buddha. First, he reached Lumbini wood, in modern Nepal, said to have been the birthplace of Prince Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha. And then he visited Kushinagara, the site where the Buddha ascended to nirvana—in other words, the place where he passed away. From there, he traveled to Varanasi, and the deer park monastery, at the place where the Buddha is said to have given one of his most famous sermons. He even visited the Bodhi tree, the tree under which Siddhartha Gautama is said to have attained enlightenment. He spent eight or nine days there at Bodhgaya, and word must have spread about his arrival, because several monks from the eminent Nalanda Monastery called upon him and asked him to come to the monastery with them.
Nalanda Monastery was about 80 km from Bodhgaya. This was a grand monastery and center of learning—some say that it was, for a time, the greatest in the world. It had been founded in the 5th century by the Gupta dynasty, and many of the Gupta rulers and others donated to support the monastery, which also acted as a university. After the fall of the Gupta dynasty, the monastery was supported by King Harsha of Kannauj, whom Xuanzang had visited earlier. It ultimately thrived for some 750 years, and is considered by some to be the oldest residential university—meaning that students would come to the temple complex and stay in residence for years at a time to study. According to Xuanzang, Nalanda hosted some 10,000 monks. Including hosts and guests. They didn’t only study Buddhist teachings, but also logic, grammar, medicine, and divination. Lectures were given at more than 100 separate places—or classrooms—every day.
It was at Nalanda, that Xuanzang would meet the teacher Silabhadra, who was known as the Right Dharma Store. Xuanzang requested that he be allowed to study the Yogacharabhumi Shastra—the Yugashijiron, in Japanese. This is the work that Xuanzang is said to have been most interested in, and one of the works that he is credited with bringing back in one of the first full translations to the Tang dynasty and then to others in East Asia. It is an encyclopedic work dedicated to the various forms of Yogacara practice, which focuses on the mental disciplines, and includes yoga and meditation practices. It has a huge influence on nearly all Mahayana schools, including things like the famous Zen and Pure Land schools of Buddhism. The Yogacharabhumi Shastra is the earliest such encyclopedic work, compiled between the 3rd and 5th centuries—so even if the monk Faxian had brought portions of it back, it was probably not in the final form that Xuanzang was able to access.
Silabhadra, for his part, was an ancient teacher—some put his age at 106 years, and his son was in his 70s. He was one of the few at Nalandra who supposedly knew all of the various texts that they had at the monastery, including the Yogacarabhumi Shastra. Xuanzang seems to have been quite pleased to study under him. Xuanzang stayed at the house of Silabhadra’s son, Buddhabhadra, and they welcomed him with entertainment that lasted seven days. We are told that he was then given his own lodgings, a stipend of spices, incense, rice, oil, butter, and milk, along with a servant and a Brahman. As a visiting monk, he was not responsible for the normal monastic duties, instead being expected to spend the time in study. Going out, he was carried around by an elephant.   This was certainly the royal treatment.
Xuanzang’s life at Nalandra wasn’t all books: south of the monastery was the city of Rajagrha, the old capital of the kingdom of Magadha, where the ancient Gupta kings had once lived, and on occasional breaks from his studies, Xuanzang would venture out to see the various holy sites. This included the famous Mt. Grdhrakuta, or Vulture Peak, a location said to be favored by the historical Buddha and central to the Lotus Sutra, arguably the founding document of Mahayana Buddhist tradition. After all, “Mahayana” means “Greater Vehicle” and it is in the Lotus Sutra that we see the metaphor of using different vehicles to escape a burning house.   We’ve already talked a bit about how the image of Vulture Peak had already become important in Japanese Buddhism: In Episode 112 we talked about how in 648, Abe no Oho-omi had drums piled up at Shitennoji in the shape of Vulture Peak.
But although the sightseeing definitely enhanced his experience, Xuanzang was first and foremost there to study. He spent 15 months just listening to his teacher expound on the Yogacarabhumi Shastra, but he also heard expositions on various other teachings as well. He ended up studying at Nalandra Monastery for 5 years, gaining a much better understanding of Sanskrit and the various texts, which would be critically important when it came to translating them, later.
But, Xuanzang was not one to stay in any one place forever, and so after 5 years—some 8 years or more into his journey, he continued on, following the Ganges east, to modern Bangladesh. Here he heard about various other lands, such as Dvarapati—possibly referring to Dvaravati, in modern Thailand, as well as Kamalanka and Isanapura. The latter was in modern Cambodia, the capital of the ancient Chenla kingdom. Then Mahacampa—possibly referring to the Champa region of Vietnam—and the country of Yamanadvipa.
But there was still more of India for Xuanzang to discover, and more teachings to uncover, and so Xuanzang decided instead to head southwest, following the coast. He heard of the country of Sinhala, referring to the island of Sri Lanka, but he was urged not to go by ship, as the long journey was perilous. Instead he could stay on relatively dry land and head down to the southern tip of the subcontinent and then make a quick hop from there across to the island. He traveled a long distance, all the way down to Kancipuram, the seat of the Pallava dynasty, near modern day Chennai. From the seaport near Kancipuram, it was only three days to Sinhala—that is to say Sri Lanka—but before he could set out, he met a group of monks who had just arrived. They told him that the king of Sinhala had died , and there was a great famine and civil disturbances. So they had fled with some 300 other monks.
Xuanzang eventually decided not to make the journey, but he did talk with the monks and gathered information on the lands to the south, on Sri Lanka, and on the islands south of that, by which I suspect he may have meant the Maldives. While Sri Lanka is an area important to Buddhist scholarship, particularly to the Theravada schools, this likely did not impress Xuanzang, and indeed he seemed to feel that his studies in Nalanda had more than provided him what he needed. Sri Lanka, however, is the source of the Pali canon, one of the most complete early canons of Buddhism, which had a huge influence on Theravada Buddhism in Southeast Asia and elsewhere.
So Xuanzang took plenty of notes but decided to forego the ocean voyage and headed northwest, instead. He traveled across the breadth of India to Gujarat, and then turned back east, returning to pay respects once more to his teacher in Nalanda. While there he heard of another virtuous monk named Prajnabhadra at a nearby monastery. And so he went to spend several months with him, as well. He also studied with a layman, Sastrin Jayasena, at Stickwood Hill. Jayasena was a ksatriya, or nobleman, by birth, and studied both Buddhist and non-Buddhist texts. He was courted by kings, but had left to continue his studies. Xuanzang studied with him for another couple of years.
Xuanzang remained at Nalanda, learning and teaching, expounding on what he had learned and gathering many copies of the various documents that he wished to take back with him, though he wondered how he might do it. In the meantime, he also acquired quite the reputation. We are told that King Siladitya had asked Nalanda for monks who could refute Theravada teachings, and Xuanzang agreed to go. It isn’t clear, but it seems that “Siladitya” was a title, and likely referred to King Harsha of Kannauj, whom we mentioned earlier. Since he was a foreigner, then there could be no trouble that was brought on Nalanda and the other monks if he did poorly. While he was waiting to hear back from Siladitya’s court, which was apparently taking time to arrange things, the king of Kamarupta reached out to Nalanda with a request that Xuanzang come visit them. While Xuanzang was reluctant to be gone too long, he was eventually encouraged to go and assuage the king.
Kamarupta was a kingdom around the modern Assam region, ruled by King Bhaskaravarman, also known as King Kumara, a royal title. This kingdom included parts of Bangladesh, Bhutan, and Nepal. Bhaskaravarman, like so many other regents, seems to have been intrigued by the presence of this foreign monk, who had traveled all this way and who had studied at the famous Nalanda Monastery in Magadha. He invited Xuanzang to come to him. Xuanzang’s teacher, Silabhadra, had exhorted him to spread the right Dharma, and to even go to those non-Buddhists in hopes that they might be converted, or at least partially swayed.
King Bhaskaravarman was quite taken with Xuanzang, wining and dining him while listening to him preach. While there, Xuanzang learned about the country of Kamarupta. He also learned about a path north, by which it was said it was a two month journey to arrive at the land of Shu, in the Sichuan Basin, on the upper reaches of the Yangzi – a kind of shortcut back to the Tang court. However, the journey was treacherous—possibly even more treacherous than the journey to India had been.
Eventually word reached the ears of King Siladitya that Xuanzang was at the court of King Bhaskaravarman, and Siladitya got quite upset. Xuanzang had not yet come to his court, so Siladitya demanded that Bhaskaravarman send the monk to him immediately. Bhaskaravarman refused, saying he’d rather give Siladitya his own head, which Siladitya said he would gladly accept. Bhaskaravarman realized he may have miscalculated, and so he sailed up the Ganges with a host of men and Xuanzang to meet with Siladitya. After a bit of posturing, Siladitya met with Xuanzang, who went with him, and eventually confronted the members of the Theravada sect in debate. Apparently it almost got ugly, but for the King’s intervention. After a particularly devastating critique of the Theravada position, the Theravada monks are blamed for trying to use violence against Xuanzang and his fellow Mahayana monks from Nalanda, who were prepared to defend themselves. The King had to step in and break it up before it went too far.
Ultimately, Xuanzang was a celebrity at this point and both kings seem to have supported him, especially as he was realizing it was about time to head back to his own country. Both kings was offered ships, should Xuanzang wish to sail south and then up the coast. However, Xuanzang elected to take the northern route, hoping to go back through Gaochang, and see that city and its ruler again. And so the Kings gave him money and valuables , along with wagons for all of the texts. They also sent an army to protect all of the treasures, and even an elephant and more – sending him back in style with a huge send-off.
So Xuanzang retraced his earlier steps, this time on an elephant. He traveled back to Taxila, to Kashmir, and beyond. He was invited to stay in Kashmira, but because of his retinue, he wasn’t quite at leisure to just go where he wanted. At one point, near Kapisa—modern Bagram, north of Kabul—they had to cross a river, and about 50 of the almost 700 documents were lost. The King of Kapisa heard of this and had his own monks make copies to replace them based on their own schools. The King of Kasmira, hearing that he was in Kapisa, also came to pay his respects.
Xuanzang traveled with the King of Kapisa northwest for over a month and reached Lampaka, where he did take some time to visit the various holy sites before continuing northwest. They had to cross the Snow Mountains—the outskirts of the Himalayas, and even though it wasn’t the highest part of the range it was still challenging. He had to dismount his elephant and travel on foot. Finally, after going over the high mountains and coming down, he arrived back in the region of Tukhara, in the country of Khowst. He then came to Kunduz, and paid his respects to the grandson of Yehu Khan. He was given more guards to escort him eastward, traveling with some merchants. This was back in Gokturk controlled lands, over a decade later than when he had last visited.
He continued east to Badakshan, stopping there for a month because of the cold weather and snow. He eventually traveled through the regions of Tukhara and over the Pamir range. He came down on the side of the Tarim Basin, and noted how the rivers on one side flowed west, while on the other side they flowed east. The goings were treacherous, and at one point they were beset by bandits. Though he and the documents were safe, his elephant panicked and fled into the river and drowned. He eventually ended up in the country of Kashgar, in modern Xinjiang province, at the western edge of the Taklamakan desert.
From there he had two options. He could go north and hug the southern edge of the Tianshan mountains, or he could stay to the south, along the northern edge of the Himalayan range and the Tibetan plateau. He chose to go south. He traveled through Khotan, a land of wool and carpets. This was a major trade kingdom, and they also grew mulberry trees for silkworms, and were known for their jade. The king himself heard of Xuanzang and welcomed him, as many others had done. While he was staying at the Khotanese capital, Xuanzang penned a letter to the Tang court, letting them know of his journey, and that he was returning. He sent it with some merchants and a man of Gaochang to deliver it to the court.
Remember, Xuanzang had left the Tang empire illegally. Unless he wanted to sneak back in his best hope was that the court was willing to forgive and forget all of that, given everything that he was bringing back with him. The wait was no doubt agonizing, but he did get a letter back. It assured him that he was welcome back, and that all of the kingdoms from Khotan back to the governor of Dunhuang had been made aware and were ready to receive him.
With such assurances, Xuanzang packed up and headed out. The king of Khotan granted him more gifts to help see him on his way. Nonetheless, there was still a perilous journey ahead. Even knowing the way, the road went through miles and miles of desert, such that in some places you could only tell the trail by the bleached bones of horses and travelers who had not been so fortunate. Eventually, however, Xuanzang made it to the Jumo River and then on to Dunhuang, from whence he was eventually escorted back to the capital city.
It was now the year 645, the year of the Isshi Incident in Yamato and the death of Soga. Xuanzang had been gone for approximately 16 years. In that time, the Tang had defeated the Gokturks and taken Gaochang, expanding their control over the trade routes in the desert. Xuanzang, for his part, was bringing back 657 scriptures, bound in 520 bundles carried by a train of some 20 horses. He was given a hero’s welcome, and eventually he would be set up in a monastery where he could begin the next part of his journey: Translating all of these books.
This was the work of a lifetime, but it is one that would have a profound impact on Buddhism across East Asia. Xuanzang’s translations would revolutionize the understanding of Mahayana Buddhist teachings, and students would come from as far away as the Yamato court to study under him and learn from the teacher who studied and taught at none other than Nalanda monastery itself. His school would become popular in the Yamato capital, and the main school of several temples, at least for a time. In addition, his accounts and his biography would introduce many people to the wider world of central and south Asia.
While I could go on, this has already been a story in three parts, and this is, after all, the Chronicles of Japan, so we should probably tune back into what is going on with Yamato. Next episode, we’ll look at one of the most detailed accounts we have of a mission to Chang’an.
Until then, I hope that this has been enjoyable. Xuanzang’s story is one of those that isn’t just about him, but about the interconnected nature of the entire world at the time. While his journey is quite epic, there were many people traveling the roads, though most of them didn’t write about it afterwards. People, artifacts, and ideas traveled much greater distances than we often consider at this time, well before any kind of modern travel. It was dangerous, but often lucrative, and it meant that various regions could have influence well beyond what one might expect.
And so, 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.

References

Dischner, Matthew Z. (—). “Xuanzang”. The Sogdians: Influencers on the Silk Roads. Online exhibit of Smithsonian’s National Museum of Asian Art. https://sogdians.si.edu/sidebars/xuanzang/ (last accessed 15 March 2025).
Wu, Guo. (2020). From Chang'an to Nālandā: The Life and Legacy of the Chinese Buddhist Monk Xuanzang (602?-664) From Chang'an to Nālandā: The Life and Legacy of the Chinese Buddhist Monk Xuanzang (602?-664). Proceedings of the First International Conference on Xuanzang and Silk Road Culture.
Beckwith, C.I. (2009) Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present. Princeton University Press, Princeton/Oxford. ISBN 978-0-691-13589-2.
Boulnois, Luce (2005). Silk Road: Monks, Warriors & Merchants. Hong Kong: Odyssey Books & Guides. pp. 311–335. ISBN 962-217-721-2.
Frye, R. N. 1. (1996). The heritage of Central Asia from antiquity to the Turkish expansion. Princeton, Markus Wiener Publishers.
Xuanzang, tr. Li Rongji (1996). The Great Tang Dynasty Record of the Western Regions. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Huili, Yancong, & Li, R. (1995). A Biography of the Tripiṭaka Master of the Great Ci’en Monastery of the Great Tang Dynasty. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 121: Journey to the West, Part 2

March 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Two terracotta figures of men on horseback. One is muscled and bare-chested, with full, flat beard and a Han style hat. The other has a hat resembling a bicorn, with a curly beard, wearing a round-necked caftan worn open. — Two figures on horseback from a 7th century tomb depicting traders upon the dangerous paths of the Silk Road. Photo by author.

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This episode, we continue to cover the journey of the monk Xuanzang, aka Genjō in Japanese, founder of the Faxiang, or Hossō school of Buddhism. Xuanzang’s journeys would result in some of the most accurate translations of Mahayana Buddhist scriptures, which would be transmitted across East Asia. His story would live on for over a thousand years. Beyond that, however, his journey gives us a glimpse into the wider world in the 7th century.

At that time, most people might never leave their village, spending their lives working the land and rarely roaming far from their home. Those with resources and leisure time might roam greater distances, with some traveling from the ends of the archipelago to Yamato and back as part of their duties. Traveling to the Korean peninsula would be an incredible feat, made all the more notable due to the dangers of ocean travel. And then to make it to the Tang court could take days.

Along the Silk Road, merchants might make that journey and more in search of profits, and they would be accompanied by numerous others. The cosmopolitan nature of the cities along the Silk Road give witness to the many people who would travel this path. And that is something to keep in mind: Xuanzang wasn’t the only person to travel the Silk Road, we just don’t have the names of most of those who did. Individuals frequently traveled from one city to another—some more frequently than others. In the case of Xuanzang, though, it is his records that really help us to see what was going on.

This episode, we’ll cover Xuanzang’s journey past Gaochang, through the Tarim Basin, and the rest of the Western Gökturk Qaghanate. This includes the countries of Agni, Kucha, and Baluka, over the Tianshan Mountains to Suyab, and through Taras, Tashkent, and Samarkand. He continued into Bactria, the area of Tukhara, visiting Kunduz and Balkh before heading into the Hindu Kush, where he saw the stone Buddhas of Bamyan, and continued to the country of Kapisa, north of modern Kabul, Afghanistan (and though I didn’t say it this episode—apologies if I get any of these pronunciations wrong).

Map of Xuanzang’s journey, showing his departure and return routes. From the Shaanxi History Museum.

Agni, Kucha and Baluka

Sarira

This funerary container was found at the Subeshi monastery in Kucha. It dates to around the 7th century and demonstrates West Asian, and Sogdian, artistic elements. It is at the Tokyo National Museum. Photo by author.

Kucha

Ruined walls at the site of the ancient capital of Kucha. Photo by author.

Subeshi temple stupa

The ruined stupa at the Subeshi temple, in ancient Kucha. Photo by author.

Subeshi temple details

In parts of the ruined structure at Subeshi, one can still make out wooden beams, giving a sense that not everything was built with brick and mud. Photo by author.

