Episode 150: Nobles of Jitou Tennou’s Court

June 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

7th century stone sculpture of a man and a woman from the Asuka Historical Museum. The Chronicles focus on the royal family, but the court and larger state were made up of people. Photo by author.

This episode we discuss some of the various nobles at court

Yakuchi no Ason on Otokashi (八口朝臣音橿)

A noble of Jiki-ko-shi (直廣肆) rank. He was one of those named in the conspiracy of Prince Ōtsu. We don’t have much more information on him.

Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko (壱伎連博徳)

Another noble named in the Prince Ōtsu conspiracy. He is mentioned under the old rank system’s Lower Shōsen rank. Hakatoko had been to the Tang court and had been an escort envoy for a Tang embassy. He was later trusted to go to Silla to represent Yamato as a vice-envoy, by which time he was Mu-dai-ni rank. He would work on the Taihō Code, with no more mention in the records after 703.

Nakatomi no Ason no Omimaro (中臣朝臣臣麻呂)

Said to be the son of Kunitari, cousin to Nakatomi no Kamatari. Omimaro is thought to have been adopted by Kamatari as Kamatari’s biological son, Fubito, was still underage. He was likely impacted by the fact that Nakatomi no Kane was one of the leaders of the Afumi court, and on the losing side of the Jinshin no Ran. He was also implicated in the conspiracy around Prince Ōtsu. Nonetheless he was made a judge and eventually received the rank of Jiki-kō-shi rank. He is sometimes called Fujiwara no Omimaro, as the Fujiwara name had been bestowed on Kamatari’s family, which theoretically extended it to all of the Nakatomi at this time. He passed away in 711.

Kose no Ason no Tayasu (巨勢朝臣多益須)

Also named in the Prince Ōtsu conspiracy, he was likewise made a judge and also awarded the rank of Jiki-kō-shi. He was also made a “commissioner of good words” and would become the head of the Ministry of Ceremonies (Shikibu-shō) as well as a secretary to the Viceroy of Tsukushi as the Dazai Daini. He passed away in 710.

Fuse no Ason no Miushi (布勢朝臣御主人)

Also transliterated by Aston as “Miaruji”. He was the son of the former Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, Abe no Uchimaro, and was part of the Fuse no Abe, one of the two houses into which the Abe had been split. He served Ōama during the Jinshin no Ran and pronounced a eulogy for him as a Nagon on behalf of the Great Council of State—the Dajō-kan. In fact, he performed several eulogies, and even presented the congratulations to the Queen on her ascension. He received Jiki Dai Ichi rank, along with 80 households, bringing his total up to 300. He was later raised to Shō-kō-shi and acknowledged as the senior member—or head of household—for the Fuse no Abe. He was later given 80 retainers and would go on to become Dainagon and, eventually, Udaijin, minister of the Right.

Ōtomo no Ason no Miyuki (大伴宿禰御行)

Born 646 to Ōtomo no Nagatoko, the Udaijin, or Minister of the Right, under Naka no Ōe. The Ōtomo fought for Ōama at the Jinshin no Ran, and he was made Tayu. he would later recite eulogies with Fuse no Miushi, and the two would rise in rank, together. He also held the position of Dainagon, but in the year that Miushi was given the position of Udaijin, Miyuki passed away. He was posthumously granted the position of Udaijin in the period between the death of the previous Minister of the Right and Miushi taking the job.

Rank and Court Clothing

Per the edict of 690, we see the tiers of rank and appropriate clothing. For colors for different periods, you can also check out our color charts.

  
    
	Rank		Robe Color		Gauze		Other	
	Jodaichi		Dark Purple 
 黒紫 
 (Kuro Murasaki) 		Silk Gauze of 1 breadth and 1 kind		Obi of variegated silk and white trousers.	
	Jokwoichi
	Jodaini	
	Jokwoni	
	Jodaisan			Bright Purple 
 赤紫 
 (Aka Murasaki) 		Silk Gauze of 1 breadth and 2 kinds	
	Jokwosan	
	Jodaishi	
	Jokwoshi	
	Shodaiichi			Bright Purple 
 赤紫 
 (Aka Murasaki)	
	Shokwoichi	
	Shodaini	
	Shokwoni	
	Shodaisan	
	Shokwosan	
	Shodaishi	
	Shokwoshi	
	Jikidaichi			Dark Red 
 緋 
 (Ake)	
	Jikikwoichi	
	Jikidaini	
	Jikikwoni	
	Jikidaisan	
	Jikikwosan	
	Jikidaishi	
	Jikikwoshi	
	Gondaichi			Dark Green	
 深緑 
 (Fukaki Midori)  NA 
	Gonkwoichi	
	Gondaini	
	Gonkwoni	
	Gondaisan	
	Gonkwosan	
	Gondaishi	
	Gonkwoshi	
	Mudaiichi			Light Green	
 淺緑 
 (Asa Midori)
	Mukwoichi	
	Mudaini	
	Mukwoni	
	Mudaisan	
	Mukwosan	
	Mudaishi	
	Mukwoshi	
	Tsuidaiichi			Deep Blue 
 深縹 
 (Fukaki Hanada)	
	Tsuikwoichi	
	Tsuidaini	
	Tsuikwoni	
	Tsuidaisan	
	Tsuikwosan	
	Tsuidaishi	
	Tsuikwoshi	
	Shindaiichi			Light Blue 
 淺縹 
 (Asa Hanada)	
	Shinkwoichi	
	Shindaini	
	Shinkwoni	
	Shindaisan	
	Shinkwosan	
	Shindaishi	
	Shinkwoshi	


  

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 150: Nobles of Jitou Tennou’s Court

Maro donned his light blue robes and made his way to the court. As he arrived, the sun was just peaking over the horizon, and as it bathed the court in the golden morning light the dark shadows were dispelled, leaving in their wake a colorful scene, as various court officials headed this way and that, gathering in their offices to pick up on the work that they had left unfinished the day before.
As an ohotoneri, Maro was often sent to and fro between the offices of the different departments. As such, he was able to see how they worked, and he wondered to himself which department would have the best opportunity for advancement. His family had connections over at the Department of Prisons, and it was definitely a place he could make a name for himself, especially if he attached himself to one of the newly minted magistrates. On the other hand, the Jingikan, the Ministry for Kami Matters, had some of the most important and sought after positions. After all, no matter what the secular administration did, when there was no rain for the fields, it was the kami to whom the court turned. And the members of the Jingikan who helped make those ceremonies happen were known to be well rewarded for their troubles.
Perhaps he would be better off taking a more modest position, such as with the Jibu-sho, the Department of Civil Administration. It was mostly focused on the maintenance and execution of the bureaucracy, and wasn’t necessarily a place to seek the limelight, but perhaps that also offered some opportunity. Do well in one position, and who knows what that could open up to you in the long run? Maybe one day Maro could make it up to become a Nagon, a Counsellor, or even one of the Daijin, the great ministers at the very head of the council of state.Maro almost laughed at the thought, but he didn’t put it aside entirely. After all, as impossible as it might seem now, the world was still changing, and who knew what opportunities might be waiting just around the corner?