Heading out from Gaochang, Xuanzang passed through the area of modern Xianjiang, including the cities of Agni, Kucha, and Baluka. These appear to have spoken versions of Kuchean and Turfanian, related Indo-European languages, also known as Tocharian. Agni appears to be the ancient name of the modern Yanqi area. Xuanzang stayed there only briefly, as the king of Agni was not on good terms with Gaochang, it would seem. From there he traveled on to Kucha, where he stayed until the mountain passes through the Tianshan range were clear enough for travel.

Kucha, or Kuqa, was a thriving Buddhist kingdom along the northern edge of the Silk Road basin. There are still the remains of various buildings, particularly at the area of Subashi, or Subeshi, where we see the remains of a giant monastery—possibly one of the monasteries visited by Xuanzang. It was here that a beautiful sarira, or box for cremated Buddhist remains, was found during an expedition by Count Ōtani Kōzui. Ōtani was one of many early 20th centuries adventurers who went to visit sites along the silk road. He was also made the head of Nishi Honganji, in Kyōto. The sarira that he discovered is currently on display at the Tokyo National Museum. It is a circular box, with pearl roundel designs and images of individuals in West Asian clothing around the edge.

Kuchean King and Queen

An image from the Kizil Grottoes of the King of Kucha with his Queen. Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

Statue of Kumarajiva

A statue of the Kuchean monk, Kumarajiva, at the Kizil grotto cave complex. Photo by author.

Kizil Grotto

The Kizil Caves can be seen beyond the pond and modern structures. This area is enclosed—a protected oasis in the desert—and many of the images deeper in the caves remain vibrant, even today. Photo by author.

Kizil Princes

A painting of “princes” in the Kizil grottoes, showing donors and how they were dressed. Many of the Kizil paintings were removed during a German expedition and sent to Berlin, where many remain, though some were lost during WWII. Public domain image found on Wikimedia Commons.

There are also the nearby Kizil Grottoes, a system of elaborate painted caves established in a fertile valley near Kucha. The paintings are largely Buddhist in nature, but include images of contemporary donors, including a painting that claims to be of the King of Kucha and his sons, one of whom was likely the king that met Xuanzang on his visit.

River in the desert

This river, from near Bezeklik in Turpan, is an example of how small rivers can exist in the desert, bringing life-giving water to the immediate area. Outside of these spaces, the desert can be harsh. Photo by author.

Tuyoq Village

A modern Uyghur village in Turpan, this nonetheless shows how life subsists in this area around water sources, which can then be used to water crops and provide for the people. Photo by author.

Tianshan mountains

At the foot of the Tianshan mountains the journey is still daunting. What at first glance could appear to be a path might lead to a dead end. Flash floods are a problem if there is weather deeper in the mountains, and in some corners, water can stay frozen as ice even into the spring and summer months. Photo by author.

Tri-Colored Kuchean Figure Shaanxi History Museum.jpg

Kucha is also the hometown of the monk Kumarajiva, who is counted, along with Faxian and Xuanzang, as one of those most responsible for the early translation efforts to spread Buddhist teachings in East Asia. Kumarajiva’s father was from India, and he had made the trek to Kucha, where he had a child with a Kuchean princess. Later, Kumarajiva’s mother would travel with him to India and back. After he returned, a series of incidents wound up with Kumarajiva in Chang’an where he helped organize translation efforts, possibly translating texts from Kuchean to Sinitic, the educated language of East Asia. This would allow Buddhist teachings to spread to any country that was also adopting the Sinitic writing system, even if the spoken languages differed.

Beyond Kucha was Baluka, also known as Gumo, and today known by the Turkic name of “Aksu”, meaning “White Water”, taken from the name of the nearby river. Today, this oasis town is a flourishing community, sitting at the base of the Tianshan mountains and the edge of the Taklamakan desert. Xuanzang did not spend a lot of time in Baluka, however, quickly turning from there up into the Tianshan mountains.

Tianshan to Suyab

Arial view of the central Tianshan Mountains. The “river” in the central foreground is a glacier—a river of ice covered with rock scraped from the sides of the mountains. This is what Xuanzang was facing. Photo by Chen Zhao, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

The Tianshan mountains—which Xuanzang called the “Ice Mountains” are a truly daunting mountain range north of the Tarim Basin. They are covered in glaciers and ice fields, and supply much of the water that makes life possible in the otherwise desolate desert to their south. Xuanzang’s account speaks of the cold, wet conditions he endured on his trip, and makes mention of avalanches of ice or rock that could block the path ahead—and you wouldn’t know until you ran into a problem.

He also mentions the “Hot” saltwater lake of Issyk Kul, also known as “Qing Hai”. The salinity levels in this mountain lake, along with its volume, keeps ice from forming most of the year, even in the winter. It is a fairly good indicator of the path that Xuanzang took.

Coming to Suyab, east of modern Bishkek, we see why Xuanzang was likely coming this way. Suyab was the capital of the Western Gökturk Qaghanate. It was the seat of the Qaghan himself, and since the territory that Xuanzang was—and would be—traveling in was largely under the control of the Gökturks, it only made sense that he should make his way there to ask permission. Without that, he would no doubt have had a much harder time making his way.

Transoxania

From Suyab, Xuanzang skirted the northern edge of the Tianshan and then headed south, through the lands of the Amu Darya and Syr Darya rivers. This would take him past the ancient cities of Taras, Chach (aka Tashkent), and Samarkand, among others. These areas had once fallen under the rule of the Achaemenid dynasty out of Persia—modern day Iran—and they were still inhabited by Eastern Iranian speaking people, such as the Sogdians. This was the heartland of the Sogdians, who traveled the Silk Road as merchants, and whose language was used as the official court language of the Gökturks. Through much of the Gökturk controlled regions, Sogdian was the lingua franca of the day.

Buddhists, Zoroastrians, Manichaeists, Christians, and other religions mingled in the multi-ethnic city-states that dotted the landscapes. Here, each city had its “king”, but they all owed at least nominal fealty to the Qaghan of the Gökturks.

Even now, many of these cities are still thriving centers, even if the borders and even ethnic compositions have shifted over time.

Tukhara, Bamiyan, and Kapisa

Tukhara was the farthest point of the Gökturks’ control, and included the area of Bactria, and much of what is now Afghanistan. Tardu Shad, son of the Qaghan himself, had been placed in charge, ruling from the area of modern Kunduz, Afghanistan. This area was largely Buddhist, as can still be seen in ruins, like those of the monastery south of Balkh, as well as the ancient stone Buddhas of Bamiyan. Much of this was once part of the Kushan Empire

The stone Buddhas of Bamiyan were a major draw for Buddhists for centuries until they were destroyed by the Taliban in 2001. Beyond that, there were temples north of modern Kabul, from which various carvings have been uncovered.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 121: Journey to the West, Part 2
The cold winds blew through the travelers’ doubled up clothing and thick furs. Cold, wet ground meant that even two sets of boots were not necessarily enough after several days. The frozen mist would often obscure everything except for the path immediately in front, hiding the peaks and making the sky a uniform white.
In many places, the path would be blocked by rock, ice, or snow—the remnants of an avalanche, which could easily take an unsuspecting traveler. And there was the elevation. Hiking through the mountains, it was easy enough to reach heights of a mile or higher, and for those not accustomed to that elevation the thin air could take a surprising toll, especially if you were pushing yourself. And the road was no less kind to the animals that would be hauling said travelers and their gear.
And yet, this was the path that Xuanzang had agreed to. He would continue to push through, despite the various deprivations that he would be subjected to. No doubt he often wondered if it was worth it. Then again, returning was just as dangerous a trip, so why not push on?

Last episode we introduced the monk Xuanzang, who traveled the Silk Road to India in the 7th century and returned to China. He brought back numerous sutras to translate, and ended up founding a new school, known as the Faxian school—or the Hossou school in Japan.   As we mentioned last time, Xuanzang during his lifetime met with students from the archipelago when they visited the continent. The records of his travels—including his biography and travelogue—are some of the best information we have on what life was like on the silk road around this time.
In the last episode, we talked about Xuanzang: how he set out on his travels, his illegal departure from the Tang empire, and his perilous journey across the desert, ending up in Gaochang. There, King Qu Wentai had tried to get him to stay, but he was determined to head out. This episode we are going to cover his trip to Agni, Kucha, and Baluka—modern Aksu—and up to the Western Gokturk Qaghanate’s capital of Suyab. From there, we’ll follow his footsteps through the Turkic controlled regions of Transoxania and into Tukhara, in modern Afghanistan. Finally, we’ll cover the last parts of his journey before he reached the start of his goal: India.
From Gaochang, Xuanzang continued on, through the towns he names as Wuban and Dujin, and into the country of Agni—known today as the area of Yanqi—which may also have been known as Wuqi. The route was well-enough known, but it wasn’t necessarily safe. At one point, Xuanzang’s caravan met with bandits, whom they were fortunately able to pay off. The following night they encamped on a river bank with some merchants who also happened to be traveling the road. The merchants, though, got up at midnight and headed out, hoping to get to the city early so that they could be the first ones to the market. They only made it a few miles down the road, however, before they encountered more bandits, who slaughtered them and took their goods. The following day, Xuanzang and his retinue came upon the merchants’ remains lying in the road and saw the aftermath of the massacre. This was an unforgiving land, and the road was truly dangerous, even for those who traveled it regularly. And yet Xuanzang was planning to travel its entire length until he reached India.
So with little alternative, they carried on to the royal city of Agni.
Agni, or Yanqi, sits on the southwestern edge of the basin, west of Bositeng lake, on the border between the Turfan basin and the larger Tarim Basin. The name is thought to be a Tocharian—or Turfanian—name for the city, which is also known as Karashr.
According to the biography by Huili, Xuanzang and his party didn’t stay long in Agni. Apparently Agni and Gaochang were not exactly on friendly terms, and even though the King of Agni and his ministers reportedly came out to greet Xuanzang and welcome him to their city, they refused to provide any horses. They spent a single night and moved on.
That said, Agni still made an impression on Xuanzang. He noted how the capital was surrounded by hills on four sides, making it naturally defensible. As for the people, he praises them as honest and straightforward. They wore clothing of felt and hemp cloth, and cut their hair short, without hats or any kind of headwear. Even the climate was pleasant, at least for the short time he was there. He also notes that they used a script based on India—likely referring to the Brahmic script, which we find in the Tarim basin.
However, as for the local lord, the King of Agni, he is a little less charitable. Xuanzang claimed he was brave but “lacked resourcefulness” and he was a bit of a braggart. Furthermore, the country had “no guiding principles or discipline and government orders are imperfect and not seriously implemented.” He also mentioned the state of Buddhism in the country, noting that they were followers of Sarvastivada school, a Theravada sect popular along the Silk Road at the time. Xuanzang was apparently not too pleased with the fact that they were not strict vegetarians, including the “three kinds of pure meat”.
From Agni, Xuanzang continued southwest, heading for the kingdom of Kucha. He seems to have bypassed the nearby kingdom of Korla, south of Agni, and headed some 60 or 70 miles, climbing over a ridge and crossing two large rivers, and then proceeding another 200 miles or so to the land of Kucha.
Kucha was a kingdom with over one hundred monasteries and five thousand monks following a form of Theravada Buddhism. Here, Xuanzang was welcomed in by the king, Suvarnadeva, described as having red hair and blue eyes. While Xuanzang was staying in Kucha, it is suspected that he probably visited the nearby Kizil grotto and the Buddhist caves, there, which include a painting of King Suvarnadeva’s father, King Suvarnapuspa, and his three sons.
You can still visit Kucha and the Kizil grottos today, although getting there is quite a trek, to be sure. The ancient Kuchean capital is mostly ruins, but in the Kizil caves, protected from the outside elements, you can find vivid paintings ranging from roughly the 4th to the 8th century, when the site was abandoned. Hundreds of caves were painted, and many still demonstrate vibrant colors. The arid conditions protect them from mold and mildew, while the cave itself reduces the natural bleaching effect of sunlight. The paintings are in numerous styles, and were commissioned by various individuals and groups over the years. They also give us some inkling of how vibrant the city and similar structures must have been, back when the Kuchean kingdom was in its heyday.
The people of Kucha are still something of a mystery. We know that at least some of them spoke an Indo-European language, related to a language found in Agni, and both of these languages are often called Tocharian, which we discussed last episode. Xuanzang himself noted that they used Indian writing, possibly referring to the Brahmi script, or perhaps the fact that they seem to have used Sanskrit for official purposes, such as the inscription on the cave painting at Kizil giving the name of King Suvarnapuspa. The Kucheans also were clothed in ornamental garments of silk and embroidery. They kept their hair cut, wearing a flowing covering over their heads—and we see some of that in the paintings.
Xuanzang also notes that though we may think of this area as a desert, it was a place where rice and grains, as well as fruit like grapes, pomegranates, plums, pears, peaches, and almonds were grown. Even today, modern Xinjiang grows some absolutely fantastic fruit, including grapes, which are often dried into raisins.
Another point of interest for Xuanzang may have been that Kucha is known as the hometown of none other than Kumarajiva. We first mentioned Kumarajiva back in episode 84. Kumarajiva was one of the first people we know of who translated many of the sutras from India that were then more widely disseminated throughout the Yellow River and Yangzi river basins. His father was from India and his mother was a Kuchean princess. In the middle of the 4th century, when he was still quite young, he traveled to India and back with his mother on a Buddhist pilgrimage. Later he would start a massive translation project in Chang’an. His translations are credited with revolutionizing Chinese Buddhism.
Xuanzang was initially welcomed by the king, his ministers, and the revered monk, Moksagupta. They were accompanied by several thousand monks who set up tents outside the eastern gate, with portable Buddha images, which they worshipped, and then Xuanzang was taken to monastery after monastery until sunset. At one of the monasteries, in the southeast of the city, there were several tens of monks who originally came from Gaochang, and since Xuanzang had come from there, they invited him to stay with them.
The next day he met and feasted with the King, politely declining any meat, and then went to the monastery in the northwest to meet with the famous monk: Moksagupta. Moksagupta himself had made the journey to India, and had spent 20 years there himself. It seems like this would have been the perfect person for Xuanzang to talk to about his plans, but instead, the two butted heads. Moksagupta seems to have seen Xuanzang’s Mahayana faith as heretical. He saw no reason for Xuanzang to travel all the way to India when he had all the sutras that anyone needed there in Kucha, along with Moksagupta himself.   Xuanzang’s response seems to have been the Tang dynasty Buddhist version of “Okay, Boomer”, and then he went ahead and tore apart Moksagupta’s understanding of his own sutras—or so Xuanzang relayed to his biographers. We don’t exactly have Moksagupta’s side, and, let’s face it, Xuanzang and his biographers are not necessarily reliable narrators. After all, they followed Mahayana teachings, which they considered the “Greater Vehicle”, and they referred to the Theravada teachings as the “Hinayana” or “Lesser Vehicle”. Meanwhile, Theravada Buddhists likely saw many of the Mahayana texts as extraneous, even heretical, not believing them to actually be the teachings of the Buddha.
It must have been winter time, as the passes through the mountains on the road ahead were still closed, and so Xuanzang stayed in Kucha, spending his time sightseeing and meeting with various people. He even went back to see Moksagupta, but the older monk shunned him, and would get up and exit the room rather than engaging with him, so they had no more conversations.
Eventually, Xuanzang continued on his way west, following along the northern rim of the Tarim basin. Two days out from Kucha, disaster struck. Some two thousand or so Turkish bandits suddenly appeared—I doubt Xuanzang was counting, so it may have been more or less. I imagine that memories of what had happened to the merchants near Agni must have gone through Xuanzang’s mind.   Fortunately, for him, they were fighting over loot that they had pillaged from various travelers, and since they couldn’t share it equally, they fell to fighting each other and eventually dispersed.
He travelled for almost 200 miles after that, stopping only for a night at the Kingdom of Baluka, aka Gumo—the modern city of Aksu. This was another Theravada Buddhist kingdom. Xuanzang noted tens of Buddhist temples, and over 1000 Buddhist monks. The country was not large—about 200 miles east to west and 100 miles north to south. For reference that means it was probably comparable in size with Kyushu, in terms of overall area, or maybe the size of Denmark—excluding Greenland—or maybe the US state of Maryland.
Xuanzang described the country as similar to Kucha in just about every way, including the written language and law, but the spoken language was different, though we don’t get many more details.
From Baluka, he crossed northward through the Tianshan mountains, which are classified as an extension of the Pamirs known as the Ice Mountains. Had he continued southwest, he would have hit Kashgar and crossed over between the Pamir and Tian Shan ranges into the Ferghana valley, but instead he turned north. We don’t know exactly why he took this perilous option, but the route that may have been popular at the time as it was one of the most direct routes to the seat of the Western Gokturk Empire, which he was currently traveling through.
The Tian Shan mountains were a dangerous journey. Avalanches could block the road—or worse. Xuanzang describes the permanent ice fields—indeed, it is the ice fields and glaciers of the Tian Shan that melt in the summer and provide the oasis towns of the Tarim Basin with water, even to this day. In Xuanzang’s day, those glaciers were likely even more prevalent than today, especially as they have been recorded as rapidly disappearing since 1961. And where you weren’t on snow and ice, the ground was probably wet and damp from the melt. To keep warm, you would wear shoes over your shoes, along with heavy fur coats, all designed to reduce exposure.
Xuanzang claims that 3 or 4 of every 10 people didn’t survive the crossing—and that horses and oxen fared even worse. Even if these numbers are an exaggeration, the message is clear: This was a dangerous journey.
After about seven days, Xuanzang came out of the mountains to the “Great Pure Lake”, the “Da Qing Hai”, also known as the Hot Sea or the Salt Sea, which likely refers to Issyk Kul. The salt content, along with the great volume of water it possesses, means that the lake rarely freezes over, which is likely why it is seen as “hot” since it doesn’t freeze when the fresh water nearby does. This lake is the second largest mountain lake in the world, and the second deepest saltwater lake.
Traveling past the lake, he continued to Suyab, near modern Tokmok, in Kyrgyzstan, just west of the modern capital of Bishkek. This was an old Sogdian settlement, and had since become the capital of the Western Gokturks. Sogdians—like Xuanzang’s guide, Vandak—were integral to the Gokturk kingdom. Their language was the lingua franca of the Silk Road, and at the time of the Gokturk Khaganate, it was also the official court language, and so when Xuanzang appeared at the court of the Great Khagan of the Western Gokturks, it was likely the language of diplomacy.
When we think of Turkic people, many in the English speaking world think of Turkiye, and perhaps of the mighty Ottoman empire. Some may think of Turkmenistan, Kazhakstan, Kyrgyzstan, or Uzbekistan, among others. And of course, there are the Uyghur people in Xinjiang. All of these people claim roots in the ancestral Turkic homeland in the Altai mountains, which sit largely in western Mongolia, north of China’s Xinjiang region. Much like the Xiongnu and the Mongols, they were pastoral nomads, moving their herds across the steppes, often covering great distances. They would regularly move through different regions, perhaps returning each season, though sometimes not returning for years at a time. They were often seen as barbarians by settled people living in cities, and yet their goods and horses were highly prized.
Nomad and sedentary lifestyles would often collide. Farmers would turn pastureland into fields, and when the nomadic people returned on their circuits, they would find walls and fences where there was once open land, and the people there would claim to “own” the land, a concept often foreign to people who were always on the move.
Nomadic people, such as the Gokturks, were not necessarily keeping vast libraries of records about themselves and their histories, and so much of what we get comes from external sources, which do not always have incredibly reliable narrators. To many of the settled agriculturalists, groups like the Turks were marauders who raided their villages and farms. They were a great bogeyman of the steppes, which required the firm hand of strong defenses to keep out—or so their opponents would want people to think.
While they were known for their warfare, which incorporated their mobility, but they were keenly interested in trade, as well. They understood the value of the trade routes and the various cities and states that they included in their empire. Thus, the Sogdians and the Gokturks seem a natural fit: the Sogdians were more settled, but not entirely so, as demonstrated by their vast trade networks. And the Sogdians also were part of the greater central Eurasian steppe culture, so the two cultures understood each other, to a degree. They are even depicted similarly in art, with slight differences, such as long hair that was often associated with Turks over the Sogdians. In some areas of the Gokturk empire, Sogdians would run the cities, while the Gokturks provided military aid and protection.
Xuanzang’s description of the people of Suyab, or the “City of Suye River”, doesn’t pick out anyone in particular, and he even says that it was a place where traders of the Hu, or foreign, tribes from different countries mingle their abodes. He mentions the people here as being called Suli, which is also the name given to the language—this may refer to “Sogdian” in general. They write with an alphabet that is written vertically rather than horizontally—this may refer to a few scripts that were written this way, possibly based off Syriac or Aramaic alphabets that were adapted to Sogdian and other Iranian languages, but it isn’t clear.
We are told that the people dressed in felt and hemp clothing, with fur and “cotton” garments. Their clothes fit tightly, and they kept their hair cut short, exposing the top of their heads—though sometimes they shaved it completely, tying a colored silk band around the forehead. He goes on to describe these people as greedy liars, possibly a reference to the mercantile nature of many of the people at the time.
Something to note: The Turks of this time had not yet encountered Islam, which was just now starting to rise up in the Middle East. The Prophet Muhammad is said to have been born around the end of the 6th century CE and was preaching in the early 7th century, though his teachings would begin to spread outward soon enough. But that means that the Gokturks were not an Islamic empire. Rather, their own traditions seem to have focused on the worship of Tengri, an Altaic personification of the universe, often simplified as a “sky god”. Tengrism can be found amongst the Xiongnu, Mongols, and others, and it was the national religion of the Gokturks themselves, but there were many who also adopted other religions that they encountered, including Zoroastrianism, Christianity, Manichaeism, and Buddhism. In fact, Xuanzang notes that the Turks he met in Suyab would not sleep or sit on beds made of wood because wood was thought to contain the spirit of fire, which he says they worshipped. That sounds similar to Zoroastrian beliefs, where fire is associated with Ahura Mazda, who is also worshipped as a sky god. These may have been beliefs inherited from their Eastern Iranian Sogdian partners.
In Xuanzang’s biography, we are given more details about his visit to Suyab. Apparently, as he was headed to the city, he met a hunting party, which we are told was the retinue of Yehu Khan. Hunting was an important part of life on the steppes, and it continued to be a favorite sport of the Gokturk nobility.
Yehu Khan—possibly Yagbhu Khan, though that is up for some debate—is described as being dressed in a green silk robe, with his hair exposed, and wearing a turban of white silk about ten feet long that wrapped his forehead and hung behind his back. His “hunting” expedition wasn’t just a couple of the guys. It included about 200 officials, all with plaited hair and dressed in brocade robes—they weren’t exactly out there roughing it. He also had his soldiers, dressed in furs, felt, or fine woolen clothes, and there were so many cavalry that they stretched out of sight. The Khan seemed pleased to meet Xuanzang, but his hunt was expected to last another couple of days, at least, so he sent an attendant named Dharmaja to take Xuanzang back to wait for the Khan to return.
Three days later, Xuanzang was given an audience. The khan was seated in a large yurt. Xuanzang noted the seeming incongruity between the khan, sitting there in the tent, decorated with golden flowers, with the officials dressed in magnificent brocade garments sitting in two long rows in front of him and the armed guards behind him, compared to the simple felt walls of the tent.
A ”yurt” is a common feature of nomadic life on the steppes. It wasn’t exactly a single person operation to haul them around, but they can be taken down and put up with relative ease. And while yurts could be relatively simple, there are examples of much more elaborate structures. There is little reason they couldn’t be made larger, perhaps with some extra support. In later centuries, there are examples of giant yurts that seem like real construction projects. Use of tents, even in a city, where they had permanent palace buildings, was likely a means of retaining the nomadic steppe traditions, even while enjoying the benefits of city life.
Whom exactly Xuanzang met with is a matter of debate. His records seem to indicate that it was Tong Yabghu Qaghan of the Western Gokturk Khaganate, but other sources say that Tong Yabghu Qaghan died in 628, and the earliest Xuanzang could have been meeting with him was 630, two years later, so if that is the case, he must have met with Tong Yabghu’s son, Si Yabghu Qaghan. It is likely that Xuanzang, who was dictating his accounts years after, mentioned the Qaghan and then, when they looked up who it was, they simply made a mistake. Remember, Xuanzang would have had everything translated through one or two languages. He did know what he saw, however, and he recounted what he remembered.
Tong Yabghu Qaghan oversaw the height of the Gokturk Qaghanate, and appears to have favored the Buddhist religion, though there were many different religions active in their territories at the time. They oversaw an extremely cosmopolitan empire covering huge swaths of central Eurasia, including the lucrative silk road. Xuanzang notes that at the court there were individuals from Gaochang and even a messenger from the Han—which is to say the Tang Empire.
One wonders if Xuanzang—or anyone at that time—realized just how tenuous the Khan’sposition was. After Tong Yabghu’s death, the Qaghanate would decline, and less than a decade later it would fall to the Tang dynasty, who took Suyab and made it their western outpost. In fact, Suyab is thought to have been the birthplace, over a century later, of a young boy who would find a love of poetry. That boy’s name was Li Bai, or Ri Haku, in Japanese. He would become one of the most famous poets in Chinese history, and his poems were even known and studied in Japan. And it was largely through Japanese study of Li Bai’s poems that his works came to the English speaking world: first through Ernest Fenollosa, who had studied in Japan, and then by the celebrated Ezra Pound, who had used Ernest’s notes to help with his own translations of the poems.
This was, though, as I said, over a century after Xuanzang’s journey. At the time of our story, the Qaghan was throwing a feast, including Xuanzang and all of the foreign envoys. Xuanzang comments on the food and drink—his hosts provided grape juice in lieu of wine, and cooked a special vegetarian feast just for him, while the other guests ate a feast of meat, such as veal, lamb, fish, and the like. There was also the music of various regions along the Silk Road, which Xuanzang found to be catchy, but of course not as refined as the music he was used to, of course. After dinner Xuanzang was asked to expound upon the Darma, largely about the basic principle that you should be kind to one another—I doubt he was getting into the deep mysteries of Buddhist philosophy.
Xuanzang stuck around the court for three more days, during which time the Qaghan tried to get him to stay, but Xuanzang insisted that he had to make it to India. And so the Qaghan relented. He found men in his army who could translate for Xuanzang along his journey, and had letters of introduction written to at least as far as the state of Kapisa, in modern Afghanistan.
And so, armed with the Qaghan’s blessing and a fresh translator, Xuanzang struck out again. They headed westward for over one hundred miles, eventually reaching Bingyul, aka the Thousand Springs. This is the area where the Qaghan and his court would spend his summers, and the deer in the area were protected under his orders, so that they were not afraid of humans—which sounds similar to the situation with the deer in Nara. Continuing on another fifty miles or so—the distances are approximate as Xuanzang’s primary duty was not exactly to map all of this out—Xuanzang arrived at the city of Taras, in modern Kazakhstan, another place where the cultures of the Silk Road mixed and mingled. Xuanzang didn’t have much to say about Taraz, apparently, though it is one of the oldest cities in Transoxania, founded near the beginning of the Common Era. A few miles south of there, Xuanzang reportedly found a village of re-settled ethnic Han that had been captured by the Gokturks and settled here. They had adopted the dress and customs of the Turkic people, but continued to speak a version of Chinese.
Southwest of that he reached the City of White Water, likely referring to Aksukent. This is the same “Aksu” as the city in Xinjiang, both of which mean “White Water” in Turkic, but this one is in the south of Kazakhstan. Xuanzang found the climate and products an improvement over what he had experienced in Taras. Beyond that, he next arrived at the city of Gongyu, and then south again to Nujkend, and then traveling westward to the country of Chach, aka Tashkent. Both Nujkend and Chach were large cities in nations of smaller, mostly autonomous city-states, which made up a lot of the political geography of Transoxania.
I would note that Xuanzang’s notes here are much more sparse than previously. This may be because these were outside of the Tarim basin and therefore of less interest to individuals in the Tang empire. Or perhaps he was just making his way more quickly and not stopping at every kingdom along the way.
From Tashkent, he continued southeast to the Ferghana valley—the country of Feihan. Oddly, this country doesn’t appear in Xuanzang’s biography, even though the Ferghana Valley seems to have been fairly well known back in the Tang Empire—it was known as the home of some of the best horses, which were one of its first major exports. In fact, the Han dynasty even mounted a military expedition to travel to Ferghana just to obtain horses. Xuanzang is oddly silent on this; however, he does talk about the fertile nature of the land. He mentions that their language here is different from the lands he had been traveling through up to this point, and also points out that the people of the Ferghana valley were also visibly different from others in the area.
From the Ferghana valley, Xuanzang headed west for about 300 miles or more to the land of Sutrushana—perhaps referring to the area of Ushrusana, with its capital of Bunjikat. This country was also largely Sogdian, and described as similar to Tashkent. From there, he traveled west through a great desert, passing skeletons, which were the only marker of the trail other than a view of the far off mountains. Finally, they reached Samarkand, known as the country of “Kang” in Chinese, which was also the term used to mark Sogdians who claimed descent from the people of Samarkand.
Samarkand is another of the ancient cities of Central Asia, and even today is the third largest city in modern Uzbekistan. Human activity in the region goes back to the paleolithic era, and the city was probably founded between the 8th and 7th centuries BCE. Samarkand was conquered by Alexander the Great, and during the Achaemenid Empire it was the capital of Sogdiana. During Xuanzang’s visit, Samarkand was described as an impenetrable fortress with a large population.
For all of his travel, Samarkand was the first place Xuanzang notes as specifically not a Buddhist land. In fact, there were two monasteries, suggesting that there had been Buddhists, but if any monks tried to stay there then the locals would chase them out with fire. Instead, they worshipped fire—likely meaning Ahura Mazda and Zoroastrianism. This leads to a story that I have to wonder about, given the reliability of our narrators. It is said that Xuanzang was met by the King with arrogance, but after staying the night Xuanzang was able to tell the King about Buddhism and its merits. The king was intrigued, and asked to observe the Precepts, and treated Xuanzang with hospitality and respect. So when two of Xuanzang’s attendants went to the monasteries to worship, they were chased out with fire. When the king heard about this, he had the people arrested and ordered their hands to be cut off. Xuanzang could not bear to witness such suffering, however, and he intervened to have them spared. So instead the king had them flogged and banished from the city. Ever since then, all the people believed in Buddhism.
Some parts of this strike true. It was likely that the king would entertain this strange wanderer who had arrived with letters from the great Qaghan—that may have even explained why Xuanzang had been encouraged to make the dangerous journey to Suyab in the first place, so that he could obtain such permission. And it would not be strange for the king to listen to his teachings. If Xuanzang’s attendants were attacked, that would have been a huge breach of hospitality, and however the King felt about it, he no doubt had to do something about it. And so all of that sounds somewhat believable. Does that mean everyone suddenly converted to Buddhism? I don’t know that I’m quite willing to go that far. It is also likely that there were Buddhists there already, even if the majority religion was Zoroastrianism.
From Samarkand, Xuanzang traveled farther southwest, to the country of Kasanna, which seems to have been the edge of what we might call Sogdiana.   According to his biographers, however, there was a little more to all of this. Rather, he headed west to Kusanika. Then he traveled to Khargan, and further on to the country of Bukhara, and then to Vadi. All of these were “An” in Chinese, which was the name element used for Sogdians from this region. He then continued west to the country of Horismika, on the other side of the Amu Darya, aka the Oxus River of Transoxanian fame.
From there he traveled further southwest, entering into the mountains. The path here was often such that they had to travel single-file, and there was no food or water other than what you brought with you. Eventually they came to a set of doors, known as the Iron Gate. This was a Turkic fortress. It was no doubt fortuitous that he had come from his meeting with the Qaghan, and likely had permission to pass through. From there, they entered the country of Tukhara.
As we noted in Episode 119, Tukhara was in the region of Bactria. It was bordered by the Pamir range in the east, and the Persian empire in the west. There were also the Great Snow Mountains in the south, likely referencing the Hindu Kush.
Tukhara had been conquered by the Gokturks just within the past couple of decades, and Xuanzang notes that the country had been split into largely autonomous city-states as the local royalty had died without an heir many years before. With the Gokturk conquest, it was now administered by Tardu Shad, the son of Tong Yabghu Qaghan. “Shad” in this case was a local title.
Here, Xuanzang’s narrative gets a little dicey, especially between his biography and his records. The records of the Western Regions denotes various countries in this area. It is unclear if he traveled to all of them or is just recounting them from records he obtained. He does give us at least an overview of the people and the region. I would also note that this is one of the regions he visited, again, on his return trip, and so may have been more familiar with the region than those areas he had passed through from Suyab on down.
For one thing, he notes that the language of the region was different from that of the “Suli”, which appears to refer to the Sogdians. This was the old territory of the Kushan empire, and they largely spoke Bactrian. Like Sogdian, it was another Eastern Iranian language, and they used an alphabet based largely on Greek, and written horizontally rather than vertically. They also had their own coins.
This region had plenty of Buddhist communities, and Xuanzang describes the cities and how many monasteries they had, though, again, it isn’t clear if he actually visited all of them or not. These are countries that Li Rongji translates as “Tirmidh”, “Sahaaniyan”, “Kharuun”, “Shuumaan”, etc.
It does seem that Xuanzang made it to the capital city, the modern city Kunduz, Afghanistan. Xuanzang actually had something specific for the local Gokturk ruler, Tardu Shad. Tardu Shad’s wife was the younger sister of King Qu Wentai of Gaochang, whom we met last episode. Qu Wentai had provided Xuanzang a letter for his younger sister and her husband. Unfortunately, Xuanzang arrived to learn that the princess of Gaochang had passed away, and Tardu Shad’s health was failing. It does seem that Tardu Shad was aware of Xuanzang, however—a letter had already come from Qu Wentai to let them know that Xuanzang was on his way. As I mentioned last episode, letters were an important part of how communities stayed tied together. Of course, given the perils of the road, one assumes that multiple letters likely had to be sent just in case they didn’t make it. The US Postal Service this was not.
Tardu Shad, though not feeling well, granted an interview with Xuanzang. He suggested that Xuanzang should stick around. Then, once the Shad had recovered from his illness, he would accompany Xuanzang personally on his trip to India.
Unfortunately, that was not to be. While Xuanzang was staying there, he was witness to deadly drama. Tardu Shad was recovering, which was attributed to the recitations by an Indian monk who was also there. This outcome was not exactly what some in the court had wanted. One of the Shad’s own sons, known as the Tagin prince, plotted with the Shad’s current wife, the young Khatun, and she poisoned her husband. With the Shad dead, the throne might have gone to the son of the Gaochang princess, but he was still too young. As such, the Tagin Prince was able to usurp the throne himself, and he married his stepmother, the young Khatun. The funeral services for the late Tardu Shad meant that Xuanzang was obliged to stay at Ghor for over a month.
During that time, Xuanzang had a seemingly pleasant interaction with an Indian monk. And when he finally got ready to go, he asked the new Shad for a guide and horses. He agreed, but also made the suggestion that Xuanzang should then head to Balkh. This may have meant a bit of backtracking, but the Shad suggested that it would be worth it, as Balkh had a flourishing Buddhist community.
Fortunately, there was a group of Buddhist monks from Balkh who happened to be in Kunduz to express their condolences at the passing of Tardu Shad, and they agreed to accompany Xuanzang back to their hometown, lest he end up getting lost and taking the long way there.
The city of Balkh is also known as “Baktra”, as in “Bactria”, another name of this region. A settlement has been there since at least 500 BCE , and it was already an important city when it was captured by Alexander the Great. It sits at the confluence of several major trade routes, which no doubt were a big part of its success. Xuanzang’s biography notes that it was a massive city, though it was relatively sparsely populated—probably due to the relatively recent conquest by the Gokturks, which had occurred in the last couple of decades. That said, there were still thousands of monks residing at a hundred monasteries in and around the city. They are all characterized as monks of Theravada schools. Southwest of the city was a monastery known as Navasamgharama, aka Nava Vihara, or “New Monastery”. Despite its name, the monastery may have actually been much older, going back to the Kushan emperor Kaniska, in the 2nd century CE. Ruins identified as this “New Monastery” are still visible south of Balkh, today.
The monastery is described as being beautifully decorated, and it seems that it had a relic—one of the Buddha’s teeth. There are also various utensils that the Buddha is said to have used, as well. The objects would be displayed on festival days. North of the monastery there was a stupa more than 200 feet in height. South of the monastery was a hermitage. Each monk who studied there and passed away would have a stupa erected for them, as well. Xuanzang notes that there were at around 700 memorial stupas, such that they had to be crammed together, base to base.
It was here that Xuanzang met a young monk named Prajnaakara, who was already somewhat famous in India, and well-studied. When questioned about certain aspects of Buddhism, Xuanzang was impressed by the monk’s answers, and so stayed there a month studying with the young monk.
Eventually, Xuanzang was ready to continue on his journey. He departed Balkh towards the south, accompanying the teacher Prajnakara, and together they entered the Great Snow Mountains, aka the Hindu Kush. This path was even more dangerous than the trip through the Tian Shan mountains to Suyab.   They eventually left the territory of Tukhara and arrived at Bamiyan.
Bamiyan was a kingdom in the Hindu Kush, themselves an extension of the Himalayan Mountain range. It Is largely based around valley, home to the modern city of Bamyan, Afghanistan, which sits along the divide between Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent. Today it is a major center for individuals of the Hazara ethnic group, one of the main ethnic groups in Afghanistan, which is a multi-ethnic state that includes, today, the Pashtun, Hazara, Tajik, and Uzbek people, along with a number of smaller ethnic groups. Today they largely reside in the mountainous areas of the Hindu Kush.
Bamiyan made an impact on our protagonist.   Their language was slightly different from that in Tukhara, but using the same—or similar enough—writing system. Buddhism was thriving in the capital, and we are told of a rock statue of the standing Buddha, over a hundred feet in height, along with a copper statue of the standing Buddha nearby.    There was also another reclining Buddha a mile or two down the road. There were multiple monasteries with thousands of monks, and the ruler of that kingdom received Xuanzang well.
Xuanzang wasn’t the first monk to travel to Bamiyan from the Middle Kingdom—in this he was, perhaps unwittingly, on the trail of the monk Faxian. Faxian likely did not see these statues, though, as we believe they were built in the 6th and early 7th century—at least the stone Buddha statues. They were a famous worship site until February 2001, when the Taliban gave an order to destroy all of the statues in Afghanistan. Despite this, they were inscribed as UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2003.
Fortunately, we have images from before their destruction. These statues were a blend of Greco-Buddhist and Gandharan art styles—appropriate as it stands between the Hellenistic area of Tukhara and the ancient region of Gandhara—including the modern city of Kandahar and into the Indus Valley region of Pakistan.
Continuing east through the mountains, Xuanzang eventually came out at the kingdom of Kapisa. This may have had its capital around modern-day Bagram, north of modern Kabul, but the country seems to have been quite large. Kapisa over saw some tens of other countries, and it is thought that at one time its influence extended from Bamyan and Kandahar to the area of modern Jalalabad. Their language was even more different than that of Tukhara, but they were still using the same writing system. The king of Kapisa is said to have been of Suli ethnicity—which would seem to indicate that he was Sogdian, or at least descended from people of the Transoxanian region.    Xuanzang notes that the ruler, as rough and fiery as he is described—as a true warlord or similar—he nonetheless made a silver image of the Buddha, eighteen feet in height, every year. He also gave charity to the poor and needy in an assembly that was called every five years. There were over one hundred monasteries and some 6000 monks, per Xuanzang’s recollection, and notably, they were largely following Mahayana teachings.
For the most part the monks that Xuanzang had encountered on this journey were Theravada—Xuanzang refers to them as “Hinayana”, referring to the “Lesser Vehicle” in contrast to Xuanzang’s own “Mahayana”, or “Greater Vehicle”. “Theravada” refers to the “way of the elders” and while Mahayana Buddhism largely accepts the sutras of Theravada Buddhism, there are many Mahayana texts that Theravada Buddhists do not believe are canonical. We discussed this back in Episode 84.
There was apparently a story of another individual from the Yellow River being sent as a hostage to Kapisa when it was part of the Kushan Empire, under Kanishka or similar. Xuanzang recounts various places that the hostage, described as a prince, lived or visited while in the region. Xuanzang’s arrival likely stirred the imagination of people who likely knew that the Tang were out there, but it was such a seemingly impossible distance for most people. And yet here was someone who had traveled across all of that distance. One of the monasteries that claimed to have been founded because of that ancient Han prince invited Xuanzang to stay with them. Although it was a Theravada monastery, Xuanzang took them up on the offer, both because of the connection to someone who may have been his countryman, but also because of his traveling companion, Prajnakara, who was also a Theravada monk, and may not be comfortable staying at a Mahayana monastery.
Xuanzang spends a good deal of ink on the stories of how various monasteries and other sites were founded in Kapisa and the surrounding areas. He must have spent some time there to accumulate all of this information. It is also one of the places where he seems to have hit at least twice—once on the way to India, and once during his return journey.
The King of Kapisa is said to have been a devotee of Mahayana Buddhism. He invited Xuanzang and Prajnakara to come to a Mahayana monastery to hold a Dharma gathering. There they met with several leading figures in the monastery, and they discussed different theories. This gathering lasted five days, and at the end, the king offered Xuanzang and the other monks five bolts of pure brocade and various other gifts. Soon thereafter, the monk Prajnakara was invited back to Tukhara, and so he and Xuanzang parted ways.
And it was about time for Xuanzang to continue onwards as well. From Kapisa, he would travel across the “Black Range” and into Lampaka. This may refer to the area of Laghman or Jalalabad. Today, this is in modern Afghanistan, but for Xuanzang, this would have been the northwestern edge of India. He was almost there.
And so are we, but we’ll save his trip into India for next episode. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