This episode continues our look at the reign of Uno no Sarara, aka Jitou Tennou.
I would note that we have now reached the last chapter of the Nihon Shoki, which ends with the end of Uno no Sarara’s reign in 697. In this chapter, we have not quite 11 years to cover, and we’ve already talked about the first three of those years, which featured succession issues and a long mourning time for Uno’s husband Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, culminating in the sudden death of her only son, the Crown Prince and heir apparent, Prince Kusakabe, in 689. We also went over what was happening on the continent, with powerful women like Uno no Sarara either on or behind the throne in Silla and the Tang dynasty.
To quickly recap the succession issues: When Kusakabe died, tthat left the throne in a somewhat tenuous position. There were two other male heirs that would seem to have a claim on the throne as well. The first was Prince Takechi, who was technically Ohoama’s eldest son, but the Chroniclers claim that his late mother was not sufficiently royal for him to have a serious claim. Then there was Prince Karu, the only known son of the late Crown Prince Kusakabe, and had been born 6 years earlier, in 683, to the Crown Prince and his wife, Princess Abe. Princess Abe was a daughter of Naka no Oe, and a half-sister to Uno no Sarara. She was actually a year older than Kusakabe, and would continue to look after the young Prince Karu. So, Prince Karu was only about 7 years old when his father passed away: much too young to be taking the throne, let alone a firm hand in the politics of the time. And given the mortality statistics of the time, there is so much that could happen to him before he reached the age of majority.
And remember, there were already some questions about legitimacy, and we already discussed the fact that about 30 nobles had gathered in support of Prince Ohotsu right after Ohoama’s death. Uno no Sarara had that whole issue quashed and Prince Ohotsu had died, but it was nonetheless a stark reminder that things could change quickly.
So at this point in Uno no Sarara’s reign, there is a great deal of uncertainty afoot, and there are quite a few individuals named in the Chronicles who stand to benefit from sticking their fingers into politics in one way or another. This episode, we’re going to look at some of those individuals, their roles in the court, and the effect they had on Yamato. Some of those people named are particularly interesting in that they were involved in the conspiracy with Prince Ohotsu, and would continue to be highly influential in the government. For example, Iki no Hakatoko, Nakatomi no Omimaro, and Kose no Tayasu, and Yakuchi no Wotokashi are all name-dropped, which we’ll get into more later. It feels significant, however, that there were some 30 nobles all told, and beyond these four and the apparent ringleaders, we don’t learn anyone else’s names.
The importance of prominent individuals in the court has been a constant theme in the Chronicles and in this podcast, so getting to know the court is definitely important. Moreover, during this time period as we get more and more written sources from which to work from we will see more and more information on individuals. Some of that will come from the Nihon Shoki and the records that come after—the Shoku Nihongi. Others, however, are from sources like the Man’yoshu, where bits of biographical data are found about the authors that they mention. There are also family diaries and later genealogies. Some of these sources are a bit more trusted than others, especially when they were compiled centuries later and we don’t exactly know what sources they, themselves, were working on. Still, even if it isn’t 100% accurate, it does give us a picture of what was going on beyond just the royal family.
I think it is also helpful to understand some of the overall court dynamics. If you are familiar with the Heian period, especially around the time of things like the Tale of Genji, you are probably well acquainted with the Fujiwara family—I’ll probably need to do an entire episode just on them at some point. Essentially, there would come a time where almost the entire court was made up either of royals or of members of the Fujiwara clan, or uji. In fact, even that distinction wasn’t really accurate as the Fujiwara family had so intermarried with the Royal family that every sovereign—every Tennou and even most of their consorts—were directly related to members of the Fujiwara. Not only that, but members of the Fujiwara family held the position of regent—whether the sovereign was of age or not—and effectively ruled the country, with the Tennou being largely relegated to a mouthpiece with ceremonial duties. It would get so bad that we would see the splitting of the Fujiwara uji into smaller households, and the political fights were often between members of the different households of the same family. There is a reason that a good portion of the Heian period is sometimes called the Fujiwara period.
However, now during the late Asuka period, we see something a little different. The marriage politics of the Soga had been violently suppressed about a half century earlier, and a lot of different names flourished in the Yamato court, as youmay have noticed any time I’ve rattled off a bunch of names and your eyes started crossing because of it. But that’s the reality we see: there were a lot of different families, and individuals, all jockeying for influence. And they were in a period of disruption, where lots of change was happening. That change meant there was also a lot of potential.
And I hope you don’t mind if I take a quick time-out here, but so often we read history and we forget to learn lessons from it, and one overarching lesson is: if you are a part of an organization—a company, a club, government, school, or anything like that—one thing you are going to have to deal with is change. It comes in many forms and happens whether or not you personally agree with it. It can be destructive and it can be frightening, because we often don’t know what is on the other side of it, but it also presents opportunities. After all, if you don’t know what comes next it probably means other people don’t, either. And if you can be the one to provide direction you can have a huge influence on what comes next.
And change has been a constant theme in this period of Yamato history, in so many ways. Take the reorganization of the government as one example: they had introduced these 8 departments, which had names and were set up in various ways, but it wasn’t like you had experienced people to run them as they had been on the continent. So you had names and the forms of things, but there were a lot of people figuring out just how to actually put this new structure into practice, and leverage them to do what they were supposed to do. In the process, there were a lot of opportunities to innovate and figure out how to do it within the cultural milieu of the archipelago. So all of these individuals, from these various families, all had opportunities staring them in the face. They just had to figure out how to make the best of it.
Now, don’t get me wrong: Those with the money, the connections, and the influence still had a leg up, and this was still a hierarchical society, where your family dictated, to some extent, your position in society. The introduction of individual court rank, as opposed to just the kabane that ranked uji, was pushing against that, and had already caused a reformation that flattened a lot of the previous kabane into just eight distinctions, but those distinctions still existed. Even had they not, simple matters of inherited wealth and the value of goods produced in a family’s home territory would still have provided tremendous advantages. But there isn’t an indication of the kind of large-scale consolidation of resources that we will see in later periods, such as the Fujiwara example that we were just discussing. Oh, sure, we aren’t going to see a farmer suddenly make it big at court in some kind of rags-to-riches story, but at the upper end of society we still have a lot of apparent diversity.
And so, let’s get to know some of these individuals that the Chronicles tell us about. Before we do that, though, let’s recap a little bit about how the court worked.
Every member of the court was effectively employed by the State. They had an official job with duties they were supposed to oversee. In the case of lower level functionaries, they were likely expected to actually do most of the work, while at the top of the hierarchy you had nobles who were more likely decision-makers, who would approve or disapprove of the work and direct strategic resources.
Those working in the court had official uniforms—the round-necked garments of the continent. What would be called a “caftan” farther west. These were based on the foreign garments popular in the Tang court and elsewhere.
The color and pattern of official clothing appears to be something that goes back to early in this new continental style government, and we see suggestions of color schemes from a relatively early age. However, in 690 we see the clearest such outline of just what everyone was wearing.
As a reminder, the court rank system of the day was made up of a Princely and a Commoner system. Princely ranks originally included two ranks of the Myo class, and four of the Jou class, each rank divided into either “Great” or “Broad”, for twelve Princely ranks, though honestly we only ever really see the four Jou class of ranks in use.
Below that were the ranks for the common nobles—those with family names who did not have any kind of royal claim.    For them there were six classes of rank—Shou, Jiki, Gon, Mu, Tsui, and Shin, in that order. Each class was made up of four ranks, which were further divided into upper and broad categories, creating 48 total ranks.
Your rank determined your precedence at court—where you were sat, what jobs you were allowed to take on and, most importantly, the amount of money that you could expect to receive as part of a stipend. Naka no Oe had previously consolidated the land-holdings and asserted claim over all of it. The taxes from the households on the land went to the government to pay the stipends of the nobles in the court, who were, ostensibly, employees of that same government. Your rank determined what you were owed, though this could also be augmented by various edicts.
So there you go: rank in the court was tied to many of the things that the elites wanted, from wealth to status and access to various opportunities.
The color of official clothing followed the rank system. So Princes of the first two ranks of the Jou class were given robes of dark purple, and the third and four ranks were given robes of bright purple, which they shared with highest class of rank of the common nobles, the Shou rank class.
Below that, nobles of the Jiki class would wear robes of dark red, and those of Gon would wear dark green. The Mu rank class, the next down, was Light Green, and then Tsui was Deep Blue and Shin was Light blue.
So in order you would see robes of Dark Purple, Bright Purple, Dark Red, Dark Green, Light Green, Deep Blue, and Light Blue. The color gave you a certain indication of where the person sat in the overall hierarchy of the court, and provided you clues as to how you should address them, who would give deference, etc. In later centuries, we are even told that deference was given in meetings, which is to say that once a person of higher rank provided input on a topic, nobody of lower rank was able to contradict them for fear of the consequences. So it also told you who got the last word.
This then was the world that the nobles of the court inhabited. As we’ve seen in previous episodes it wasn’t just bureaucratic work, but also banquets, archery contests, and Buddhist congregations and sutra readings. There were rituals, dances, and diplomatic embassies—not to mention all of the ceremonies around the death or ascension of the sovereign. In this world, one’s reputation was everything. You wanted to be seen as good at your job, but also, just like today, people were more likely to promote and support those they knew, and so it helped to have friends. However, there were also a limited number of top spots, and so every promotion would have likewise meant plenty of disappointed nobles who didn’t get the job.
But that is enough background. Let’s take a look at some of the nobles themselves, starting with the four from the Prince Ohotsu conspiracy.