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Beckwith, C.I. (2009) Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present. Princeton University Press, Princeton/Oxford. ISBN 978-0-691-13589-2.
Boulnois, Luce (2005). Silk Road: Monks, Warriors & Merchants. Hong Kong: Odyssey Books & Guides. pp. 311–335. ISBN 962-217-721-2.
Frye, R. N. 1. (1996). The heritage of Central Asia from antiquity to the Turkish expansion. Princeton, Markus Wiener Publishers.
Xuanzang, tr. Li Rongji (1996). The Great Tang Dynasty Record of the Western Regions. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Huili, Yancong, & Li, R. (1995). A Biography of the Tripiṭaka Master of the Great Ci’en Monastery of the Great Tang Dynasty. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 120: Journey to the West, Part 1

February 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Niches at the ruins of the city of Gaochang that once held Buddhist images—you can still make out traces of the paint that would have decorated the niche and likely the rest of the walls and other areas at the time.

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This episode starts our look at Xuanzang and his famous “Journey to the West”, where he traveled to India and back to Chang’an. Xuanzang, aka Tripitaka Master of the Law, ended up founding a new school of Buddhism—the Faxiang (or Hossō in Japanese) school of Yogacara Buddhism. Amongst his direct students were monks from the Japanese archipelago who brought back his teachings, which would become highly influential in the Nara and early Heian periods. One of the most famous was a monk named Dōshō who went on to teach at Gangōji, the successor to Asukadera in Nara. The records of his journey provide some of the best information of his journey.

This episode covers his departure from Chang’an and his travels out to the kingdom of Gaochang.

Chang’an and Xuanzang’s Departure

The "Great" Wall

Remnants of the westernmost edge of the “Great Wall” that went back to at least the Han dynasty.

Beacon tower

Remnants of a Tang Watchtower near Yumen pass

Yumen Pass

Yumen pass (Yumen Guan), the “Jade Gate”. This would have housed the garrison that checked travelers’ documents coming in and out of the empire.

Yumen Pass

Remains of the “Jade Gate”. Xuanzang and Vandak would have seen this off in the distance from the Hulu (now the Shule) river.

Xuanzang initially tried to get permission from Tang Taizong to go, but the Emperor had other things to worry about, and never replied. He didn’t expressly forbid the venture, but by not providing his permission Xuanzang did not have a pass to get out of the country. That said, it wouldn’t stop him. He surreptitiously worked his way up to Liangzhou by going on a tour of Buddhist monasteries where he would preach, as though on pilgrimage. When challenged in Liangzhou, he was expressly forbidden from continuing, but did so anyway with the help of a sympathetic Buddhist monk.

With help, he hid from the officials and made his way to Guazhou, last stop before the Western Regions. He hesitated briefly, but when word came that he was to be arrested, he decided to go for it. He enlisted the help of a Sogdian man name Shi Pantuo, aka Vandak of Tashkent, who agreed to help him. With his guide’s help, he was able to get past the walls and guards at Yumenguan, but after that he was on his own.

Funerary Couch of An Jia

This scene depicts hunters in typical foreign dress—the caftan style with the round collar.

Funerary Couch of An Jia

Back of a funerary couch for An Jia, a Sogdian living in modern Xian who died in 579 CE. An Jia, though of Bukhara descent, himself came from Guzang, modern Wuwei. The scenes give us insight into the life of the Sogdians living in that region. From the Shaanxi History Museum.

Pearl Roundel

Example of the pearl roundel design that spread along the Silk Road and is often associated with Sogdian merchants. From the Shaanxi History Museum.

Pearl Roundel

This scrap of silk still shows the distinct circle and pearls of the pearl roundel design. From the Shaanxi History Museum

Sogdians

The Sogdians were traders and they spoke an Eastern Iranian language that became the default language of the Silk Road. If you read about a “Persian” person, it is probably a Sogdian unless it is indicated otherwise. Though they came from Transoxania, they lived in communities across the Silk Road—there may even have been Sogdians who visited the Japaense archipelago. Since Sinitic sources didn’t have the ability to adequately capture Sogdian names, they used a few different methods to indicate Sogdian origin. For one, they used a series of seven different “family” names depending on what city-state one claimed ancestry. Then they did their best to translate a person’s given name. Much of this has been further obscured by changes in the pronunciation of Sinitic characters over the ages and in different geographic regions.

Foreign fashion, including the pearl roundel designs that the Sogdians used on their caftans, were quite popular in Chang’an and elsewhere, and we have examples of the design and the caftans making their way all the way to Japan, with some examples in the Shōsōin in Nara.

There is evidence that over time Sogdians in the Tang empire would adapt to a more ethnic Han style of living, a pattern that others may have followed. In at least one tomb we see examples where the names become less Sogdian and more Han over time, suggesting their eventual adoption of the culture.

Aerial view

The tracks on the ground are wells dug along the line of the karez. Underneath, each line of wells is connected, to allow for water to be transported underground for miles without risking it evaporating in the hot sun. From a karez educational site in modern Turpan.

Karez well-head

At the top of a karez well there may be something like this to lower down a basket to collect water from below.

Karez Interior

Inside the Karez, you can see how the walls are dug out and a channel of water flows through them from one wall to the next.

Yiwu, aka Hami

After passing through the desert beyond Yumenguan and the five Tang watchtowers, Xuanzang made it to Yiwu, also known as Hami. “Hami” melons are still well-regarded, and can often be found at Asian supermarkets in the US and elsewhere. Hami is on the edge of the Hami-Turpan basin, and a common method of irrigation for agriculture in this region is the Karez system. This probably originated in or near the area of modern Iran and was spread to various areas with arid conditions. Rather than relying on rivers or rain, the karez tap into groundwater near mountains or elsewhere—often miles away—and then transports the water to towns that need it for their crops. These underground aqueducts would provide cold water, even on hot days, and were often even more reliable than rivers or other such natural bodies, whose flows could fluctuate greatly.

Gaochang

The “kingdom” of Gaochang included the city of that same name, as well as others in and around the Turpan basin. This is the royal city, where Qu Wentai ruled, and where Xuanzang stayed for a time. Today it is mostly ruins, but you can still go and see those ruins, which they are doing their best to preserve. The city had Buddhist temples, but also Zoroastrian and Manichean temples as well. Xuanzang focuses on the Buddhist influence, but these oases were fairly cosmopolitan. Gaochang would be conquered by the Tang empire by the time that Xuanzang returned, and as such gets only the barest of mention in his “Record of the Western Regions”. Fortunately, Xuanzang’s Biography has much more detail about his stay there, and the assistance he got from King Wentai.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 120: Journey to the West, Part 1
The monks from far off Yamato were enthralled. They had journeyed across the waves on a foreign vessel, traversed a greater distance than they probably thought possible growing up in the archipelago, and had finally arrived at the capital of the Great Tang Empire, Chang’an. They had then been sent north, to a temple where they met others from Yamato.
They had come to study the Law, the Dharma, with some of the most famous teachers of the Tang dynasty, and there were few more famous than the Tripitaka Master Genjou himself.   Everyone in the monastery knew his story—he had traveled all the way to India, the birthplace of the Buddha, and returned with copies of the sutras in Sanskrit, which he and the other monks were translating.
In between sessions of meditation, sutra readings, and various lectures, the students would gather round the feet of the master as he recounted his journeys. The stories themselves were fantastic stories, telling of far off cities and people. There were stories of bandits, and meetings with kings. The students must have thought about how it mirrored what they, themselves, had gone through—their own Journey to the West.
Last episode we talked about Tukara and what that mysterious placename might mean—and where it could be referring to. For that we traveled all the way to the end of the Silk Road. In this episode and continuing into the next, we are going to travel that same road with a different perspective, as we take a look at one of the most famous travelers of the Silk Road: the monk Xuanzang, or Genjou in Japanese. And as I hinted at in the introduction, if you’re at all familiar with the famous Journey to the West, well, this and the following episodes will explore the actual history behind that story, and how intertwined it is with the history of the archipelago.
For those who don’t know, Xuanzang was a monk, born Chen Hui near present-day Luoyang in Henan. He is known by many names, but one of his most famous comes from the title “Sanzang Fashi”, aka “Tripitaka Master of the Law”, from which we get the simplified name in some English sources of just “Tripitaka”. Sanzang, or “Tripitaka”, literally translates to “Three baskets” or “Three storehouses”, referring to the Buddhist canon. It is quite fitting, given Xuanzang’s incredibly famous Journey to the Western Regions and, eventually, to India, where he journeyed to obtain the most accurate version of the Buddhist scriptures to ensure that they had the most accurate versions. On his journey, Xuanzang apparently took detailed records of the trip, and his   “Records of the Western Regions” provides a lot of what we know of the towns and cultures that existed there back in the 7th century – even if not all of it was experienced firsthand and may have come through translators and second or third-hand sources. In addition, Xuanzang’s biography and travelogue add a lot more information to his journey, even if they weren’t necessarily written by him, but instead by his fellow monks based on his recitations to them combined with various records that they had access to at the time. As such, it isn’t always the most reliable, but it is still highly detailed and informative.
Xuanzang would return to China and teach for many years, translating the works that he had brought back, and founding a new school of Yogachara Buddhism, known as Faxiang in Chinese, but “Hossou” in Japan. The Hossou school was particularly popular in the 8th and 9th centuries, having been transmitted by Yamato students who had actually studied at the feet of the venerable teacher. These included the monk Doushou, who travelled over to the continent in 653. In 658, there are two others who came over, named Chitatsu and Chiitsu. They had travelled to the Tang court in the 7th month of that year, where they are said to have received instruction from none other than Xuanzang himself. If this indeed was in 658, it would have been only 6 years before Xuanzang’s death.
Their journey had almost not happened. The year previous, in 657, envoys were sent to Silla to ask that state to escort Chitatsu to the Tang court, along with Hashibito no Muraji no Mimumaya and Yozami no Muraji no Wakugo, but Silla refused. They must have relented, however, as they apparently were escorting at least the monks a year or so later.
Chitatsu and Chiitsu would eventually return to Yamato, as would Doushou. Doushou is also said to have been introduced to a student of the second patriarch of the Chan, or Zen school as well. He would return to teach at Gango-ji, the later incarnation of Asukadera, spreading the Hossou teachings from master Xuanzang.
In fact, Xuanzang’s impact would be felt across Asia, and much of the Buddhist world. He would continue to be known in Japan and in the area of China, Korea, and beyond. Japanese translations of his journeys were made between the 8th and 10th centuries from texts that had come from Xuanzang’s own monastery.
Nine centuries after his death, during the Ming Dynasty, Xuanzang would be further immortalized in a wildly popular novel: Journey to the West.
The “Journey to the West” is an incredibly fantastical retelling of Xuanzang’s story. In it, Xuanzang is sent on his task by none other than the Buddha himself, who also provides three flawed traveling companions. There is Zhu Bajie, aka “Piggy”—a half human half pig who is known for his gluttony and lust. Then there is Sha Wujing, aka “Sandy”—a man with a red beard and blue skin who lived in a river of quicksand. Despite a rather frightful backstory, he was often the straight man in the story. And then there is the famous Sun Wukong, aka “Monkey”, the most famous of the three and often more famous than Xuanzang himself. In fact, one of the most famous English versions of the story is just called “Monkey”, an abridged telling of the story in English by Arthur Waley in 1942.
“Journey to the West” is perhaps the most popular novel in all of Asia. It has spawned countless retellings, including numerous movies and tv series. The character of “Monkey” has further spun off into all sorts of media. Of course, his addition was all part of the novel, but nonetheless, that novel had an historical basis, which is where we really want to explore. Because for all of the magic and fantasy of the Ming novel, the real story is almost as fascinating without it.
We are told that Xuanzang was born as Chen Hui—or possibly Chen Yi—on the 6th of April in 602 CE in Chenliu, near present-day Luoyang. Growing up, he was fascinated by religious books. He joined the Jingtu monastery and at the age of thirteen he was ordained as a novice monk. However, he lived in rather “interesting times”, and as the Sui dynasty fell, he fled the chaos to Chengdu, in Sichuan, where he was fully ordained by the age of 20.
Xuanzang was inspired reading about the 4th century monk Faxian, whom we mentioned back in Episode 84. Faxian had visited India and brought back many of the earliest scriptures to be widely translated into Chinese.    However, Xuanzang was concerned, as Faxian had been, that the knowledge of the Chinese Buddhist establishment was still incomplete. There were still works that they knew about but didn’t have, and there were competing Buddhist theories in different translations of the texts. He thought that if he could go find untranslated versions of the texts then he could resolve some of the issues and further build out the corpus of Buddhist knowledge.
Around the age 25 or 27, he began his journey. The exact date is either 627 or 629, based on the version that one reads. That has some importance for the events that his story tells, as some of the individuals whom he is said to have met are said to have died by 627 CE, meaning that either the dates of the journey are wrong or the dates we have in other sources are wrong. As you can imagine, that’s rather important for an accurate history, but not so much for our purposes, as I think that we can still trust the broad brush strokes which paint an image of what the Silk Road was like at the time.
For context, back in Yamato, this was around the time that Kashikiya Hime—aka Suiko Tenno—passed away, and Prince Tamura was placed on the throne, passing over Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the late Crown Prince, Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi. Whoever was on the throne, Soga no Emishi was actually running things, and the Soga family were heavily involved in the establishment of Buddhism in the archipelago. This is relatively around the time of Episode 103.
When Xuanzang took off to the West, his intentions may have been pure, but truth be told, he was breaking the law. Tang Taizong had come to power in 626, and the routes along the Tarim Basin were under the control of the Gokturks, whom the Tang were fighting with. As such, travel to the Western Regions was strictly controlled. Xuanzang and several companions had all petitioned Emperor Taizong for permission to leave, but the Emperor never replied. So Xuanzang did not have permission to leave—but he decided to head out, anyway. His companions, however, lost their nerve, and so he set out alone.
Of course, he didn’t simply set off for the West. At first he went city to city, staying at local Buddhist monasteries and sharing his teachings. To all intents and purposes, this probably seemed like normal behavior for a monk, traveling from monastery to monastery, but it was actually taking him towards the western border.
And it was going well until he reached Liangzhou—known today as Wuwei. Li Daliang, governor of Liangzhou, enforced the prohibition that "common" people were not permitted to go to the regions of the western tribes. Word had spread about Xuanzang, and when the governor caught wind of what was going on, he called Xuanzang into an audience to find out what he was planning to do. Xuanzang was honest and told him he was going to the West to search for the Dharma, but the governor ordered him to return to Chang'an instead.
Fortunately, there was a Buddhist teacher, Huiwei, who heard about all of this this and decided to help Xuanzang. He had two of his own disciples escort Xuanzang to the west. Since the governor had told him not to go, this was illegal, and so they traveled by night and hid during the day until they reached Guazhou.
In Guazhou, the governor, Dugu Da, was quite pleased to meet with Xuanzang, and either hadn’t heard about the order for him to return to Chang’an or didn’t care. From there, Xuanzang’s path was largely obstructed by the deep and fast-flowing Hulu river. They would have to travel to its upper reaches, where they could go through Yumenguan--Yumen Pass--which was the only safe way to cross, making it a key to the Western regions.
Beyond Yumenguan there were five watchtowers, roughly 30 miles apart. These watchtowers likely had means to signal back and forth, thus keeping an eye on the people coming and going from Yumen Pass. Beyond that was the desert of Yiwu, also known as Hami.
Xuanzang was not only worried about what this meant, his horse died, leaving him on foot. He contemplated this in silence for a month. Before he continued, though, a warrant arrived for his arrest. They inquired with a local prefect, who happened to be a pious Buddhist. He showed it to Xuanzang, and then ended up tearing up the document, and urged Xuanzang to leave as quickly as possible.
Yumenguan lies roughly 80-90 kilometers—roughly 50 miles or so—from the town of Dunhuang, the last major outpost before leaving for the Western Regions. Dunhuang had a thriving Buddhist community, and the paintings in the Mogao caves are absolutely stunning, even today—one of the most well-preserved of such collections, spanning the 4th to the 14th century. However, at this point, Xuanzang was a wanted man, and stopping in at Dunhuang might very well have curtailed his journey before it had even begun. Instead, he would likely need to find a way to sneak across the border without alerting anyone and then, somehow, sneak past five watchtowers, each 30 miles or so apart, with no water except what he could carry or steal at each point.
At this point, one of Xuanzang's escorts had traveled on to Dunhuang, and only one remained, but Xuanzang wasn't sure his remaining companion was up to the strain of the journey, and he dismissed him, deciding to travel on alone. He bought a horse, and he fortunately found a guide--a "Hu" person named "Shi Pantuo". "Hu" is a generic term often translated simply as "foreigner" or "barbarian" from the western lands, and the name "Shi" referred to Sogdians from Tashkent.
The Sogdians were a people of Persian descent living in central Eurasia, between the Syr Darya and Amu Darya rivers. That latter was also known as the Oxus river, hence another name for the region: Transoxiana. Sogdiana appears as early as the 6th century BCE as a member of the Achaemenid Empire, and the region was annexed by Alexander the Great in 328 BCE. It continued to change hands under a succession of empires.
The Sogdian city-states themselves were centered around the city of Samarkand, and while they did not build an empire themselves, the Sogdians nonetheless had a huge impact on cultures in both the east and the west. Sogdians became famous as traders along the silk roads, and they built tight knit communities in multiple cities along the route. Families kept in touch over long distances, setting up vast trading networks. In fact, there were even Sogdian communities living in Chang’an and elsewhere in the Tang Empire. The Sogdian An Lushan would eventually rise through the ranks of the Tang dynasty court—but that was almost a century after Xuanzang’s travels.
There are many material items that the Sogdians helped move across the silk road, but perhaps one of the most striking things were a style of patterned textiles. Sassanid Persia was known for its silk textiles, often woven in images surrounded by a border of pearl-shapes: Small circles in a circular pattern around a central figure, often duplicated due to the way the fabrics were woven. This pearl-roundel pattern was especially taken up by the Sogdians, and their fashion sense made it popular across Eurasia. Large pearl roundel designs were used on caftans, popular throughout the Gokturk qaghanate, and the Tang court would eventually pick up the fashion of these foreigners—generally classified as “hu” by those in Chang’an. With a round neck, closing at the side, this western-style caftan-like garment eventually found its way into Japan as the people of the Japanese archipelago adopted Tang dynasty clothing and fashion. In fact, Japan boasts one of the most impressive collections of silk road artifacts at the Shosoin repository of Todaiji temple in Nara, and it includes clothing and fabric that show the influence of Sogdian and Turkic merchants. The Shosoin collection contains multiple examples of those pearl roundel patterns, for example, and you can even buy reproductions of the design today in Nara and elsewhere. The garments themselves would continue to influence the fashion of the court, indeed giving rise to some of the most popular court garments of the Nara period, and the design continued to evolve through the Heian period until it was almost unrecognizable from its origins.
Sogdians were so influential that their language—an Eastern Iranian language known simply as “Sogdian”—was the lingua franca, or the common tongue, through most of the Silk Road. If you knew Sogdian, you could probably find a way to communicate with most of the people along way. Today, Sogdian is extinct, with the possible exception of a single language that evolved from a Sogdian dialect.
Sogdians are often known in Sinitic sources by their names—by the time of the Tang dynasty, it was common practice to give foreigners, whose names didn’t always translate well into Chinese dialects, a family name based on their origin. For the Sogdians, who were quite well known and numerous, they weren’t just classified with a single name, but rather they were divided up by seven names based on where they were from. So the name “Shi”, for instance, indicated that someone was from the area of Tashkent, while the name “An” referred to a Sogdian who was descended from people from the Bukhara, and so on. This was a practice that went at least as far back as the Han dynasty.
So, returning to the story, Xuanzang’s new Sogdian guide’s name is given as “Shi Pantuo”. The name "Pantuo", which would have likely been pronounced more like "b'uan d'a" at the time, is likely a version of the name "Vandak", which was indeed a very common Sogdian name meaning something like “servant” and was often used to indicate things like religious devotion, which could be related to his status as a devout Buddhist, though it also might just be coincidental. Xuanzang was so happy with his guide’s offer to help, that he bought him clothes and a horse for his troubles.
And so they headed out towards Yumenguan, the Jade Pass or Jade Gate, so called because of the caravans of jade that would head out from the Middle Country ever since the Han dynasty. In fact, the Jade Gate was originally established as part of the western end of the Han dynasty “Great Wall”. This was not necessarily the famous Ming Dynasty wall that most people are familiar with, but the Han Dynasty wall would have been impressively high enough, with regular patrols and beacon towers. So if you tried going over the wall, someone was likely to see you and give chase. There is also the issue that if you had any amount of supplies you have to bring those as well—this isn’t just hopping a fence. The wall was augmented by natural features—mountains and deep and fast-flowing rivers, for example, which made walls unnecessary. And then there was also the fact that in many places, it was just open wilderness, which was its own kind of barrier. Trying to go off the beaten path meant wandering through uncharted territory, which someone like Xuanzang was probably not prepared to do. It isn’t like he had GPS and Google Maps to help him find his way, and if you got lost in the desert, then who knows what might happen to you.
By the way, this was true even in relatively settled places, like the Japanese archipelago, up until modern times. While there were some areas where it was relatively flat, and you could navigate by certain landmarks, if you left the roads and trails you might easily find yourself lost without access to food or shelter. Maps were not exactly accurate. The safest way to travel was to stick to the more well-traveled routes.
Unfortunately, that meant going through the Yumen Gate itself. There was a garrison where the road left the territory of the Tang Empire , and that garrison would be responsible for checking the papers of anyone coming into or leaving the empire. Xuanzang, of course, didn’t have the proper papers, since he didn’t have permission to be there. Fortunately, he had a guide, who seemed to know the area, and that would allow him to bypass the official checkpoint, which Xuanzang recalls seeing off in the distance. Together, Xuanzang and Vandak snuck past the Yumen gate, and traveled several miles up the river. There, they found a spot where the river was only about 10 feet across, near a grove of trees, and so they chopped down a few of them and made an impromptu bridge for them and their horses to cross.
From that point on, until they reached Yiwu, they would have to get past the watchtowers. Not only were these watchtowers garrisoned with men of the Tang army, but they were also the only place to get fresh water. The travelers would need to sneak in at night to steal water from the watchtowers without getting caught.
The farther they traveled, the more Vandak seemed to be getting cold feet. Normally, this wouldn’t have been an issue had they been normal travelers, but in trying to avoid the watchtowers they were making themselves into fugitives. If they were caught they could both be killed. He protested several times that they should just go back, and at one point Xuanzang seemed worried that Vandak was contemplating how much easier this would be for him if he just killed the old monk. Finally, Xuanzang told Vandak that he should leave, and solemnly swore that if he was caught he wouldn't rat out Vandak for his help. Vandak, who had been worried about just such a scenario, nonetheless took Xuanzang’s word and the two parted ways.
From that point on, Xuanzang recounted that the trail through the desert was marked by nothing but skeletons and horse droppings. He thought at one point he saw an army in the desert, but it turned out to be a mirage. Finally, he saw one of the watchtowers he had been warned about. Not wanting to get caught, he lay down in a ditch and hid there until the sun went down.
Under cover of darkness, he approached the tower, where he saw water. He went to have a drink, and maybe wash his hands, but as he was getting out his water bag to refill it and arrow whizzed through the air and he almost took an arrow to the knee. Knowing the jig was up, he shouted out: "I'm a monk from the capital! Don't shoot!"
He led his horse to the tower, where they opened the door and saw he really was a monk. They woke up the captain, who had a lamp lit so he could see whom it was they had apprehended. Right away it was clear that this traveler wasn't from around those parts—not that anyone really was, it seems.
The Captain had heard of Xuanzang, but the report that had been sent said Xuanzang had gone back to Chang'an. Xuanzang, for his part, showed a copy of the petition he had sent to the Emperor--one that he hadn't actually heard back from. He then told the captain what he planned to do. The captain was moved, and decided to look the other way. He gave him a place to stay for the night and then showed him the way to the fourth watchtower, where the captain's brother was in charge, and would give him shelter.
Sure enough, Xuanzang made it to the fourth watchtower, but he wasn't sure if he could entirely trust the captain, so again he tried to just secretly steal the water, but again he was caught. Fortunately, the captain there was also sympathetic. He let Xuanzang stay and then actually told him how to get around the fifth watchtower, since the captain there might not be as lenient. He also told Xuanzang about an inconspicuous oasis where he could get water for himself and his horse.
Reinvigorated, Xuanzang had another challenge to face. Beyond the watchtowers was a long stretch of desert. It was a journey of several hundred miles, and it started poorly. First off, he missed the oasis that the captain of the fourth watchtower had indicated he could use without anyone firing arrows at him. Then, he dropped his water bag, such that he was left with nothing. He thought of turning back, but he continued, chanting mantras to himself.   He was dehydrated and exhausted, but he continued onward. Some days into his journey, his horse suddenly changed course of its own accord. Despite his efforts, it kept going, eventually coming to a pasture of grass around a pond of clean, sweet water. That ended up saving him, and he rested there for a day, before traveling on. Two days later, he arrived at Yiwu, aka Hami. He had made it. He was free.
Or at least, he was until he returned to the Tang empire. After all, Xuanzang did plan to come back, and when he did, he would have to face the music. That was a problem for future Xuanzang. Of course, he was also a lone traveler. He might be free, but he was far from safe. He was now entering the Western regions, and he would need to be on the lookout.
The people of Hami, also known as Yiwu, were known to the Han dynasty as members of the Xiao Yuezhi—the kingdom or coalition that once controlled much of the northern edge of the Tarim basin. They had been displaced by the Xiongnu, and the area would go back and forth between different hegemons, so that by the time of the Sui and early Tang dynasties they were under the sway of the Gokturks. Still, as close as it was to the Tang borders, they no doubt had contact, and indeed, Xuanzang was given lodging at a monastery with three other monks who were “Chinese”, for whatever that meant at the time.
If you’ve heard of Hami today you may know it for something that it was famous for even back in the 7th century: their famous melons. You can sometimes find Hami melons in stores to this day. Regarding the melons and other such fruits and vegetables—the area of Hami is a fairly arid land. Hami does get some water from the Tianshan mountains, but in order to have enough for agriculture they instituted a system that is still found today in Hami, Turpan, and other parts of the world, including arid parts of northwest India and Pakistan through the middle east to north Africa. It is called a Karez, or in Persian it is called a Qanat, and it is thought to have originated in ancient Persia around the first millennium BCE and spread out through the various trade routes.
The idea is to basically create underground aqueducts to take water from one place to another. This would keep them out of the heat and dry air above ground to allow them to continue to flow without losing too much to evaporation. To do that, however, required manually digging tunnels for the water. This would be done by sinking wells at regular intervals and connecting the wells to each other with tunnels. But it wasn’t enough for the tunnels to be connected, they had to also slope slightly downwards, but not too much. You want enough flow to keep the water clear, but if it flows too quickly or creates waves, the water might erode the underground channels in ways that could cause problems, such as a collapse. All in all, they are pretty amazing feats of engineering and they can carry water a great distance. Many are under 5 km, but some are around 70 km long.
These karez would have been the lifelines of many towns, creating a reliable oasis in the desert. Rivers were great, but the flow could vary from floods to a mere trickle, and the karez system provided relatively constant flow. This allowed for agriculture even in the dry areas of the Western Regions, which helped facilitate the various kingdoms that grew up in this otherwise inhospitable region.
While eating his melons in Hami and chatting it up with his fellow eastern priests, Yiwu was visited by an envoy from the neighboring kingdom of Gaochang. Now Hami, or Yiwu, sits at the eastern edge of the Turpan-Hami basin, aka the Turfan depression, a large desert, much of which is actually so low that it is below sea level. In fact, the basin includes the lowest exposed point in the area of modern China at Ayding Lake, which is 158 meters below sea level. From Yiwu to Gaochang, you would follow the edge of the mountains west, to an area near a small break in the mountain range. Follow that break northwest, and you would find yourself at the city of Urumqi, the current capital of the Xinjiang Autonomous Region in modern China. Xinjiang covers much of the area known in ancient times as the “Western Regions” that remains within the modern political boundaries of the PRC.
The envoy from Gaochang heard about Xuanzang, and reported back to his lord, King Qu Wentai, who immediately sent a retinue out to escort the Buddhist monk across the desert to his city. They included multiple horses for Xuanzang, so he could change at regular intervals. His own horse was left behind, to be brought along later.   After six days on the road, they came to the city of Paili, and since the sun had already set, Xuanzang asked to stop for the night, but the escorts urged him on to the Royal City, which was not much farther on.
And so he arrived around midnight, which means he likely couldn’t immediately take in the size of the city. Gaochang was an immense walled city, and even today, ruined as it is, the site of it is quite formidable, and it is so well preserved it is considered a UNESCO world heritage site. Perhaps since wood was relatively scarce, this is why so much of the construction was made of brick and earthworks. Fortunately, this means that many of the walls remain, even today—eroded and crumbling, but still towering over those who come to see them. In places they have also been rebuilt or reinforced. And in a few, very rare instances, you can still see some of the traces of paint that would have once been so prevalent throughout a city like this.
At this time in history, Gaochang, also known as Karakhoja, was under the command of the Qu family. The population was largely Han Chinese, and it had often been overseen or at least influenced by kingdoms in the Yellow River basin. But it was also the home of Turks, Sogdian merchants, local Turfanians, and more. It was even called “Chinatown” by the Sogdians, and yet attempts to further sinicize the region had provoked a coup only a couple of decades earlier.
Even though he showed up in the middle of the night, Xuanzang is said to have been welcomed by the ruler of Gaochang, Qu Wentai, as he entered the city. Perhaps this is why the escorts had been pushing so hard—the King himself was awake and waiting for Xuanzang to make an appearance. The King and his attendants came out with candles in their hands, and they were ushered behind curtains in a multi-storey pavilion. The king apparently grilled him through the night, asking about his journey until it was almost daybreak, at which point Xuanzang requested rest. He was finally shown to a bedroom that had been prepared for him and allowed to sleep.
The next day king assembled the leading monks of his kingdom before his guest. These included the monks Tuan Fashi and Wang Fashi. Tuan Fashi had studied in Chang’an for many years, and he knew his Buddhist scholarship. And Wang Fashi was a superintendent, and it was his duty to look after Xuanzang and butter him up with the hope that he might stay and provide the king with the prestige of having such an esteemed monk. They put him up at a monastery next to the royal palace—the “daochang”, aka “dojo” in Japanese, which would be a whole different diversion. Ding Wang suggested that this might be the same as the Chongfu Monastery mentioned in a colophon on a 7th century copy of the Sutra of Perfection of Wisdom for Benevolent Kings. It was found by a German expedition at a site in the Turfan basin in the early 20th century, and now sits in the possession of Shitenno-ji, in Osaka—rather appropriate given that Shitenno-ji was around at the same time all of this was happening. The colophon is attributed to a “Xuanjue”, and a “Xuanjue” from Gaochang, in the Turpan basin, was associated with helping Xuanzang in his later years. Perhaps this Xuanjue first met Xuanzang during this first trip to Gaochang.
Qu Wentai tried his best to dissuade Xuanzang from continuing on. This may be simple platitudes from his biographers, but it also may have been genuine. Having a learned foreign monk from the Tang dynasty staying at the palace monastery would likely have added to Qu Wentai’s prestige by association, and it would have potentially brought more individuals to the city of Gaochang.
Speaking of which, all of this first part of the journey—up to Gaochang—comes primarily from Xuanzang’s biography by the monk Huili. Xuanzang’s own “Records of the Western Regions” didn’t include much on it, probably because by the time that he returned to the Tang empire, Tang Taizong had annexed Yiwu and Gaochang, so all those were now considered part of the empire, rather than foreign regions to the West.
After staying a month at Gaochang, Xuanzang decided it was time to continue his journey. Disappointed though Qu Wentai may have been that his guest would be leaving, he nonetheless outfitted him handsomely. He provided goods, including coins, as well as 24 letters to the 24 countries that he would pass along the road, adding a roll of silk to each as a sign that they came from the King of Gaochang. He also gave him food, a small retinue, and horses to help carry everything.
Letters of introduction would have been important across the Silk Road. There was, after all, no way to contact someone ahead of time, unless you sent runners. Merchant communities, in particular, would often be connected across long distances through regular caravans, which carried letters to their relatives, facilitating communication across vast distances. Merchants who were bringing in a caravan of goods would know that there was a friendly community waiting to help them when they arrived, and would likely even have an idea of what was happening and what to bring.
For someone traveling alone, however, having a letter of introduction would have been important, as they didn’t necessarily have access to those communities by themselves. The letters would provide introduction and let people know who you were and may even ask for assistance on your behalf. It may seem a small thing, but it was the kind of gesture that was likely a great help to a traveler like Xuanzang. Remember, he was not on an official mission from the Tang court—almost expressly the opposite, as he had not been given permission to leave. So he wouldn’t have had anything identifying him, and after Gaochang he likely couldn’t count on being able to communicate with his native tongue.
And so he was sent on his way. As he left the city of Gaochang, the king and others accompanied Xuanzang about 10 li, or about 3 or 4 miles, outside of the city. As they watched him head off, who could have known if he would complete his quest? Or would he just end up another ghost in the desert?
Next episode, we’ll pick up Xuanzang’s story as he strikes out for Agni and beyond. Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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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.