The first name in the list is perhaps the least interesting. His name is Yakuchi no Wotokashi. Although he was the highest ranking of the four, he is also the least mentioned in the Chronicles and elsewhere, and we know very little about him. So we’ll talk about him later on, for completeness, but for now it may be best to skip him until we have a better handle on others in the court.
In contrast, we know a bit more about his co-conspirators. In fact, we’ve already talked about one of them at length: Iki no Hakatoko. We first heard about Iki no Hakatoko when talking about the Tang dynasty, and discussed him at length in Episode 123. He was one of the members of the embassy to the Tang dynasty back in the early 660s that got delayed on account of Tang Gaozong initiating the war against Yamato’s ally Baekje. The fact that the Nihon Shoki directly pulls from Hakatoko’s work, known to us, today, as the Iki no Hakatoko Sho, makes it one of the few early named written works that we know about. Unfortunately, it is no longer extant except for what is preserved in the Chronicles, but it is still incredible that we have essentially an eyewitness account of what happened. He would later be one of the escort envoys for one of the Tang embassies during the reign of Naka no Oe.
That he was then embroiled in the conspiracy with Prince Ohotsu would seem to be at odds with his standing, and yet after his pardon he eventually got back into the court’s good graces. In 695, about 9 years after the incident, he was assigned as an assistant envoy to Silla. By that point he was of Mudaini rank, which was only about 35th in the overall scheme of things. Later on we know he would work on the famous Taiho code, which was published in 701, and enacted a couple of years later. It was here that he worked with the famous Fujiwara no Fubito—about whom we will discuss more, later—and although he would pass away in 703, this may be how his own writings came to find their way into the Chronicles, since Fubito is said to have had a large influence on them—as he had on many of the court’s projects.
Overall, Iki no Hakatoko may not have been the one in charge, but we see in his life an incredible career, much of it spent on multiple voyages across the ocean, whether on an embassy or as an escort. He likely was highly proficient in the language of the Tang court—what we typically refer to, broadly, as Middle Chinese. He also had direct experience with the Tang court and system, and so it makes sense that he was one of those helping to build an administrative state based on that system.
If we were to imagine Hakatoko in the court of the day, at least in 695, he would have likely had light green colored robes, indicating that he was of the “Mu” class of ranks. He would have worn the black gauze cap of the court and worn white hakama, or trousers, underneath. His long, continental style, round-necked robes—likely relatively slim, with overly long, but narrow, sleeves—would have been tied closed in the front with a braided silk cord. He likely worn black leather boots, covered in a light lacquer to protect them from the elements, with cloth insoles and perhaps a hint of brocade along the top. He likely kept with him a ruler, and perhaps a few slips of paper or even just wood on which to take occasional notes. A mid-level functionary of the court.
We can compare and contrast Hakatoko to two other co-conspirators: Nakatomi no Omimaro and Kose no Tayasu.
We are given neither Omimaro’s rank nor Tayasu’s at this time. It is interesting that they listed after Hakatoko, who is actually listed as having “Lower Shousen” rank—an older rank that was no longer in use at this point in time. Also, both Nakatomi and Kose were Ason level families while Iki no Hakatoko is listed as being merely “Muraji”. So it seems that the Chroniclers were probably pulling from what they could find elsewhere, although where they found that Wotokashi had Jikikwoshi rank I have no idea, as we don’t have any other record for him. And it is possible that deference to Wotokashi and Hakatoko are as much a nod to their age as anything else, though probably not by much.
Of four co-conspirators mentioned here—and I’m leaving out the two who were exiled or banished, as they were clearly not hanging around the court later—Nakatomi no Omimaro and Kose no Tayasu were probably from the most established families. Indeed, we see both of their names show up multiple times in the record, giving us a better idea of who they might have been.
Of the two, the name Nakatomi probably is more likely to ring a bell, as that as the surname of the famous Nakatomi no Kamatari—as well as the later Nakatomi no Kane.   Nakatomi no Kamatari was the head of court ritual when he and Naka no Oe kicked things off with the Isshi Incident and the Taika reforms, at which point he became the “Inner Prime Minister”, or Naidaijin.
Much of what we know of Omimaro comes from outside of the Chronicles themselves. For instance, we are told that he was the son of Nakatomi no Kunitari, a cousin to the famous Kamatari, at least according to the 10th century Engi Shiki. However, we have no other records of Kunitari, and so there is more than a little doubt cast as to whether or not that was actually the case. Similarly, we are told that Omimaro married one of Kamatari’s daughters, and was eventually adopted by Kamatari.
Once again, the evidence for this is pretty thin, and it is unclear to me just how adoption worked at this point. Certainly in later periods, adoption was often a way to ensure that a family had a male heir to ensure the family’s continuity, and marrying someone’s daughter and being adopted into the family is an age old tradition in the archipelago and Japan more generally. At the same time, give some thought to what we know about this period: male primogeniture was not exactly the norm, although Confucian values had definitely made inroads into court.   The family headship often went to the eldest—or most prominent—family member. This wasn’t necessarily a son and often was a brother, a nephew, or even a cousin. We have a few famous Nakatomi at this point in time, and all I can say for certain is that they were part of the same family. Later traditions would make things a bit more clear.
Whatever his parentage, our first encounter with Omimaro appears to be in the Ohotsu conspiracy, when he was arrested and then pardoned. He shows up again in the record just three years later, along with Kose no Tayasu, as both were made judges, along with Fujiwara no Fubito—Nakatomi no Kamatari’s biological son and eventual heir.
In fact, there were nine judges, or magistrates, made that year, and they are listed in rank order. The first is Prince Takeda, said to be a great-grandson of Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou. He was Joukwoshi rank, meaning he wore bright purple court robes, sitting in the lower half of the princely ranks. He had been quite prolific ever since 681, when he was one of the Princes called to help bring together the Chronicles. After being made a judge, he would continue in that position, it seems, and by 708 he would become the head of the Ministry of Prisons.
After him we have Haji no Nemaro, in the dark red robes of the Jiki rank class. Though someone of rank, less is known about Nemaro. His father is said to be Haji no Mi, who was part of the forces that set out to Yamada-dera to capture—and likely kill—Soga no Kurayamadera. Haji no Nemaro’s son is Haji no Oi, who was sent to the Tang court but returned in 684, along with several repatriated soldiers. Oi would assist with the Taihou code, but little more is said about him or his father.
Other judges were Ohoyake no Maro, Fujiwara no Fubito—also of the Jiki class rank. Maro would go on to take a job as a jusenshi, responsible for minting coins, and Fubito would go on to reach the highest levels of government.
Then there was Tahema no Sakurawi, Hodzumi no Yamamori, Nakatomi no Omimaro, Kose no Tayasu, and Ohomiwa no Yasumaro. They were all Mudaishi rank at this point, wearing dark green. Sakurai would go on to become the governor of Ise in 705, and then the governor of Musashi in 708. Hodzumi no Yamamori we don’t have as much information on, other than that he kept climbing the ranks, by 704 he had made Junior 5th rank, lower grade in the system that replaced the cap-ranks, and by 712 he made it to the senior fifth rank, lower grade. Ohomiwa no Yasumaro, on the other hand, would make it to the Senior 5th rank, lower grade by 707, and the upper grade by 708, when he was made the Dayu—the high minister in charge—of Settsu. He would eventually make it into the Junior Fourth rank, upper grade, as the Minister of the Military Department, or Hyobu-sho.
So this gives you an idea of the people with whom Nakatomi no Omimaro and Kose no Tayasu were rubbing elbows. That they were made judges, responsible for justice, seems to say something as that would seem to be a powerful position. At the same time, they are both lower ranked than the much younger Fujiwara no Fubito—but once again, he was the direct son of Nakatomi no Kamatari. He also seems to have avoided any unpleasantness from the Jinshin no Ran as he was only 14 at the time, and though it does seem that the Nakatomi were generally knocked down a peg or two in court—thanks in large part to the fact that Nakatomi no Kane had been one of the leaders of the Afumi court. That and the whole thing with Prince Ohotsu may be why Omimaro was not exactly in the top ranks, but his appointments weren’t nothing, either. By 693, Omimaro would be granted the rank of Jikikwoshi, the lower fourth rank of the Jiki class. In that entry he is recorded as Fujiwara no Omimaro. I believe we discussed this a few episodes back, but the Fujiwara name was still new. It had been granted to Nakatomi no Kamatari on his deathbed—or possibly even posthumously—by Naka no Oe, and to his family. So technically that would seem to extend to the entire Nakatomi family. And with Nakatomi no Kane having been one of the main figures on the losing side of the Jinshin no Ran, it was no doubt a savvy political move for Nakatomi courtiers to lean into the Fujiwara name, and they seem to have done just that. It wouldn’t be until later, in the reign just following this, that a new decree would straighten everything out, such that only the actual descendants of Fujiwara no Kamatari, such as Fujiwara no Fubito, would be allowed to use the Fujiwara name.
Throughout this, I have focused mostly on Omimaro, but Kose no Tayasu was in the mix as well. He, too, was made a judge and in 693 he would also be awarded the same Jikikwoshi rank. In addition, in 689, he was made a “commissioner of good words”, along with the Royal Prince Shiki and others. This seems to be a singular position, and Aston suggests that it was their job to figure out the kind of auspicious language that should be used in the court. What kind of language should be used by the sovereign and the courtiers in drawing up official edicts. I imagine that they were figuring out the form to give to formal court documents as well as the kinds of titles and honorifics to use for the sovereign and the state more generally. Of course, that is just an assumption based on Aston’s understanding of what is, ultimately, a single line. Still, it is clear that Tayasu was helping to make things happen.
Tayasu would eventually go on to become the Minister of the Department of Ceremonies, the Shikibu-sho, and would later serve as a secretary to the Viceroy in Tsukushi—the Dazai Daini. He would pass away in 710, one year before Omimaro.
Before leaving Tayasu behind completely, I would like to point out his family name: Kose. The Kose family were one of the families granted the kabane of Ason, or Asaomi. They had previously been known as the Kose no Omi, and had a long history in the court, claiming descent from the famous Takeuchi no Sukune, legendarily known as the first Oho-omi of Yamato. Kose no Tokuda had been a supporter of Soga no Iruka, but after the Isshi Incident he supported Naka no Oe and eventually replace Abe no Uchimaro as Sadaijin—Minister of the Left. Another Kose, Kose no Hito, would also rise in the government, becoming one of two Goshi-daibu made when Prince Ohotomo was appointed Dajodaijin. The other was Ki no Ushi. They were both in attendance and counted among the six who swore to protect and support Ohotomo, along with Nakatomi no Kane and others. So they, too, found themselves on the wrong side of the Jinshin no Ran.
In this case, however, it is unclear how much Tayasu was impacted by that. He may have been the son of Kose no Shitano, brother to Kose no Hito, but the Kose were prolific in the court, with many people of the name. The family would continue going through the Heian period. Their fortunes ebbed and flowed, as did so many families, but they would eventually find themselves as Hatamoto to the Tokugawa shogun, so they never actually disappeared.
Finally, let’s talk about Yakuchi no Wotokashi. As I mentioned earlier, he is actually one of the first names mentioned in the list of co-conspirators with Prince Ohotsu, suggesting that he outranked others in the group. Indeed, he is noted as being of Jikikwoshi rank—fourth lower Jiki rank. The bottom of the Jiki class, but that was still the third class from the top. However, despite this, very little is actually said about him. In fact, this is the only instance I could find of the name Yakuchi in the Nihon Shoki, at least in that spelling—there is also a Yakuchi no Uneme, but it is spelled differently and is probably not related. It is also the only evidence of the name Wotokashi. That means we don’t even see him in the list of names being granted Ason in the first place.
It is quite possible that Yakuchi was a name he took later and that he was from another family. Indeed, there are a couple of traditions around Wotokashi that suggest he was the founder of the Yakuchi family in Shinano. Indeed, there is a Yakuchi family that comes out of Shinano, near Adzumino. And Shinano was one of the places that Ohoama had sent people to examine as another site for an alternative capital, and Prince Mino and others had gone to check it out. So maybe Wotokashi headed out there—or his descendants, anyway—and decided to try and make a go of it. Proponents of this theory also connect Wotokashi to a line descended from the Soga family, which would certainly explain his prominence. There are others, however, who claim that the Yakuchi family out of Shinano is actually descended from the Otomo, suggesting that the similarities in the name are just coincidental, which is also possible. Ultimately, our sources fail us here, and so we just have speculation. It is possible that even with the pardon, Wotokashi was just never able to regain the trust of the sovereign or his position in court, and so whether he took a hike for the hinterlands or just faded from the picture it is hard to say.
With that, let’s take a look at just two more courtiers, and what kinds of lives and careers they had at court, at least from what we can see. These two we’ve also mentioned in passing: Fuse no Miushi—whom Aston transliterates as Miaruji—and Ohotomo no Miyuki.
Fuse no Miushi and Ohotomo no Miyuki were both mentioned as performing eulogies for Ohoama, though there is more to them than just that. We’ll start with Fuse no Miushi, who is said to have been the son of none other than the Taika era Sadaijin, or Minister of the Left, Abe no Uchimaro. You may recall that Abe no Uchimaro was the Sadaijin under Karu no Ohokimi, aka Koutoku Tennou, along with the Udaijin, Soga no Kurayamadera. They were both supporters of Naka no Oe, though much of the Chronicles focus appeared to be more on Kurayamadera than on Uchimaro.
We don’t know when Miushi was born, nor when he received the name “Fuse”, the name by which he is known when we first meet him in the Chronicles. That family name only shows up two other times in the Chronicles. Based on other sources, it seems that the Abe family was divided at some point into the Fuse and the Hikida, likely because it became too large and they needed to distinguish the different parts of the family.
It is said that Fuse no Miushi served as a retainer to Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran. That, along with his family connections, helped secure him a good place in the government. By 686, we see him pronouncing the eulogy for Ohoama’s funeral on behalf of the Dajokan, the Counil of State. He was already Jikidaishi, one rank above the standard Jikikwoshi, but still clothed in the same dark red robes. In 687, he is again pronouncing the eulogy, but this time we are told that his a Nagon, or councilor, a rather prestigious posting that would later get broken up into three different levels: Dainagon, Chunagon, and Shonagon. For my Heian fans out there, that last is the same Shonagon as in the name of the famous poet, author, diary-keeper, and all around queen of snark, Sei Shonagon. By 688, pronouncing the Eulogy seems to have become an annual event for Miushi, only this time he teamed up with Ohotomo no Miyuki. The two of them seem to have had similar careers, and would, for a time, come up together through the ranks.
Ohotomo no Miyuki is said to have been born in 646, though that isn’t recorded in the Nihon Shoki and comes from other sources. The Ohotomo family goes back quite a ways, and we are told that his father was Ohotomo no Nagatoko, who served as Minister of the Right under Naka no Oe. However, in 672, the Ohotomo, including Miyuki, sided with Ohoama in the Jinshin no ran. In 675 he was made Tayu while Prince Kurikuma was made Director of Military Affairs. He then drops out of the narrative until 688, when he is pronouncing the eulogy with Fuse no Miushi.
Miushi would go on, two years later, to present the formal congratulations from the court to the Queen upon her ascencion to the throne, and then the following year, 691, both Miushi and Miyuki were granted the rank of Jikidaiichi, the highest rank in the Jiki class, along with 80 households to support them and their families. This brought both of their stipends up to roughly 300 households each. Then, in 694, they were both raised in rank again, this time to Shoukwoushi. Only one rank up, yet they went from the top of the Jiki class to the bottom of the Shou class. They would have gotten new robes of Bright Purple to indicate their new status, and they each had their stipends increased by the taxes of 200 households each. At the same time, they were also acknowledged as senior members of their houses. That means that Miushi was considered the head of the Fuse branch of the Abe family and Miyuki was now acknowledged as the head of the entire Ohotomo family.
Two years after that, in 696, they were each given 80 retainers to support them. Fuse no Miushi is actually mentioned at that time as Abe no Miushi. That same year, we again see Fujiwara no Fubito show up, but with only 50 retainers. Fubito would eventually rise to the top of the court food chain, but at this point, it was still in the hands of courtiers like Fuse no Abe no Miushi and Ohotomo no Miyuki.
Fuse no Miushi would go on to have an incredible career. He would become Dainagon and eventually he would become the Udaijin, the Minister of the Right, one of the highest positions anyone could hope to achieve at court.
Ohotomo no Miyuki would not make it quite so far. Like Miushi, he made it to Dainagon, but he died in the first month of 701, just 55 years old. He had made it to the third rank, and he was posthumously granted the title of Udaijin—the position was vacant at the time—and granted second rank. His colleague, Abe no Miushi, would go on to take the position only four months later and serve for a couple of years before passing away himself.
These two would have worked closely together throughout their careers, and the fact that they were raised in rank and position on similar timelines suggests to me that they ran together in very close circles. They would have been working in similar positions, at the same levels of the government. They would have been going to the same parties and partaking in the same banquets and entertainments.   They were no doubt rivals, in a sense, but also equals. Both families would go on, even as the Fujiwara clan came to dominate the politics of the era, the Ohotomo and Abe would continue to hold power in the court during the Nara period, though eventually it would decline. The Ohotomo would eventually become just the Tomo, to avoid conflicting with the name of a slater sovereign, and the main house would eventually decline, though branch families would continue to claim descent from the Ohotomo into to the Edo period.
The Abe would continue, similarly pushing against the Fujiwara. The most famous Abe was probably Abe no Seimei, who became known for his skills as an Onmyouji, or master of Yin-yang divination and magic. The Tsuchimikado branch of the Abe family would continue that tradition, and it would come to largely define the main branch of the family.
I hope that gives a bit of an idea of what was going on in the court and the kinds of careers that people were looking at and what was happening. We cannot get into every single person, but I’m going to try and note some of the more prominent courtiers and what they were doing. It isn’t always clear from the Chronicles what was going on between the various houses, but one can largely assume that the court was highly political. Different factions were vying for power and position. Sitting atop all of it, Uno no Sarara would have to perform her own kind of balancing act, doling out rewards and punishments as necessary, and ensuring to place the right people in positions of power and authority. On the one hand, that ambition was a motivating factor, keeping the people of the court focused on the tasks at hand and ensuring that the court was running smoothly. On the other hand, too much power in the hands of any one individual could cause them to get ideas that they should have even more. The main bulwark against this was everyone else in the system—the checks and balances were literally the other court nobles, who weren’t going to just let someone take power unless there was something in it for them as well.
More on that as we watch this reign unfold.
But for now, thank you so much for listening and downloading the podcast. 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 149: Kings, Queens, and an Empress

May 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Photo of one of the tombs at the Qianling mausoleum in Xi’an, where Emperor Tang Gaozong, Empress Wu Zhao, and many other members of the royal Li family are buried. You can see the murals on the wall and architectural details, which give us key insights into the life of people in the Tang dynasty in the late 7th and early 8th century. Photo by author.

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So Uno no Sarara, aka Jitō Tennō, was going to rule after her husband passed away, but what was happening on the mainland? Well, for one thing, Silla had taken de facto control of the southern half of the peninsula, and we would see some powerful women in charge both in Silla and in the Tang capital at Luoyang. In fact, we have one of the arguably most powerful women in Chinese history: Wu Zhao, aka Wu Zetian, the only woman to formally sit upon the imperial throne unchallenged. It was quite the period in history.

Silla

King Munmu of Silla

Born in 626, he came to the throne in 661, in the midst of the Silla-Tang alliance and their wars against Baekje and Goguryeo. Once Baekje and Goguryeo were conquered, however, King Munmu went to war against their former ally to avoid subjugation and to attempt to consolidate their hold on the peninsula. To do this, he also sided with Goguryeo rebels who were seeking to restore their own kingdom.

He passed away in 681, turning over control of Silla to his son, who became known as King Sinmun

King Sinmun of Silla

King Sinmun ruled for a decade, during which time he worked to centralize authority and to secure the peninsula against the Tang forces. That said, he did keep up relations with the Tang, and was even enfeoffed by them as ruler of Silla.

He died in 691 and was succeeded by his five year old son.

King Hyoso and Queen Sinmok

King Hyoso ascended the throne at the age of 5 and would go on to rule until 702. However, given his age, the majority of his reign was actually under the regency of his mother, Queen Sinmok. She continued the work of her late husband, King Sinmun. Queen Sinmok passed away in 700, several years after the reign of Uno no Sarara would come to an end.