References

Wu, Guo. (2020). From Chang'an to Nālandā: The Life and Legacy of the Chinese Buddhist Monk Xuanzang (602?-664) From Chang'an to Nālandā: The Life and Legacy of the Chinese Buddhist Monk Xuanzang (602?-664). Proceedings of the First International Conference on Xuanzang and Silk Road Culture.
Beckwith, C.I. (2009) Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present. Princeton University Press, Princeton/Oxford. ISBN 978-0-691-13589-2.
Yoshida, Yutaka (2006). “Personal Names, Sogdian i. in Chinese Sources” Encyclopædia Iranica; available online at https://iranicaonline.org/articles/personal-names-sogdian-1-in-chinese-sources (accessed online at 10 February 2025).
Boulnois, Luce (2005). Silk Road: Monks, Warriors & Merchants. Hong Kong: Odyssey Books & Guides. pp. 311–335. ISBN 962-217-721-2.
Frye, R. N. 1. (1996). The heritage of Central Asia from antiquity to the Turkish expansion. Princeton, Markus Wiener Publishers.
Xuanzang, tr. Li Rongji (1996). The Great Tang Dynasty Record of the Western Regions. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Huili, Yancong, & Li, R. (1995). A Biography of the Tripiṭaka Master of the Great Ci’en Monastery of the Great Tang Dynasty. Berkeley, Calif. Numata Center for Buddhist Translation and Research.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 119: The Question of "Tukara"

February 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Modern view of ancient Kucha (or Kuqa). Situated at the base of the mountains near a river fed by meltwater along the northern Silk Road, you can still see many of the thick walls, though decoration and much of the wood has long since eroded away. Photo by author.

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This episode we are taking a bit of a tangent as we look into the record of men said to be from “Tukara”. By the way, in modern Japanese this is probably either Tsukara or Tokara. As we’ve mentioned in the past, pronunciations have shifted slightly over time.

There are three major theories that I’ve found for “Tukara”, though I wouldn’t be surprised to find more: Tukhara (aka Tokharistan), the Dvaravati Kingdom, or the Tokara islands of the Ryukyu island chain.

Tukhara and the Tokharoi

Representation of Zhang Qian and his yak-hair staff at the Shaanxi History Museum. Photo by author.

One location that is said to be “Tukara” is “Tukhara”, sometimes called Tokharistan, home of the “Tokharoi” according to Greek sources. This was at the far end of the Silk Road from the Japanese archipelago, in the area of modern Bactria. It is thought that they were the descendants of the Kushan Empire, themselves founded by members of “Kushana”, one of the polities that made up the confederacy known to the Han dynasty as the Yuezhi. After the Yuezhi were kicked out of the Tarim basin by the Xiongnu, the Han court attempted to send an ambassador, Zhang Qian, to negotiate with them to ally against their common enemy, but the Yuezhi politely refused the request.

Top of a stele in Xian erected during the Tang dynasty praising a new “Shining” religion, aka Christianity. Here you can see a cross etched into the top of the stele, which tells the history of the religion in the east, including mention of people from “Tukhara”. Photo by author.

There has been some speculation that the “Kushan” of the Kushan Empire might be a cognate with “Kucha”, an ancient city along the northern edge of the Tarim basin, in the territory thought to have belonged to the Yuezhi, before the Xiongnu pushed them out. Kucha, it turns out, is also the home of a language that is thought to have been called by in the old Turkic languages of the region, “twγry”, which was thought to be related to the “Tukhara” and the “Tokharoi”. Although that has largely been discredited, the Kuchean and Turfanian languages are still widely known as the “Tocharian” languages—often designated as Tocharian A and Tocharian B.

These languages, themselves, are a bit of a mystery as they are a “Centem” Indo-European language, thought to be similar to Celtic or Italic, while other Indo-European languages in the region—including the Indo-Iranian Bactrian language that was spoke in Tukhara— are “Satem” languages. “Centem” languages adopted the hard “c” or “k” sound for certain words in Proto-Indo-Eueropean, while “Satem” languages adopted the same sound to a sibilant “s” sound.

The possible connection between the “Tocharian” languages and Celtic and Italic further caught the attention of scholars who were also marveling at the well-preserved mummies of the region, some being three to four thousand years old and bearing features more associated with western Eurasia rather than the ethnic Han Chinese or the nomadic steppe people like the Xiongnu are believed to have been. These mummies even bore fabric in a form of plaid design that could have been at home in the ancient Hallstadt region of Central Europe. DNA evidence, however, suggests that they are, in fact, indigenous to the region, being part of an Ancient Northern Eurasian group of people. Truth is, we don’t know what languages they spoke, and many people passed through the Tarim basin over the years.

The Dvaravati Kingdom

Phra Pathom Chedi, originally built during the Dvaravati period, it has been topped with a modern prang.

This theory seems to hold a little less water than the others, but apparently the Sui and Tang new this as the “To-lo-po-ti” kingdom. The Dvaravati kingdom was a powerful ethnic Mon kingdom or confederation that arose in the modern region of Thailand, and it pre-dates the arrival of the Thai people. It lasted from about the 6th to the 12th century, and there is evidence that it traded not only with the Sui and Tang courts, but also with the middle east and even Rome.

Base of an ancient temple or stupa at Pong Tuk, near the site where the Pong Tuk lamp was found. Photo by author.

Besides Arabic and Roman coins, one of the most spectacular finds is a 6th century Byzantine lamp in fields near modern Pong Tuk. This is also known to have been the site of an ancient Dvaravati settlement, with some ruins still visible, even today.

We don’t know precisely what happened to the Dvaravati Kingdom. It may have been a natural collapse over time. There is also some thought that the Gulf of Thailand may have once reached further inland, and as the Chaophraya river brought silt down from the north, this area filled in, and cities that were once on the coast found themselves miles upriver without the same access to ports for commerce and trade.

Tokara Islands

Perhaps the most logical conclusion, however, is that “Tukara” refers to the Tokara Islands. These are the islands between Amami Oshima and Tanegashima, immediately south of Kyushu. It is possible that the terms just used similar characters to phonetically spell out these different areas.

The Tokara islands are part of the larger Ryukyu archipelago, which extends all the way to Taiwan. We know that there has been contact with the Japanese archipelago since at least the Jomon era, but they didn’t follow into the Yayoi and Kofun periods quite as much. The islands closer to the Japanese archipelago saw greater and more immediate influence, but even they have retained a separate character. The islands were populated, at some point, by a Japonic speaking people, as the indigenous Ryukyuan language that evolved is one of the few members of the Japonic language family, including modern Japanese and possibly the language of Hachijo—another group of islands south of Tokyo.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. This is episode 119: The Question of “Tukara”

Traveling upon the ocean was never exactly safe. Squalls and storms could arise at any time, and there was always a chance that high winds and high waves could capsize a vessel. Most people who found themselves at the mercy of the ocean could do little but hold on and hope that they could ride out whatever adverse conditions they met with.
Many ships were lost without any explanation or understanding of what happened to them. They simply left the port and never came back home.
And so when the people saw the boat pulling up on the shores of Himuka, on the island of Tsukushi, they no doubt empathized with the voyagers’ plight. The crew looked bedraggled, and their clothing was unfamiliar. There were both men and women, and this didn’t look like your average fishing party. If anything was clear it was this: These folk weren’t from around here.
The locals brought out water and food. Meanwhile, runners were sent with a message: foreigners had arrived from a distant place. They then waited to see what the government was going to do.