Silla Rank System

This episode we talk a lot about the Silla Bone Rank System. The issue with this is that most of what we know is from the Samguk Sagi, and it seems to capture the system at a particular time. But based on the names we see in the Nihon Shoki, it seems that either the names changed or the Yamato court wasn’t writing them down the same way. There are sources that suggest translations, and we still have some general idea of the order, at least.

The Bone Rank system was broken up by families. Certain families were in a given class, and certain ranks and governmental positions were only open to members of that class. There was some overlap, but effectively it meant that the upper ranks of government were closed off to certain families. This led to a very rigid and inflexible system that would last until the 10th century, when the Silla Kingdom fell to the kingdom of Goryeo, a successor state to Goguryeo.

Great Tang

Tang Gaozong

Successor to Tang Taizong, Gaozong was the emperor of the Tang Dynasty from 649-683. Through much of his reign he shared power with powerful ministers and, eventually, with his wife, Empress Wu Zhao. It is unclear how much he was doing by the end of his life, and how much Empress Wu was doing on his behalf.

Tang Zhongzong

Third eldest son of Gaozong and Wu Zhao, Zhongzong was married to his wife, known as Empress Wei. Zhongzong came to the throne, but showed signs of being more faithful to his wife than to his mother, and so was forced to abdicate only 6 weeks into his reign. He was succeed by his younger brother. He would eventually return to the throne after the death of his mother, Empress Wu.

Tang Ruizong

Ruizong’s rule is described as little more than a puppet government. It is said that Empress Dowager Wu openly sat on the dais with him and whispered responses and edicts to him, openly. He never moved into the royal apartments, which his mother continued to control, and we are told that he was not allowed to have unsupervised contact with the various ministers and officials. He eventually abdicated in favor of his mother.

Wu Zhao, aka Wu Zetian

Wu Zhao originally came to the Tang court as a consort of Tang Taizong, but later married his son, Tang Gaozong, and was made Empress. After her husband’s death she spent some time as a regent during the reigns of her sons, but eventually discarded any pretense and ruled openly. She is said to be the only truly regnant empress in her own right in all of Chinese history.

Wu Zhao is often maligned in the histories that were written about her, but these were written by writers who supported a very patriarchal philosophy. Thus her reign was seen by them as an aberration, and things that may have been excused for a reigning emperor were considered improper by an empress. Unfortunately, there is not a lot of contemporary evidence to counter the narrative that was written, which means we have to take a lot of what we hear with a grain of salt.

Lai Junchen

Lai Junchen worked for Wu Zhao as a minister in her secret police force, which aimed to root out disloyalty to the crown, and thus to the state. Lai Junchen is remember for making false accusations and having numerous people, including court ministers, executed. He was powerful and ruled through fear.

One of the officials he targeted was the famous Di Renjie. Di Renjie was able to get a message out while he was in prison awaiting execution, which then made its way to Empress Wu Zhao. Along with other officials who also mentioned Lai Junchen’s overreach, Wu Zhao commuted the sentence of execution to exile, instead.

Lai Junchen’s power after that was diminished for a time, but he was still ambitious. He went after various princes and preincesses of the Li and Wu families. The Li were the royal family of the Tang emperors, and the Wu were the family of Wu Zhao. Lai Junchen’s plot to accuse them was discovered and they accused him first, eventually bringing about his own execution.

Di Renjie

While barely even tangential to our story, Di Renjie has become quite famous. Not only did he escape the schemes of Lai Junchen, but he eventually worked his way back into the good graces of the Empress Wu and the court, regaining some amount of status.

Di Renjie is remembered by many due to an 18th or 19th century fictional character based on him, known to us as Judge Dee. Judge Dee has been described as the “Chinese Sherlock Holmes”, and he was made particularly famous by the 20th century ambassador, scholar, and author, Robert van Gulik, who translated several of the stories about him and various cases, and wrote numerous others.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 149: Kings, Queen, and an Empress
Uno no Sarara and her son, Crown Prince Kusakabe, sat in court. The trappings of the recent mourning period had been put aside with the recent burial of Uno’s husband, Ohoama, and they were now preparing for Crown Prince Kusakabe’s coronation. However, the matter in front of them had nothing to do with that. Instead, they listened to an official recounting of what had transpired on the peninsula. The court had explicitly sent an envoy to Silla to inform them of Ohoama’s death, but it took much longer than it should have for Norimaro and his party to return. There had even been an envoy mission from Silla while they were away.
As Uno no Sarara listened intently, she found it harder and harder to keep her emotions in check. She listened as the story of the Yamato mission was told, and as she heard of how her messengers were treated—how they weren’t even allowed to tell the Silla court their news all because someone in Silla had decided that they weren’t appropriate ambassadors.
Silla had finally come to learn of Ohoama’s death, and the mission returned home, but this treatment was inexcusable. These were not just Yamato’s messengers, they were carrying the royal word of Queen Uno no Sarara, head of the state and de facto ruler as they mourned the loss of her husband and predecessor. To have them kept waiting because of some invented protocol was an affront to the nation, but it was also an affront to her.
This.
Would.
Not.
Do...