We are still in the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tenno. Last episode we talked about the palaces constructed in Asuka, as well as some of the stone works that have been found from the period, and which appear to be referenced in the Nihon Shoki—at least tangentially.   The episodes before that, we looked at the expeditions the court sent to the far north of Honshu and even past Honshu to Hokkaido.
This episode we’ll again be looking past the main islands of the archipelago to lands beyond. Specifically, we are going to focus on particularly intriguing references to people from a place called “Tukara”. We’ll talk about some of the ideas about where that might be, even if they’re a bit far-fetched. That’s because Tukara touches on the state of the larger world that Yamato was a part of, given its situation on the far eastern edge of what we know today as the Silk Road. And is this just an excuse for me to take a detour into some of the more interesting things going on outside the archipelago? No comment.
The first mention of a man from Tukara actually comes at the end of the reign of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou. We are told that in the fourth month of 654 two men and two women of “Tukara” and one woman of “Sha’e” were driven by a storm to Hiuga.
Then, three years later, the story apparently picks up again, though possibly referring to a different group of people. On the 3rd day of the 7th month of 657, so during the second reign of Takara Hime, we now hear about two men and four women of the Land of Tukara—no mention of Sha’e—who drifted to Tsukushi, aka Kyushu. The Chronicles mention that these wayfarers first drifted to the island of Amami, and we’ll talk about that in a bit, but let’s get these puzzle pieces on the table, first. After those six people show up, the court sent for them by post-horse. They must have arrived by the 15th of that same month, because we are told that a model of Mt. Sumi was erected and they—the people from Tukara—were entertained, although there is another account that says they were from “Tora”.
The next mention is the 10th day of the 3rd month of 659, when a Man of Tukara and his wife, again woman of Sha’e, arrived. Then, on the 16th day of the 7th month of 660, we are told that the man of Tukara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, desired to return home and asked for an escort. He planned to pay his respects at the Great Country, i.e. the Tang court, and so he left his wife behind, taking tens of men with him.
All of these entries might refer to people regularly reaching Yamato from the south, from a place called “Tukara”. Alternately, this is a single event whose story has gotten distributed over several years, as we’ve seen happen before with the Chronicles. . One of the oddities of these entries is that the terms used are not consistent. “Tukara” is spelled at least two different ways, suggesting that it wasn’t a common placename like Silla or Baekje, or even the Mishihase. That does seem to suggest that the Chronicles were phonetically trying to find kanji, or the Sinitic characters, to match with the name they were hearing.   I would also note that “Tukara” is given the status of a “kuni”—a land, country, or state—while “sha’e”, where some of the women are said to come from, is just that, “Sha’e”.
As for the name of at least one person from Tokara, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna, that certainly sounds like someone trying to fit a non-Japanese name into the orthography of the time. “Tatsuna” seems plausibly Japanese, but “Kenzuhashi” doesn’t fit quite as well into the naming structures we’ve seen to this point.
The location of “Tukara” and “Sha’e” are not clear in any way, and as such there has been a lot of speculation about them. While today there are placenames that fit those characters, whether or not these were the places being referenced at the time is hard to say.
I’ll actually start with “Sha’e”, which Aston translates as Shravasti, the capital of the ancient Indian kingdom of Kosala, in modern Uttar Pradesh. It is also where the Buddha, Siddartha Gautama, is said to have lived most of his life after his enlightenment. In Japanese this is “Sha’e-jou”, and like many Buddhist terms it likely comes through Sanskrit to Middle Chinese to Japanese. One—or possibly two—women from Shravasti making the journey to Yamato in the company of a man (or men) from Tukara seems quite the feat.
But then, where is “Tukara”? Well, we have at least three possible locations that I’ve seen bandied about. I’ll address them from the most distant to the closest option. These three options were Tokharistan, Dvaravati, and the Tokara islands.
We’ll start with Tokharistan on the far end of the Silk Road. And to start, let’s define what that “Silk Road” means. We’ve talked in past episodes about the “Western Regions”, past the Han-controlled territories of the Yellow River.   The ancient Tang capital of Chang’an was built near to the home of the Qin dynasty, and even today you can go and see both the Tang tombs and the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi and his terracotta warriors, all within a short distance of Xi’an, the modern city built on the site of Chang’an. That city sits on a tributary of the Yellow River, but the main branch turns north around the border of modern Henan and the similarly sounding provinces of Shanxi and Shaanxi. Following it upstream, the river heads north into modern Mongolia, turns west, and then heads south again, creating what is known as the Ordos loop. Inside is the Ordos plateau, also known as the Ordos Basin. Continuing to follow the Yellow river south, on the western edge of the Ordos, you travel through Ningxia and Gansu—home of the Hexi, or Gansu, Corridor. That route eventually takes to Yumenguan, the Jade Gate, and Dunhuang. From there roads head north or south along the edge of the Taklamakan desert in the Tarim basin. The southern route travels along the edge of the Tibetan plateau, while the northern route traversed various oasis cities through Turpan, Kucha, to the city of Kashgar. Both routes made their way across the Pamirs and the Hindu Kush into South Asia.
We’ve brought up the Tarim Basin and the Silk Road a few times. This is the path that Buddhism appears to have taken to get to the Yellow River Basin and eventually to the Korean Peninsula and eastward to the Japanese archipelago. But I want to go a bit more into detail on things here, as there is an interesting side note about “Tukara” that I personally find rather fascinating, and thought this would be a fun time to share.
Back in Episode 79 we talked about how the Tarim basin used to be the home to a vast inland sea, which was fed by the meltwater from the Tianshan and Kunlun mountains. This sea eventually dwindled, though it was still large enough to be known to the Tang as the Puchang Sea. Today it has largely dried up, and it is mostly just the salt marshes of Lop Nur that remain. Evidence for this larger sea, however, can be observed in some of the burials found around the Tarim basin. These burials include the use of boat-shaped structures—a rather curious feature to be found out in the middle of the desert.
And it is the desert that was left behind as the waters receded that is key to much of what we know about life in the Tarim basin, as it has proven to be quite excellent at preserving organic material. This includes bodies, which dried out and naturally turned into mummies, including not only the wool clothing they were wearing, but also features such as hair and even decoration.
These “Tarim mummies”, as they have been collectively called, date from as early as 2100 BCE all the way up through the period of time we’re currently talking about, and have been found in several desert sites: Xiaohe, the earliest yet discovered; Loulan, near Lop Nur on the east of the Tarim Basin, dating from around 1800 BCE; Cherchen, on the southern edge of the Tarim Basin, dating from roughly 1000 BCE; and too many others to go into in huge detail. The intriguing thing about these burials is that many of them don’t have features typically associated with people of ethnic Han—which is to say traditional Chinese—ancestry, nor do they necessarily have the features associated with the Xiongnu and other steppe nomads. In addition they have colorful clothing made from wool and leather, with vivid designs. Some bodies near Hami, just east of the basin, were reported to have blonde to light brown hair, and their cloth showed radically different patterns from that found at Cherchen and Loulan, with patterns that could reasonably be compared with the plaids now common in places like Scotland and Ireland, and previously found in the Hallstadt salt mine in Central Europe from around 3500 BCE, from which it is thought the Celtic people may have originated.
At the same time that people—largely Westerners— were studying these mummies, another discovery in the Tarim basin was also making waves. This was the discovery of a brand new language. Actually, it was two languages—or possibly two dialects of a language—in many manuscripts, preserved in Kucha and Turpan. Once again, the dry desert conditions proved invaluable to maintain these manuscripts, which date from between the late 4th or early 5th century to the 8th century. They are written with a Brahmic script, similar to that used for Sanskrit, which appears in the Tarim Basin l by about the 2nd century, and we were able to translate them because many of the texts were copies of Buddhist scripture, which greatly helped scholars in deciphering the languages. These two languages were fascinating because they represented an as-yet undiscovered branch of the Indo-European language family. Furthermore, when compared to other Indo-European languages, they did not show nearly as much similarity with their neighbors as with languages on the far western end of the Indo-European language family. That is to say they were thought to be closer to Celtic and Italic languages than something like Indo-Iranian.
And now for a quick diversion within the diversion: “Centum” and “Satem” are general divisions of the Indo-European language families that was once thought to indicate a geographic divide in the languages. At its most basic, as Indo-European words changed over time, a labiovelar sound, something like “kw”, tended to evolve in one of two ways. In the Celtic and Italic languages, the “kw” went to a hard “k” sound, as represented in the classical pronunciation of the Latin word for 100: Centum. That same word, in the Avestan language—of the Indo-Iranian tree—is pronounced as “Satem”, with an “S” sound. So, you can look at Indo-European languages and divide them generally into “centum” languages, which preserve the hard “k”, or “Satem” languages that preserve the S. With me so far?
Getting back to these two newly-found languages in the Tarim Basin, the weird thing is that they were “Centum” languages. Most Centum languages are from pretty far away, though: they are generally found in western Europe or around the Mediterranean, as opposed to the Satem languages, such as Indo-Aryan, Iranian, Armernian, or even Baltic Slavic languages, which are much closer to the Tarim Basin.
So if the theory were true that the “Centum” family of Indo-European languages developed in the West and “Satem” languages developed in the East, then that would seem to indicate that a group of a “Centum” speaking people must have migrated eastward, through the various Satem speaking people, and settled in the Tarim Basin many thousands of years ago.
And what evidence do we have of people who look very different from the modern population, living in the Tarim Basin area long before, and wearing clothing similar to what we associated with the progenitors of the Celts?
For many, it seemed to be somewhat obvious, if still incredible, that the speakers of this language were likely the descendants of the mummies who, in the terminology of the time, had been identified as being of Caucasoid ancestry. A theory developed that these people were an offshoot of a group called the Yamnaya culture, which may have arisen around modern Ukraine as an admixture between the European Hunter Gatherers and the Caucasian Hunter Gatherers, around 3300-2600 BCE. This was challenged in 2021 when a genetic study was performed on some of the mummies in the Tarim basin, as well as several from the Dzungarian basin, to the northeast. That study suggested that the people of the Dzungarian basin had genetic ties to the people of the Afanasievo people, from Southern Siberia. The Afanasievo people are connected to the Yamnayan culture.
It should be noted that there has long been a fascination in Western anthropology and related sciences with racial identification—and often not in a healthy way. As you may recall, the Ainu were identified as “Caucasoid” by some people largely because of things like the men’s beards and lighter colored hair, which differ greatly from a large part of the Japanese population. However, that claim has been repeatedly refuted and debunked.
And similarly, the truth is, none of these Tarim mummy burials were in a period of written anything, so we can’t conclusively associated them with these fascinating Indo-European languages. There are thousands of years between the various burials and the manuscripts. These people left no notes stashed in pockets that give us their life story.   And Language is not Genetics is not Culture. Any group may adopt a given language for a variety of reasons. . Still, given what we know, it is possible that the ancient people of the Tarim basin spoke some form of “Proto-Kuchean”, but it is just as likely that this language was brought in by people from Dzungaria at some point.
So why does all this matter to us? Well, remember how we were talking about someone from Tukara? The Kuchean language, at least, is referred to in an ancient Turkic source as belonging to “Twgry”, which led several scholars to draw a link between this and the kingdom and people called Tukara and the Tokharoi. This leads us on another bit of a chase through history.
Now if you recall, back in Episode 79, we talked about Zhang Qian. In 128 BCE, he attempted to cross the Silk Road through the territory of the Xiongnu on a mission for the Han court. Some fifty years earlier, the Xiongnu had defeated the Yuezhi. They held territory in the oasis towns along the north of the Taklamakan dessert, from about the Turpan basin west to the Pamirs. The Xiongnu were causing problems for the Han, who thought that if they could contact the remaining Yuezhi they could make common cause with them and harass the Xiongnu from both sides. Zhang Qian’s story is quite remarkable: he started out with an escort of some 99 men and a translator. Unfortunately, he was captured and enslaved by the Xiongnu during his journey, and he is even said to have had a wife and fathered a child. He remained a captive for thirteen years, but nonetheless, he was able to escape with his family and he made it to the Great Yuezhi on the far side of the Pamirs, but apparently the Yuezhi weren’t interested in a treaty against the Xiongnu. The Pamirs were apparently enough of a barrier and they were thriving in their new land. And so Zhang Qian crossed back again through Xiongnu territory, this time taking the southern route around the Tarim basin. He was still captured by the Xiongnu, who spared his life. He escaped, again, two years later, returning to the Han court. Of the original 100 explorers, only two returned: Zhang Qian and his translator. While he hadn’t obtained an alliance, he was able to detail the cultures of the area of the Yuezhi.
Many feel that the Kushan Empire, which is generally said to have existed from about 30 to 375 CE,was formed from the Kushana people who were part of the Yuezhi who fled the Xiongnu. In other words, they were originally from further north, around the Tarim Basin, and had been chased out and settled down in regions that included Bactria (as in the Bactrian camel). Zhang Qian describes reaching the Dayuan Kingdom in the Ferghana valley, then traveling south to an area that was the home of the Great Yuezhi or Da Yuezhi.
And after the Kushan empire fell, we know there was a state in the upper regions of the Oxus river, centered on the city of Balkh, in the former territory of the Kushan empire. known as “Tokara”. Geographically, this matches up how Zhang Qian described the home of the Da Yuezhi. Furthermore, some scholars reconstruct the reading of the Sinic characters used for “Yuezhi” as originally having an optional reading of something like “Togwar”, but that is certainly not the most common reconstructed reading of those characters. Greek sources describe this area as the home of the Tokharoi, or the Tokaran People. The term “Tukhara” is also found in Sanskrit, and this kingdom was also said to have sent ambassadors to the Southern Liang and Tang dynasties.
We aren’t exactly certain of where these Tokharan people came from, but as we’ve just described, there’s a prevailing theory that they were the remnants of the Yuezhi and Kushana people originally from the Tarim Basin. We know that in the 6th century they came under the rule of the Gokturk Khaganate, which once spanned from the Liao river basin to the Black Sea. In the 7th and 8th centuries they came under the rule of the Tang Empire, where they were known by very similar characters as those used to write “Tukara” in the Nihon Shoki. On top of this, we see Tokharans traveling the Silk Road, all the way to the Tang court. Furthermore, Tokharans that settled in Chang’an took the surname “Zhi” from the ethnonym “Yuezhi”, seemingly laying claim to and giving validation to the identity used back in the Han dynasty.

So, we have a Turkic record describing the Kuchean people (as in, from Kucha in the Tarim Basin) as “Twgry”, and we have a kingdom in Bactria called Tokara and populated (according to the Greeks) by people called Tokharoi. You can see how this one term has been a fascinating rabbit hole in the study of the Silk Roads and their history. And some scholars understandably suggested that perhaps the Indo-European languags found in Kucha and Turpan were actually related to this “Tokhara” – and therefore should be called “Tocharian”, specifically Tocharian A (Kuchean) or Tocharian B (Turfanian).
The problem is that if the Tokharans were speaking “Tocharian” then you wouldn’t expect to just see it at Kucha and Turpan, which are about the middle of the road between Tokhara and the Tang dynasty, and which had long been under Gokturk rule. You would also expect to see it in the areas of Bactria associated with Tokhara. However, that isn’t what we see. Instead, we see that Bactria was the home of local Bactrian language—an Eastern Iranian language, which, though it is part of the Indo European language family, it is not closely related to Tocharian as far as we can tell.
It is possible that the people of Kucha referred to themselves as something similar to “Twgry”, or “Tochari”, but we should also remember that comes from a Turkic source, and it could have been an exonym not related to what they called themselves. I should also note that language is not people. It is also possible that a particular ethnonym was maintained separately by two groups that may have been connected politically but which came to speak different languages for whatever reason.   There could be a connection between the names, or it could even be that the same or similar exonym was used for different groups.
So, that was a lot and a bit of a ramble, but a lot of things that I find interesting—even if they aren’t as connected as they may appear. We have the Tarim mummies, which are, today, held at a museum in modern Urumqi. Whether they had any connection with Europe or not, they remain a fascinating study for the wealth of material items found in and around the Tarim basin and similar locations. And then there is the saga of the Tocharian languages—or perhaps more appropriately the Kuchean-Turfanian languages: Indo-European languages that seem to be well outside of where we would expect to find them.
Finally, just past the Pamirs, we get to the land of Tokhara or Tokharistan. Even without anything else, we know that they had contact with the court. Perhaps our castaways were from this land? The name is certainly similar to what we see in the Nihon Shoki, using some of the same characters.
All in all, art and other information suggest that the area of the Tarim basin and the Silk Road in general were quite cosmopolitan, with many different people from different regions of the world. Bactria retained Hellenic influences ever since the conquests of Alexander of Macedonia, aka Alexander the Great, and Sogdian and Persian traders regularly brought their caravans through the region to trade. And once the Tang dynasty controlled all of the routes, that just made travel that much easier, and many people traveled back and forth.
So from that perspective, it is possible that one or more people from Tukhara may have made the crossing from their home all the way to the Tang court, but if they did so, the question still remains: why would they be in a boat? Utilizing overland routes, they would have hit Chang’an or Louyang, the dual capitals of the Tang empire, well before they hit the ocean. However, the Nihon Shoki says that these voyagers first came ashore at Amami and then later says that they were trying to get to the Tang court.
Now there was another “Silk Road” that isn’t as often mentioned: the sea route, following the coast of south Asia, around through the Malacca strait and north along the Asian coast. This route is sometimes viewed more in terms of the “spice” road
If these voyagers set out to get to the Tang court by boat, they would have to have traveled south to the Indian Ocean—possibly traveling through Shravasti or Sha’e, depending on the route they chose to take—and then around the Malacca strait—unless they made it on foot all the way to Southeast Asia. And then they would have taken a boat up the coast.
Why do that instead of taking the overland route? They could likely have traveled directly to the Tang court over the overland silk road. Even the from Southeast Asia could have traveled up through Yunnan and made their way to the Tang court that way. In fact, Zhang Qian had wondered something similar when he made it to the site of the new home of the Yuezhi, in Bactria. Even then, in the 2nd century, he saw products in the marketplace that he identified as coming from around Szechuan. That would mean south of the Han dynasty, and he couldn’t figure out how those trade routes might exist and they weren’t already known to the court. Merchants would have had to traverse the dangerous mountains if they wanted to avoid being caught by the Xiongnu, who controlled the entire region.
After returning to the Han court, Zhang Qian actually went out on another expedition to the south, trying to find the southern trade routes, but apparently was not able to do so. That said, we do see, in later centuries, the trade routes open up between the area of the Sichuan basin and South Asia. We also see the migrations of people further south, and there may have even been some Roman merchants who traveled up this route to find their way to the Han court, though those accounts are not without their own controversy.
In either case, whether by land or sea, these trade routes were not always open. In some cases, seasonal weather, such as monsoons, might dictate movement back and forth, while political realities were also a factor. Still, it is worth remembering that even though most people were largely concerned with affairs in their own backyard, the world was still more connected than people give it credit for. Tang dynasty pottery made its way to the east coast of Africa, and ostriches were brought all the way to Chang’an.
As for the travelers from Tukhara and why they would take this long and very round-about method of travel, it is possible that they were just explorers, seeking new routes, or even on some kind of pilgrimage. Either way, they would have been way off course.
But if they did pass through Southeast Asia, that would match up with another theory about what “Tukara” meant: that it actually refers to the Dvaravati kingdom in what is now modern Thailand.
The Dvaravati Kingdom was a Mon political entity that rose up around the 6th century. It even sent embassies to the Sui and Tang courts. This is even before the temple complexes in Siem Reap, such as Preah Ko and the more famous Angkor Wat. And it was during this time that the ethnic Tai people are thought to have started migrating south from Yunnan, possibly due to pressures from the expanding Sui and Tang empires. Today, most of what remains of the Dvaravati kingdom are the ruins of ancient stone temples, showing a heavy Indic influence, and even early Buddhist practices as well.
“Dvaravati” may not actually be the name of the kingdom but it comes from an inscription on a coin found from about that time. The Chinese refer to it as “To-lo-po-ti” in contemporary records. It may not even have been a kingdom, but more of a confederation of city-states—it is hard to piece everything together. That it was well connected, though, is clear from the archaeological record. In Dvaravati sites, we see coins from as far as Rome, and we even have a lamp found in modern Pong Tuk that appears to match similar examples from the Byzantine Empire in the 6th century. Note that this doesn’t mean it arrived in the 6th century—similarly with the coins—but the Dvaravati state lasted until the 12th century. If that was the case, perhaps there were some women from a place called “Shravasti” or similar, especially given the Indic influence in the region.
Now, given the location of the Dvaravati, it wouldn’t be so farfetched to think that someone might sail up from the Gulf of Thailand and end up off-course, though it does mean sailing up the entire Ryukyuan chain or really running off course and finding yourself adrift on the East China sea. And if they were headed to the Tang court, perhaps they did have translators or knew Chinese, since Yamato was unlikely to know the Mon language of Dvaravati and people from Dvaravati probably wouldn’t know the Japonic language. Unless, perhaps, they were communicating through Buddhist priests via Sanskrit.
We’ve now heard two possibilities for Tukara, both pretty far afield: the region of Tokara in Bactria, and the Dvaravati kingdom in Southeast Asia. That said, the third and simplest explanation—and the one favored by Aston in his translation of the Nihon Shoki—is that Tukara is actually referring to a place in the Ryukyu island chain. Specifically, there is a “Tokara” archipelago, which spans between Yakushima and Amami-Oshima. This is part of the Nansei islands, and the closest part of the Ryukyuan island chain to the main Japanese archipelago. This is the most likely theory, and could account for the entry talking about Amami. It is easy to see how sailors could end up adrift, too far north, and come to shore in Hyuga, aka Himuka, on the east side of Kyushu.
It certainly would make more sense for them to be from this area of the Ryukyuan archipelago than from anywhere else. From Yakushima to Amami-Oshima is the closest part of the island chain to Kyushu, and as we see in the entry from the Shoku Nihongi, those three places seem to have been connected as being near to Japan. So what was going on down there, anyway?
Well, first off, let’s remember that the Ryukyuan archipelago is not just the island of Okinawa, but a series of islands that go from Kyushu all the way to the island of Taiwan. Geographically speaking, they are all part of the same volcanic ridge extending southward. The size of the islands and their distance from each other does vary, however, creating some natural barriers in the form of large stretches of open water, which have shaped how various groups developed on the islands.
Humans came to the islands around the same time they were reaching the Japanese mainland. In fact, some of our only early skeletal remains for early humans in Japan actually come from either the Ryukyuan peninsula in the south or around Hokkaido to the north, and that has to do with the acidity of the soil in much of mainland Japan.
Based on genetic studies, we know that at least two groups appear to have inhabited the islands from early times. One group appears to be related to the Jomon people of Japan, while the other appears to be more related to the indigenous people of Taiwan, who, themselves, appear to have been the ancestors of many Austronesian people. Just as some groups followed islands to the south of Taiwan, some appear to have headed north. However, they only made it so far. As far as I know there is no evidence they made it past Miyakoshima, the northernmost island in the Sakishima islands. Miyako island is separated from the next large island, Okinawa, by a large strait, known as the Miyako Strait, though sometimes called the Kerama gap in English. It is a 250km wide stretch of open ocean, which is quite the distance for anyone to travel, even for Austronesian people of Taiwan, who had likely not developed the extraordinary navigational technologies that the people who would become the Pacific Islanders would discover.
People on the Ryukyu island chain appear to have been in contact with the people of the Japanese archipelago since at least the Jomon period, and some of the material artifacts demonstrate a cultural connection. That was likely impacted by the Akahoya eruption, about 3500 years ago, and then re-established at a later date. We certainly see sea shells and corals trade to the people of the Japanese islands from fairly early on.
Unlike the people on the Japanese archipelago, the people of the Ryukyuan archipelago did not really adopt the Yayoi and later Kofun culture. They weren’t building large, mounded tombs, and they retained the character of a hunter-gatherer society, rather than transitioning to a largely agricultural way of life. The pottery does change in parts of Okinawa, which makes sense given the connections between the regions.
Unfortunately, there is a lot we don’t know about life in the islands around this time. We don’t exactly have written records, other than things like the entries in the Nihon Shoki, and those are hardly the most detailed of accounts. In the reign of Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, we see people from Yakushima, which is, along with Tanegashima, one of the largest islands at the northern end of the Ryukyu chain, just before you hit Kagoshima and the Osumi peninsula on the southern tip of Kyushu. The islands past that would be the Tokara islands, until you hit the large island of Amami.
So you can see how it would make sense that the people from “Tokara” would make sense to be from the area between Yakushima and Amami, and in many ways this explanation seems too good to be true. There are a only a few things that make this a bit peculiar. First, this doesn’t really explain the woman from “Sha’e” in any compelling way that I can see. Second, the name, Kenzuhashi Tatsuna doesn’t seem to fit with what we generally know about early Japonic names, and the modern Ryukyuan language certainly is a Japonic language, but there are still plenty of possible explanations. There is also the connection of Tokara with “Tokan”, which is mentioned in an entry in 699 in the Shoku Nihongi, the Chronicle that follows on, quite literally to the Nihon Shoki. Why would they call it “Tokan” instead of “Tokara” so soon after? Also, why would these voyagers go back to their country by way of the Tang court? Unless, of course, that is where they were headed in the first place. In which case, did the Man from Tukara intentionally leave his wife in Yamato, or was she something of a hostage while they continued on their mission?