Greetings, everyone! Thank you once again for tuning in. As you may recall, last episode we covered the ceremonies around the death and burial of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, as well as the unceremonious death of Crown Prince Kusakabe, leading to the throne being taken by his mother, Queen Uno no Sarara, aka Jitou Tennou.
One aspect of everything that was going on was the relations with the continent. This included missions from Yamato to the continent—especially those involved with communicating information about the changes in the Yamato court. So this episode I thought we could look at some of the things we see in the record and go over where things sat with regards to the continent.
First things first, let’s brush up on where we left off. Back in episode 140 we talked about how the Silla-Tang alliance had broken down. With Baekje and Goguryeo both defeated, the Tang had set up commanderies to oversea captured territory in both kingdoms, and even though Emperor Tang Taizong had promised Silla suzerainty over Baekje, his successor, Gaozong, had not adhered to that agreement. In response, and with the help of Goguryeo rebels, Kind Munmu of Silla had fought back against the Tang forces, eventually consolidating everything south of the Taedong river, approximating the extent of the modern country of South Korea.
Meanwhile, Goguryeo rebels continued to trouble the Tang, and King Bojang set up by the Tang dynasty would eventually betray them, allying with the northern Malgal people. They would continue to fight to restore their sovereignty. With pressure from Silla and Goguryeo, the Tang commandery pulled back from Pyongyang to Liaoyang—effectively putting the mountainous regions at the head of the Korean peninsula between them and their enemies. Silla control was de facto, but would not be recognized formally by the Tang dynasty until the early 8th century. That didn’t meant they were completely at odds, however. Silla would resume diplomatic mission to the Tang, despite their territorial disagreements.
Silla’s King Munmu, who had pushed back against the Tang, was succeed by his son, known as King Sinmun. Sinmun had been Crown Prince during the wars against Baekje and Goguryeo. Much as Ohoama and Uno no Sarara had been doing on the archipelago, he was working to centralize royal authority in Silla.
In 681, as Silla was still mourning the death of King Munmu, a rebellion broke out. It was led by a high ranking Silla official, and father-in-law to Sinmun, Kim Humdol. It was quickly put down, and Kim Humdol and other officials who were implicated were executed. This was actually a golden opportunity for the new King Sinmun to help purge the court of any rivals or ministers with less than absolute dedication to his plan to centralize authority.
I kind of get the feeling that, for all of the past conflicts between their nations, Sinmun, Ohoama, and Uno might have gotten along quite well. However, that didn’t stop the fact that they were rulers of rival nations, and while they may have had similar concepts of leadership, they also were focused on their own rule and authority.
To that end, Sinmun also reached out to the Tang court with tribute missions, and in so doing was at least recognized by the Tang court, who enfeoffed him as King of Silla. This appears to have been a bit of polite fiction, but that was how a lot of this operated, ultimately. King Sinmun would have held power in Silla regardless of the Tang court’s approval, but the fiction that the court had bestowed his authority no doubt provided some diplomatic benefits, and a context within which to operate on the international stage. It also no doubt allowed for increased trade, bringing in exotic and high status items, which would have been useful for boosting approval ratings back home.
King Sinmun ruled until his death in 691. He was succeeded by his son, known as King Hyoso. However, Hyoso was young—about 5 years old when he took the throne. And so his mother, Queen Sinmok, acted as regent for much of his reign—right up until her death in 700. Hyoso ended up reigning for a decade, until 702, meaning that he and his mother reigned throughout Uno no Sarara’s period as sovereign in Yamato.
Hyoso’s reign saw continued progress towards centralization of authority, as well as improved relationships with the Tang court. Silla maintained diplomatic ties and tribute missions, and the Tang court conferred recognition on Hyoso as the King of Silla, in return.
Speaking of the Tang Court, Emperor Tang Gaozong passed away before Ohoama had, departing this world in 683. However, for all that he was the emperor, he had not really been the one running things for some time. Gaozong came to the throne at roughly 21 years of age, and throughout most of his reign he had to share power with others in the court. Originally this meant high ranking minister, but there was also his wife, Wu Zhao, aka Wu Zetian. Wu had been a consort under Tang Taizong, and then continued as a consort for Gaozong as well. Then, in 655, she was officially made empress.
In 660, Gaozong began to suffer from an unknown illness, characterized by headaches, dizziness, , and occasional seizures and loss of vision. Some have suggested it was a stroke or some form of hypertension. Either way, these symptoms would plague him for the rest of his reign, and so he began to delegate more and more authority to Wu Zhao, who would handle things on his behalf.
Thus, Wu was effectively already running things by the time of Gaozong’s death in 683. At that point, she became the Empress Dowager, and her third son became emperor Zhongzong—at least in name. Because Wu Zhao maintained all of the power and authority at court. She was, in fact, the regent, and a mere six weeks after Zhongzong took the throne he was removed by his own mother. It seems that Zhongzong, who came to the throne at the age of 28, was showing signs of being a little too much under the influence of his wife, Empress Wei. In fact, he is said to have considered giving her the Empire. And so Wu had him deposed and exiled. She then had his younger brother made Emperor Ruizong, though still under Wu Zhao’s term as regent.
Ruizong was about 22 when he took the throne under his mother in 684. He would continue to reign until 690, when he abdicated the throne in favor of his mother. From that point on, Wu Zhao ruled as the sovereign for another 15 years, until the year 705, declaring it a return of the ancient Zhou dynasty. In other words, for all of Uno no Sarara’s reign in Yamato, another woman, Wu Zhao, sat atop the traditionally patriarchal seat of power in the Tang—and later Zhou—court.
Wu Zhao is more commonly known to us, today, as Wu Zetian. This comes from her final title as reigning monarch: Zetian Dasheng Huangdi, or Heaven-following Great Holy Emperor. She is often depicted as a ruthless and politically savvy ruler who usurped the throne through her feminine wiles and violence. We see how she dethroned her own son to avoid him giving up the throne to his wife. She is also said to have had another son killed because of her ambitions, and is even accused of killing her own daughter just to blame a rival at court. She is also depicted performing plenty of other unflattering acts.
Of course, it is worth noting that she was not the one to write her own history. After her reign, her epitaph was inscribed by her own political rivals.   It is notable that she is the only Empress to be recognized as ruling in her own right in the entire history of China. Certainly there were others who reigned as regents, and women with tremendous power and influence, but none of them really held the throne uncontested.
Given the animosity of the authors who wrote about her reign, we have to take anything we hear about Wu Zhao with a bit of salt. On the other hand, Tang dynasty imperial politics were ruthless, and you didn’t get to the top because you had a charming demeanor.   While there is no doubt more than a little slander written into the history books, one only has to look at the men who ruled before and after her to wonder whether she really did anything that was so much better or worse than what they did. Just keep that in mind as we go through some of what she was accused of.
Now what we are told is that with her younger son, Emperor Ruizong, she was only nominally pretending to be regent. She didn’t bother to hide behind a screen with him out front and we are told she openly whispered answers and commands that Ruizong would immediately parrot. Ruizong never moved into the imperial suites of the palace, which his mother maintained. Ruizong didn’t even attend imperial functions, and officials were not allowed to meet with him privately.
An uprising in Yang state was said to be in part because of her rule, and it was suggested that she should step aside and let her son truly rule to restore confidence, but she was having none of it and had those who suggested it arrested. Later, she would institute post boxes around government buildings for people to snitch on those around them who might be disloyal, and she instituted secret police, who investigated various rumors and false accusations with torture, leading to numerous executions.
In 685 she is said to have had an affair with a Buddhst monk, Huaiyi, who was then conferred with various honors. Then, in 686, she offered to return the throne to Ruizong, but Ruizong, realizing that there was no way she would let go of power, saw it as a test of his obedience, and declined. In 688 she summoned senior members of the Li Family, the family of the Tang emperors, under the pretense of making sacrifices to the spirit of the Luo river, which flowed through the Eastern Capital of Luoyang. Several of the Princes of the Li house were worried that she was going to slaughter them all, Red Wedding style, if they showed up, in order to secure the throne to herself, and so they plotted to rebel, but coordination was not the greatest back then, and two princes rose up before the others were ready. They were crushed, and many other members of the Li family were implicated, arrested, and forced to commit suicide.
In 690, she completely did away with any dissembling and declared a new dynasty—the Zhou dynasty—declaring herself Shengshen Huangdi, or Holy Divine Emperor of the Zhou dynasty. And yes, this is the same Zhou as the ancient Zhou dynasty—she was apparently claiming descent from the ancient rulers of Zhou.
Her son was thus deposed and she ruled uncontested from 690 until her death in705. She would go by various names. Three years in and she would add “Jinlun”, or “Golden Wheel” to her title, referring to the Buddhist concept of a Chakravartin, or Golden Wheel Turning Monarch.
This latter title came in part as she is said to have elevated the foreign religion of Buddhism over the native Taoist religion. She is also said to have built numerous temples around the capital cities and elsewhere.
In 692, the rising power of the secret police appeared to have been halted. One of the officials in charge, Lai Junchen, attempted to have a handful of officials executed for false accusastions. He told them that if they confessed to the accusations, their lives would be spared, and so many of them confessed to the false accusations, but Junchen conspired to have them executed anyway. One of the officials was none other than the famous Di Renjie. Renjie wrote a petition on his blanket and then hid that with the laundry that he sent to his family when it was time to change from winter to summer robes. His family found it and submitted the petition to Wu Zhao, who became suspicious of Junchen. For his part, Junchen has submitted forged petitions from the prisoners, thanking Empress Wu for preparing to execute them.
Other accusations against Junchen’s methods came to light, and so Empress Wu interrogated the prisoners personally. They all disavowed their confessions, and so Wu commuted their sentences from death to exile. Junchen continued to operate until 697, but there seems to have been a notable decrease in the number of executions after that point. He would eventually go too far, and planning to accuse the Li and Wu princes and princesses of treason, but they acted first and he ended up being executed. Without Lai Junchen, the secret police seem to have largely fallen apart.
As for Di Renjie, he eventually worked his way back into the good graces of Wu and the court, eventually being recalled to Luoyang to serve. Di Renjie’s own legend grew, and in the 18th or 19th century he was recast as a kind of Tang dynasty detective in the historical crime drama genre popular at the time. The book, “Di Gong An”, or “Celebrated Cases of Judge Dee”, was found by a Dutch Ambassador to China, Robert van Gulik, in a used bookstore in Tokyo, of all places. Van Gulik would go on to translate the stories and penned a number of others using the style and characters of the original. Judge Dee was cast as the “Sherlock Holmes of China” and has since become popular in both China and the West. The first novel in the series was actually set in the time of Empress Wu.
Robert van Gulik also had several scholarly works, including a translation of the Tang Yin Pi Shih, a 13th century manual for magistrates with examples of cases spanning approximately 1400 years, from the Qin to Song dynasty. This work really helps to illuminate how the ancient justice system worked back then.
Fictional detectives aside, Empress Wu would continue to reign over an impressive period in history. There were plenty of deadly politics, various attacks by outside forces, and more. Overall, it was a fairly prosperous time for the empires.
When Wu passed away in 705, her son, Emperor Zhongzong, resumed the throne, ending the Zhou dynasty and resuming the Tang dynasty of the Li family. Still, Wu Zhao, aka Wu Zetian, would be well remembered. She was buried in the Qianling Mausoleum, near Chang’an, alongside her late husband, Emperor Gaozong. Various other members of the Royal Li family were also buried there, and many of their tombs have been opened. The paintings, statues, and artwork and funerary goods provide a tremendously detailed look at Tang court culture and society at this time. Statues outside indicate officials and ambassadors from across the Tang courts sphere of influence. There are depictions of court dress and the elaborate hairstyles, fabrics, and more, as the tombs generally include court men and women. The famous mural of the Ambassadors is shown with Korean, western, and possibly even a Japanese envoy. The murals also show architectural elements of ancient Chang’an and more.
The tombs of Gaozong and Zetian clearly known, but currently have not undergone excavation. Much like with the tomb of Qin Shihuangdi, the government has put a moratorium on opening the tombs until they can be sure that everything can be properly protected as they do so. There is a huge concern that the tombs could be robbed or that priceless works could be damaged if they are opened improperly or without sufficient techniques to adequately preserve them.
As noted above, although Empress Wu is often demonized by historians, we have to ask if her reign was truly so much different from others. She was certainly a woman taking power in a male-dominated system. Where a man projecting power was seen as normal, Empress Wu was seen as perverting the natural order. An emperor taking to bed numerous consorts and concubines was considered only natural. However, Empress Wu taking to bed various men for her own enjoyment was seen as licentious and indecent. The double-standard seems pretty clear.
I even have to wonder about things like the secret police. While it certainly is alarming to see a government sending people out to arrest and charge people on the barest of evidence, often with little or no accountability or transparency, one should consider what justice looked like at the time, more generally. Tang dynasty justice was often harsh, and torture was considered a standard practice to elicit a confession. Once someone was accused of a crime, their guilt was assumed, and it was on them to prove their innocence. This was a tall order, as the thinking of the day was often that if you hadn’t done anything wrong, why would anyone risk falsely accusing you? So clearly you had done something to disrupt the social order, even if it wasn’t what you were actually accused of.
Furthermore, there is a fine line between rooting out disloyalty to the regime and rooting out corruption. Anonymous tips can be used to call SWAT to someone’s house, but it can also be a way for a whistleblower to alert those in authority that something untoward is going on. And something begun with the best of intentions, can easily be corrupted, especially in the wrong hands.
And so I think we can give Empress Wu at least the benefit of the doubt that she seems to have tried to do right by the people and her country. The Tang court, by all accounts, was a nest of vipers, and I don’t think she was a saint, but neither was she the devil incarnate.
In fact, a lot of the accusations against Empress Wu would appear to be paralleled, years later, in the archipelago—possibly being parroted by men who were aware of the anti-Wu propaganda. Kouken Tennou—who would also reign a second time as Shoutoku Tennou, was embroiled in conflict.
Like Wu, she came to power in a court embroiled in familial politics. She was known to be a supporter of Buddhism, and she was also said to have had an affair with a monk, Doukyou, upon whom she is said to have lavished power and authority. She is also said to have modeled her nengo, the auspicious names for the year, off of Empress Wu. After her death, her reign was used as a reason why there was not another regnant female sovereign on the throne until the Edo period, and she is often seen as the Last Female Sovereign, much as there was never another Empress regnant amongst the various Sinic dynasties.
However, returning ourselves back to the 7th century, those histories had yet to be written. Instead, one has to wonder how much communication there was between the continent and the archipelago. Did Uno no Sarara realize that she was not the only woman taking charge at that time? Was Empress Wu considered a model for her? Or was she seen as more of a rival? Or was it neither? Did either one regard the other at all, embroiled as they were in their own, local and domestic pursuits?