And so those are the theories. The man from “Tukara” could be from Tokhara, or Tokharistan, at the far end of the Silk Road. Or it could have been referring to the Dvaravati Kingdom, in modern Thailand.
Still, in the end, Occam’s razor suggests that the simplest answer is that these were actually individuals from the Tokara islands in the Ryukyuan archipelago. It is possible that they were from Amami, not that they drifted there. More likely, a group from Amami drifted ashore in Kyushu as they were trying to find a route to the Tang court, as they claimed. Instead they found themselves taking a detour to the court of Yamato, instead.
And we could have stuck with that story, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, this would be a good time to reflect once again on how connected everything was. Because even if they weren’t from Dvaravati, that Kingdom was still trading with Rome and with the Tang. And the Tang controlled the majority of the overland silk road through the Tarim basin. We even know that someone from Tukhara made it to Chang’an, because they were mentioned on a stele that talked about an Asian sect of Christianity, the “Shining Religion”, that was praised and allowed to set up shop in the Tang capital, along with Persian Manicheans and Zoroastrians. Regardless of where these specific people may have been from, the world was clearly growing only more connected, and prospering, as well.
Next episode we’ll continue to look at how things were faring between the archipelago and the continent.
Until then thank you for listening and for all of your support.
If you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Zhang, F., Ning, C., Scott, A. et al. The genomic origins of the Bronze Age Tarim Basin mummies. Nature 599, 256–261 (2021). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-021-04052-7
Hansen, V. (2012). The Silk Road: a new history. Oxford ; New York, Oxford University Press.
Beckwith, C.I. (2009) Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present. Princeton University Press, Princeton/Oxford. ISBN 978-0-691-13589-2.
Boulnois, Luce (2005). Silk Road: Monks, Warriors & Merchants. Hong Kong: Odyssey Books & Guides. pp. 311–335. ISBN 962-217-721-2.
Mallory, J. P., & Mair, V. H. (2000). The Tarim Mummies: Ancient China and the Mystery of the Earliest Peoples from the West. London: Thames & Hudson
Barber, E. J. W. (1999). The mummies of Urumchi. New York, W.W. Norton & Company.
Frye, R. N. 1. (1996). The heritage of Central Asia from antiquity to the Turkish expansion. Princeton, Markus Wiener Publishers.
Brown, Rober L.; MacDonnell, Anna M. (1989), "The Pong Tuk Lamp: A Reconsideration". The Journal of the Siam Society, vol. 77, pt. 2, 1989. pp. 9-20.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

Episode 118: Stone Work and Treason

January 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Photos of ongoing excavations at the Asuka Palace site. This site saw multiple palaces, including the Itabuki and Later Okamoto Palaces, as well as the Kiyomihara Palace. Photo by author.

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This episode, we are covering more of the events of the second reign of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō, bringing us back to Asuka. This episode we talk about the various constructions in the Asuka area, including various stoneworks that we have found, even today, as well as numerous palaces, the remains of which have also been discovered. Of course, those constructions were not without cost—political as well as monetary.

Saruishi Stones

The Saruishi stones are one of the more mysterious carvings. I don’t even know if all “saruishi” stones were by the same engraver or if they come from different hands. The most commonly known appear to be those that were found in the Ikeda field and later placed at the tomb of Kibitsu Hime. At one time they were apparently placed around the tomb attributed to Kimmei Tennō, and as such they may have been stone figures similar to the clay and wooden “haniwa”. However, we haven’t found any other statues like them, as far as I can tell. It is true that there are stone figures adorning some of the tombs in Kyūshū, but these figures do not have a direct correlation, other than being made of stone.

Personally, I tend to wonder if they weren’t part of some mansion or garden complex. It would certainly have made sense. Regrettably, we no longer have their original context, and as such may never know what they were truly for. But what they do show is the skill of the craftspersons of that period, and it goes hand in hand with other carvings in and around the Asuka region.

Kameishi - The Turtle Stone

Another strange stone is the large “turtle” stone. It is possible that it has eroded over time, so that only the “face” is visible, but I also wonder if they didn’t just use the natural stone. I’ve encountered other “kame-ishi” across Japan: stones that look like turtles and were often used as landmarks. This one seems to have been carved to have a face, at the very least. Today it sits along a trail behind modern houses and it is unclear what it was originally for. However, perhaps due to its location, there are some legends around it, including the idea that it sometimes changes directions, and if it ever turns to the west, the entire valley—and beyond—would flood.

Sakafuneishi Ruins

Sakafune-ishi

Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

Tortoise shaped basin

Public domain image via Wikimedia Commons

Reconstructed waterworks

At the Asuka Historical Museum

The Sakafuneishi, while not directly described, are probably some of the most obvious ruins to connect to the reading in the Nihon Shoki. They sit on a hill to the east of the Asuka palace site—the location where we are told that stones were brought from Mt. Kaguyama. There we find a strange stone carving called the “sakafune-ishi”. The stone itself is weathered, but has channels that seem to be for liquid—presumably water—to fill one and another. The stone has been weathered and broken over the years, so it is unclear the full extent of its shape. Furthermore, the channels in the stone don’t match anything else we’ve really seen. There are plenty of conspiracies out there as well. I think the key thing to remember is that we are only seeing what is left. If there was any organic—e.g. wooden—structure surrounding it and part of the mechanism, that has long since rotted away.

At the foot of the hill where the sakfune-ishi sits is a tortoise shaped basin fed by a ‘boat’ shaped tank. There is some thought that these were also from the same era as the sakafune-ishi, and likely related to the reign of “Saimei Tennō”. These types of waterworks in Asuka are actually more common than one might think. The Asuka Historical Museum has several replicas of various water features that appear to have been designed in this period, or shortly after.

Mt. Sumera Fountain

So this is another example of the engineering ability. This is a reconstructed example, but it is still quite something. Constructions of “Mt. Sumera” show up several times in the Nihon Shoki. It is unclear what they look like, but this was found in Asuka and may be one of those discussed in the Chronicles. Here you can see how the water basin was gravity fed so that if the “tank” was filled, then the water would come out in a small fountain. I imagine that it would need to be refilled, possibly each time it was “on”. But nonetheless, to get the plumbing and everything to work just through carved stone is pretty impressive, in my book. Today they have the replica plumbed with running water so that you can see what it must have looked like back in the day. Though I also wonder if it was left as plain stone or painted, since that was something else that you might have seen at the time.

The Asuka Palaces

The “Asuka” era is often defined as starting with the introduction of Buddhism in the 6th century—commonly thought to be around 538 CE. However, the relatively permanent establishment of the court in Asuka can probably be traced to the Soga hegemons, for whom Asuka was one of their main strongholds. Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennō, built one of the first long term palaces in the area when she built the Oharida Palace. From what remains, this palace appears to have been a fairly simple, rectangular complex. There was a rear palace area—possibly the more private area—and a front courtyard. It wasn’t extremely elaborate, from what we can tell so far.

Later, the sovereign known as Jomei Tennō (Okinaga no Tarashi-hi Hironuka) and Tarashi Hime (Kōgyoku/Saimei Tennō) would build Okamoto palace. That burned down, and they built Itabuki palace, which is where the Isshi Incident is said to have taken place. During the reign of Karu—Kōtoku Tennō—they built the huge Naniwa palace. But then Tarashi Hime moved back to Asuka and refurbished the Oharida and the Itabuki Palaces. Both had issues, though, and she moved briefly to Kawara Palace before rebuilding Okamoto Palace.

Many of these palaces occupied the same relative space, just south of Asukadera. Various excavations have come across the different walls and structures, demonstrating that they were built on top of each other, but not necessarily to the same plan.

Asuka Capital Model

This shows Asuka at its height, looking south to north. The palace takes up much of the center, with Tachibanadera in the lower left corner and Kawaradera just north of that. At the far end is Asukadera. As you can see, the mountains and streams hem in the buildings, so that there isn’t much room for buildings other than the palace and nearby temples. Photo taken at the Asuka Historical Museum.

Asuka Palace

Remains of a stone lined pond or water feature found at the Asuka palace site, possibly dating back to the Itabuki Palace.

Excavations at Asuka

These show what was found by excavation at Asuka. The first is the Okamoto and Itabuki Palaces. Then the Later Okamoto Palace. Followed by the Kiyomihara Palace. From information at the Asuka Historical Museum.

Palace comparison

This shows the layout of the Oharida Palace, versus what was found in Asuka, and, at the bottom, the later Naniwa Palace, aka the Toyosaki Palace. You can see the difference in scale, here.

Asuka palace ruins

Asuka Palace ruins

Asuka Palace Ruins

Kawara Palace and Kawara Temple

Last is the mystery of Kawara temple. This temple is one of the four major temples of Asuka, and yet little seems to be known about its founding, and when the capital moved north, to modern Nara, it was not moved along with the others. It is thought by many that this is also the original site of Kawara no Miya, the temporary palace that Takara Hime inhabited after the Itabuki palace burnt down. We have some artifacts that may be from the period, including things like an old geta—a wooden clog used since ancient times to avoid stepping into the mud, which would have been a common problem in the rice paddies and during the rainy season.

Geta

Wooden clog from “Kawara no Miya”, the Kawara Palace.

Model of Kawaradera

Model showing what Kawaradera may have looked like during its heyday.

Kawaradera ruins

The stone base shows where Kawaradera used to be, with the modern temple of Gufukuji located in the center of where the ancient temple once stood.

Yamadadera Wall

This remarkably well preserved section of a cloister wall from Yamadadera is likely similar to the walls used at other temples, like Kawaradera, and even in parts of the palace, demonstrating the type of construction techniques in use at the time.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 118: Stonework and Treason
Before we dive into the episode, a quick shout out to thank Bodil for supporting us on Ko-Fi.com. For information on how you can also help support the show, we’ll have information at the end of the episode or go check out our podcast page at SengokuDaimyo.com.
And now, on with the episode:

Soga no Akaye’s mansion was busily quiet. There was plenty of chatter, but it was mostly in hushed tones as servants busied themselves with their work, but wondered what was going on. They couldn’t help but notice the high ranking visitors that had come. It was to be expected, though. After all, their master was in charge while the rest of the court was away on a retreat, comforting the sovereign in her grief. And so why wouldn’t people be showing up to meet with him?
But nobody was quite sure what all of these visitors were discussing. They had all gone into an upper story of the building, but the crowd included some powerful figures, including, some said, a royal prince. Who’s who and where people stood in the court were always topics of discussion, but especially now. After all, what they were dealing with was unprecedented: who had heard of a sovereign stepping down in the first place, let alone stepping back up because they then outlived their successor? But she was no spring chicken, either. Surely it would be her son that would finally ascend the throne next, right? But that was never guaranteed.
Either way, some of the servants grumbled, a change would be nice. Ever since the royal family had moved back to Asuka, formally making it the capital again, there had been a flurry of activity. Sure, it meant that a certain amount of prestige returned to that region, and houses that had been in disrepair were suddenly occupied again. But there was so much more. Just about all of the available labor pool that wasn’t working the fields was working on this project or that—there was almost nothing left for anyone else. How was anyone else supposed to get things done when all of the able-bodied people were already toiling on the sovereign’s own vanity projects? And after building that giant government complex in Naniwa, no less!
Such was, I imagine, the hushed rumor-mongering going on in the house when suddenly there came a loud “crack” as of a piece of wood snapping in two. Later they would learn that an old wooden rest had broken, but that wasn’t immediately obvious. The servants did notice that shortly thereafter, their visitors began to depart, heading back to their own mansions.
As for Soga no Akaye, he said nothing, but he seemed drained. He had a heavy look, as though he was bearing an incredible weight. Soon thereafter, he requested a brush and some paper, and he began to write out a letter…

So we are talking about the second reign of Takara Hime, who came back to the throne in 655, following the death of her brother, Prince Karu, known as Koutoku Tennou. For the first time she reigned, the Chroniclers gave her the name “Kougyoku Tennou”, but for her second reign she would be known in the Chronicles as “Saimei Tennou”.
We already discussed some of what was recorded as happening in the north during Takara Hime’s second reign, with the Emishi and the Mishihase and the expeditions by Abe no Omi no Hirafu. This episode we are going to focus more on what was going on in the Home Provinces of Yamato—and most specifically the impact that Takara Hime’s reign would have on Asuka.
I’ve noted in the past how modern Asuka can seem like your typical rural Japanese town. Roads weave between rice fields, flanked by densely packed neighborhoods at the foot of the green hills or lining the shores of the Asuka river. To the north, the valley opens onto the vast Nara basin—a largely flat region that is much more heavily populated but still would be considered “inaka”, or rural country, by anyone from a metropolis like Tokyo or Ohosaka. To the south, the land rises up into mountain peaks. Beyond that ridge, the land drops into the Yoshino River Valley, but otherwise the rest of the Kii peninsula, to the south, is covered in a sparsely populated mountain range, where small villages carve out a life in the nooks and crannies between the numerous ridges, finding the rare spot of flat land to build houses and plant their fields.
Looking at it today, Asuka might seem idyllic, rural, and calm. And yet, back in Takara Hime’s day, it was anything but.
When Takara Hime moved back to Asuka, she went on a building spree. In fact, the Chronicles actually complain about all of the building that she was doing, and we’ll get to that. Much of this episode is going to revolve around her building projects, as well as her comings and goings. While we’ll talk about what the Chronicles say, I also want to talk about some of what still remains in Asuka. Certainly the grand palaces are gone, for the most part leaving little more than post-holes, lying beneath the rice fields. A bit more obvious are the various kofun, scattered across the landscape, but beyond that there we also see stone works, including numerous carved stones, which range from crude statues, which may have been minimally worked, to elaborate fountains, which would have used natural water pressure to create impressive waterworks. These latter works demonstrate the sophistication of the masons of the time, and hint at the grandeur of the various palaces, gardens, and mansion complexes that once populated the landscape.
And if you want a little feeling of what it is like, I talked a bit about walking through Asuka in a bonus episode back in March of 2024—if you are interested, look up “Traveling Through the Ancient Nara Basin, Part 2.

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

References

McCallum, D. F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Art, Archaeology, and Icons of Seventy-Century Japan. University of Hawai’i Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt6wqtwv
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4

New Year's Recap 2025

January 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Mt. Fuji from Miho Matsubara. Photo by author.

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Happy New Year!

Welcome to our 2025 recap. This episode we look back on the past year, but also try to make sure that we prepare for the next year. We’ll cover the big events and then go into some of the major themes that we’ve seen over the year. For that, we’ll also cover some of the previous history that has led up to the start of things this year.

One of the biggest things we’ll do is look at the various forms of power and influence used in the archipelago, based on what we can see in the archaeological record, but also on what we are told by the histories. There is still much that we don’t know, and one of the largest debates between the Chronicles and modern scholarly interpretations of events seems to be just how much control Yamato actually held prior to this period. However, from about the 7th century onwards, there appears to be enough correlation with other events that we have some idea of what was actually happening.

A key fact to remember is that we are in the middle of the 7th century, and the Nihon Shoki’s account ends in 697 CE—about twenty-three years earlier than the date it was published, in 720 CE. So these latter events would have been the ones with the most sources and the most people who probably remembered something about them—or had at least heard stories. In fact, we can imagine that someone who was 80 years old in 720 CE would have been born in 640, and would have been in the prime of their life by 660. So we are now within the period where people actually remembered the events the Chroniclers were writing about.

Chart showing the various lineages with bold outline around those referenced most heavily this year

Isshi Incident and the Taika Era

The majority of this year was focused on the changes that stemmed from the Isshi Incident, which spawned the Taika era—the era of “Great Change.” This is the start of the Ritsuryo era, and the birth of the bureaucratic state that would be used for some time to govern Yamato—and eventually Nihon, aka Japan.

Though it wouldn’t necessarily take a direct path—after building a grand palace in Naniwa, they moved back to Asuka. Still, they had expanded control throughout the archipelago, or so it seemed.

And now here we are: Takara hime is back on the throne, but Prince Naka no Oe is still Crown Prince and still has a lot of influence on the court.

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

References

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References

Dramatis Personae

Crown Prince Naka no Ōe

Nakatomi no Kamatari (aka Nakatomi no Kamako)

Takara Hime, aka Kōgyoku Tennō, aka Saimei Tennō

Soga no Iname

Soga no Umako

Soga no Emishi

Soga no Iruka

Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro

Prince Umayado (aka Shōtoku Taishi)

Yamashiro no Ōe

Furubito no Ōe

Karu (aka Kōtoku Tennō)

Liu Jenyuan

Guo Wucong

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Dramatis Personae

Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō

Crown Prince Naka no Ōe

King Uija (Wicha)

Prince Pung

Prince Tae

Gwisil Boksin (Kwisil Poksin)

Gyebaek

Kim Yusin

Tang Gaozong

Su Dingfang

Echi no Hada no Miyatsuko no Takutsu

Adzumi no Omi no Hirafu

Abe no Omi no Hirafu

The Aftermath

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Iki no Hakatoko no Sho (伊吉博徳書)

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Nalanda Monastery

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Agni, Kucha and Baluka

Tianshan to Suyab

Transoxania

Tukhara, Bamiyan, and Kapisa

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Chang’an and Xuanzang’s Departure

Sogdians

Yiwu, aka Hami

Gaochang

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