If they did, there isn’t much, if anything, in the record.
There is plenty to be said about relations with both Silla and the Tang dynasty in general, however. Most of the focus was actually on Silla, to be honest—not surprising given Silla’s place in the international arena in relation to Yamato.
Last episode we mentioned that an embassy was sent to Silla to announce the death of Ohoama. It was only several months after he had passed away, on the 19th day of 687. The chief and assistant envoys were Tanaka no Ason no Norimaro and Mori no Kimi no Karita. Norimaro is listed as Jikikwoshi rank—the lowest of the Jiki category, which was the 3rd of 6. This put him about 24 ranks down in the 48 rank system. Karita, on the other hand, was Tsuidaini, putting him at about 43 of 48 court ranks. Normally, I don’t pay too much attention to the ranks that are given in the Chronicles, mainly for two reasons. First off is that you aren’t always sure that the rank given in the Chronicle corresponds with the rank at the time of the event—sometimes we see ranks that are clearly anachronistic—typically later in their life. Since people don’t typically drop in rank, unless they are demoted, this usually gives you some information, but not always.
The second reason I often don’t pay attention is because it usually isn’t germane to the story. It is why I’ll also drop the uji and the kabane, once we establish a particular person. Otherwise it feels like word salad.
Every once in a while I do like to look at the ranks, however, because they do give us information about things like the individual’s general position in the court hierarchy. In this case we see that, of the officials selected for this assignment, one was near the bottom of the upper half of the court, while the other was really in a much more junior position. I believe this may also be important later on, because there was a certain expectation that the person representing a sovereign in diplomatic situations would have sufficient rank to indicate some amount of pull, back home.
The mission of Norimaro and Karita to Silla may have been ordered in the first month of the year, but it seems it likely took time before it actually left—or something happened. I say this because in the 9th month we see an embassy from Silla arrive, and they are apparently unaware of any changes in the archipelago. The embassy was headed by the Prince Gim Sangnim. We are also told that there were two other officials, Gim Salmo and Gim Insyul, both of Geupson rank. Then there was So Yangsin of Daesa rank. That was two of vice ministerial rank and one of lower official rank. These ranks were connected both to their office and to their family, as Silla still used a fairly rigid system based on the rank of one’s family, similar to the way that the old Kabane system worked before it was reformed under Ohoama in the previous reign.
The embassy from Silla also included a student-priest, Chiryu. Presumably Chiryu was from Yamato and had gone abroad to study, and was now making his way back home.
It appears as though the embassy had no idea that Ohoama had passed away as we are told that they had to be informed by the Dazai—the Viceroy of Tsukushi. Once they were informed, they all put on mourning clothing, turned towards the east—towards the capital of Yamato—and they bowed three times and then cried out lamentations three times.
I would note that there is another record in the first month of the following year, which states that Gim Sangnim and his colleagues were informed of Ohoama’s death and lamented three times. That could just be a misplaced duplicate of the previous entry, about the embassy—possibly it got recorded multiple times and different ways and on different dates. It isn’t exactly clear. Either way, it seems that this was not meant to be an official condolence envoy, but just a regular embassy bringing trade goods disguised as tribute. In fact, in the 2nd month of 688 we are told that the Viceroy of Tsukushi presented the tribute from Silla to the capital. It is said to have included gold and silver, thin silks, cloth, skins, copper, and iron. There were also images of the Buddha, all kinds of coloured fine silks, birds, and horses. Sangnim himself had presents of gold and silver, colored stuffs, and various rarieties—80 items all told.
Sangnim and his crew probably didn’t travel to Asuka, because we are told that as of the 10th day of the 2nd month of 688 they were being entertained in the Tsukushi government house, where they were given various gifts by the court, and then they headed out on the 29th day of that month.
A year after that, in the first month of 689, Norimaro and Karita returned from Silla, suggesting that the two embassies really had just passed each other—such were the issues with international travel back in the day.
Now, normally, we don’t hear much about what happened during these embassies. The Nihon Shoki doesn’t typically record anything, possibly because they just didn’t have any records. And the records in the Samguk Sagi often don’t mention anything, either. It is possible that it was just considered too routine to mention the ins and outs. However, in this instance, we may have some insight, because it is mentioned later in the narrative.
You see, four months behind Norimaro and Karita came the formal Silla condolence envoy. It was headed by Gim Dona, of Geupson rank—so a vice minister instead of a prince heading up the embassy. Silla also sent student-priests Meiso, Kwanchi, and others, along with a gold-copper image of Amida Buddha and a gold-copper image of Kannon and an image of Daiseishi Boddhisatva, along with colored silks and brocades.
A month after they arrived, the condolence envoy received a message from none other than Queen Uno no Sarara herself, but this was not necessarily a good thing. In fact, she appears to be dressing down the Silla envoys and the Silla court more generally, because of how things had gone with Norimaro and Karita—and this possibly also explains why it took so long for them to get to Silla and back.
According to the Yamato court, Norimaro and Karita were sent to Silla to announce the death of Ohoama. However, Silla protocol stated that persons charged to deliver a royal message had always had the rank of Sopan. This appears to be equivalent to the rank of Japchan, and indicates the third rank in Silla’s system. Because of this, Queen Uno’s message goes on to state, Norimaro and Karita were not allowed to deliver their message about Ohoama’s passing to the court. However, back when Karu—Koutoku Tennou—had passed away in 654, Kose no Inamochi went to announce the funerals dates, and he was received by Gim Shunshun listened to the report. So saying that it is someone of the third rank that is needed goes against precedent.
Furthermore, when Naka no Oe passed away in 671, Silla sent Gim Salyu, who was of 7th rank, but now they send someone of 9th rank. So if precedent was to be followed, wouldn’t that also be a problem?
This whole thing is really fascinating in that it demonstrates the kind of delicate balance and back and forth that was going on—and I suspect that it was growing even more specific as each country was adopting more rules and laws, and compiling them into codes. It is notable that the Chronicles make sure to state the rank of each ambassador from Silla, at least in the last several reigns. That suggests that the government was tracking such things, and that it was important.
The rest of the screed by the Yamato court seems a little more about setting out Yamato’s position on Silla-Yamato relations. Here Yamato puts words into the mouths of former Silla officials, claiming that they always addressed Yamato’s sovereign with deference. Yamato claimed Silla had promised service to Yamato since the remote royal ancestors, promising that the oars of the ships bringing tribute to the archipelago would “never become dry”, and yet this time, there was only one ship that came to offer condolences. Furthermore, the Silla kings were to serve the sovereigns of Yamato faithfully, but they had now broken the faith.
Therefore their tribute goods were sealed up and returned back.
That said, they weren’t completely breaking off communications. This was a rebuke, certainly, but they were willing to keep channels open with hopes that relations might improve in the future.
My read on all of this is that the Yamato envoys to Silla had been snubbed by that court for not being of appropriate station by Silla’s rules. Therefore, in a tit-for-tat move, Yamato was treating the condolence envoy similarly.
That doesn’t mean they didn’t show them any hospitality, though. Queen Uno no Sarara had the Viceroy, Awada no Mabito no Ason, give the student-priests Meiso and Kanchi, who had just come back with the condolence envoy, 140 kin of floss silk for their teachers back in Silla, in apparent gratitude. And then a few days later they were entertaining the condolence envoys in Wogohori in Tsukushi, and giving them various presents for their trouble.
This is likely the kind of “don’t shoot the messenger”. Sure, they were returning the tribute and sending a message to Silla, but that wasn’t the fault of Gim Dona and his colleagues. And they were now taking a rather disappointing message back with them—I doubt anyone wanted to be in Gim Dona’s shoes as he told the court what had transpired.
Gim Dona and crew left shortly after that. From there, we don’t have a lot of information on what happened. The Silla annals of the Samguk Sagi don’t record Gim Dona’s embassy, let alone what happened when they came back. However, Silla would send future envoys, and diplomatic relations between the two countries continued throughout the reign.
The Silla embassies from that point on are largely, for our purposes, unremarkable. I may mention them if they relate to other items of note, but for the most part there is really only two other embassies of note, and they were in the year 693. The first was from Silla, led by Gim Gangnam of Sasan rank, along with Gim Yangweon of Hannama rank—so 8th and 11th rank in the Silla hierarchy, apparently. They had come to announce the death of King Sinmun, who had passed away the previous year.   And so, on the 16th day of the 3rd month, an embassy was prepared to depart for Silla. It was headed up by Okinaga no Mabito no Oyu, of Jikikwoshi rank—much as Norimaro had been. He and his proposed vice envoy, Ohotomo no Sukune no Kogimi, who was Gondaini rank—27th of 48—were both given gifts prior to their election as ambassadors, and were sent as condolence envoys, themselves.
Meanwhile, let’s take a look at Yamato’s interactions with the Tang dynasty.
First of all, we see a note in the 6th month of 689 that presents of rice were given to Xu Shouyen, Sa Hungko, and others from the land of the Great Tang. So was this an embassy? Not quite.
Remember that little scuffle back in the 660s on the Korean Peninsula? That special military operation by Silla and Tang forces against Baekje, where Yamato had tried to assist, only to have their navy bested by Tang forces?
Well during the fighting , there had been numerous prisoners taken, on both sides. Xu Shouyen and Sa Hungko were two such prisoners. Except that “prison” in this case was largely being sent to live off the land. They were probably forced to do labor, though if they had special skills, such as reading and writing, they may have been put to work in another way. Indeed, we later see these two mentioned not as prisoners or even slaves, but as teachers of “pronunciation”. They were even given rice-land and stipends of their own. Granted, this is decades after they first came to Yamato, so this wasn’t exactly a smooth ride.
But it wasn’t just Tang prisoners in Yamato. Yamato soldiers had also been captured and taken prisoner by Tang forces. And so, in the 9th month of 690, we see three priests who had gone to the land of Tang to study returned in the company of a Silla escort envoy, and they brought back with them a soldier, Ohotomobe no Hakama, from the Upper Yame district in Tsukushi.
The three priests, Chishiu, Gitoku, and Jougwan all made their way to the capital, arriving several weeks after they first made landfall in Tsukushi. At this point, Prince Kawachi was the Dazai in charge of affairs out there, and soon after the priests arrived at Naniwa and made their way to the capital, in Asuka, messengers going the other way made it out to Tsukushi with orders to give presents and gifts to the Gim Gohun, the escort envoy who had shuttled them all back from the continent.
But even more impressive was the royal edict that was dated a week later for Ohotomobe no Hakama. It lays out the circumstances of his capture and what happened to him that he stayed in the land of the Tang for so long. You see, Hakama was one of many soldiers who was captured during the war to defend Baekje. But three years after that conflict, the Tang dynasty was no longer trying to keep them prisoner. This was a time when you didn’t necessarily need to have buildings with walls to keep people prisoner—you just moved them to a new area where they could farm or otherwise set up a livelihood, or starve. Travel was dangerous and expensive, especially if you didn’t speak the language. Nonetheless, if you did wish to return, there wasn’t a lot stopping you, beyond just having the means to do so.
And so this group of Wa soldiers got together and debated what to do. We are told that it was four men—Hashi no Hoto, Kohori no Oyu, Tsukuhi no Satsuyama, and Yuge no Gen Jitsuni—the last one apparently having taken a local name on the continent. Amongst themselves, they wanted to return to the archipelago not just to see their families and friends, but also to let people back home know about the changing conditions on the mainland. As you may recall, around this time, Yamato was fiercely building up forces and defenses because they were convinced that there was going to be an attack by the Tang and Silla forces at any moment.
The only problem that these four had in getting back was that they had, well, nothing. They had neither the clothing nor provisions to make such a journey. What would they eat and how would they pay for passage? As such, they were unable to get back. Hearing this, Ohotomobe no Hakama spoke up. He declared that, as much as he also wished to return, he could at least help them out. He offered to be sold into slavery so that his companions could obtain money with which to buy food and clothing.
And so they did. Hakama was sold, and he probably had no idea what happened to the four after that. It turns out, however, that they did make it back and were able to give the Yamato court some idea of what had happened. Meanwhile, Hakama remained in a foreign land as a slave for some 30 years, until he was finally able to make it back to Yamato, apparently with the help of the three monks.
This whole story was relayed to the court, and when the Queen heard it, she decided to act. And thus the edict. Not only did she recount his story and praise him for his loyalty, but he was granted certain honors. First off, he was granted the rank of Mudaishi—the 39th rank in the court hierarchy, which gave him not a small amount of status, especially if he stayed in Tsukushi. He was also granted5 pieses of coarse silk, 10 bundles of floss silk, 30 tan of cloth, and 1000 sheaves of rice. On top of that, though, he received four chou of rice-land, which was given to him and his descendants, until at least his great-grandchildren. Finally, his parents, siblings, and children, were also exempted from having to ever provide corvee labor.
Now, nobody could give him back his 30 years, but this was quite the consolation prize, at the time. To basically get rank and status, a stipend down four generations, and exemption from forced labor for him and his relatives, that was pretty incredible, if you think about it.
Hakama wasn’t the only one who had suffered in the country of the Great Tang and was rewarded for it. Mononobe no Kusuri, from Iyo, and Mibu no Moroshi, in Higo, were also paid out handsomely in consolation for their sufferings, though we aren’t given details on their stories, or even when they came back.
There are also other descriptions of Tang men, but it seems that these were individuals in a similar position to Xu Shouyen and Sa Hungko—they had been captured and were now living in Yamato. That they were integrating into Yamato society seems clear from the fact that they were given rank and similarly treated like vassals of the throne.
What we don’t see, however, are any further diplomatic missions. Those wouldn’t start up for a while, and so even if Queen Uno no Sarara had wanted to confer with another female monarch, it would have to have been done through the auspices of Silla, who at t his point seem to have largely controlled the flow of goods, people, and thus information between the straits.
And with that, I think we can close out this episode. Moving forward, we have more details about a lot of different things, and yet others are still lacking. It is my goal to try and be a little more selective about the passages we pull from the Chronicles. We don’t need to go over every natural disaster or prayer to the wind-gods. We will take a look at things like the completion of the Fujiwara capital, as well as the 22 volumes of the Asuka-Kiyomihara law codes. And then there are a few persons of note that we should probably mention as well, such as the appearance of Fujiwara no Fubito. We should also talk about some of the other royal edicts that were made.
All of that for later. For now, 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Kim, P., & Shultz, E. J. (2013). The 'Silla annals' of the 'Samguk Sagi'. Gyeonggi-do: 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
Gui Wanrong & Gulik, Robert Hans van, 1910-1967. (republished 2007). Crime and punishment in ancient China : T'ang-yin-pi-shih = Tang yin bi shi / [translated with an introduction and notes by] R.H. van Gulik. Bangkok, Thailand : Orchid Press. ISBN 9789745240919
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 148: A Nation Mourns

May 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Photo of the mausoleum where Temmu Tennou is said to have been buried in Asuka, Nara Prefecture, Japan. Photo by author.

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Last episode we briefly talked about what happened when Ōama passed away, including the apparent conspiracy around the Royal Prince Ōtsu, and then the question as to why his son, Crown Prince Kusakabe, didn’t then succeed him to the throne.

This episode we are taking a look at that period, but more focused on the rituals and what went into a royal funeral, and then take a look all the way to the eventual ascension to the throne of not Crown Prince Kusakabe, but instead his mother, Ōama’s queen, Uno no Sarara. She would eventually be known as Jitō Tennō.

Model of the tomb thought to be that of Takara Hime, aka Saimei Tennō, from the Takechi district of Asuka. It is three levels, rather than five, but otherwise seems to be of a similar octagonal pattern in overall shape.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 148: A Nation Mourns
Crown Prince Kusakabe approached the temporary palace structure that had been hastily assembled in the courtyard in front of the Kiyomihara Palace.   Solemnly arrayed around him, dressed in their court garments, were the ministers and government officials. Together, they approached the palace building, where the Crown Prince’s father, Ohoama, also known as Ame no Nunahara oki no Mabito, lay in state. He had passed away, and according to the imported Confucian values of filial piety, Kusakabe was now expected to mourn in ritual fashion.
The court ritualists had seen to every detail of what should be done and even said, to the extent that the crown prince’s actions almost felt like a performance of grief, rather than a heartfelt tribute. And yet, Kusakabe could not help but feel some emotion at the sight of his father, once the most powerful man under heaven, now laid out in this place of temporary interment. There would be many more ceremonies and rituals before the final mausoleum would be built and the former sovereign’s body finally laid to rest. Until then, even though Ohoama’s spirit had left, his body would remain as a symbol to the people, and as the centerpiece of an elaborate ritual, designed, in part, to continue to bolster the state he had helped to create.

Last episode we went into some of the shenanigans around the death of Ohoama and the succession to the throne. As we saw, not everyone was apparently on board with the idea that Crown Prince Kusakabe would take the throne, leading to the arrest and execution of Prince Ohotsu. However, we noted that Crown Prince Kusakabe didn’t end up on the throne after all: for whatever reason, he never ascended to the honor, and died in 689 – not even three years after the death of his father. And so we saw Uno no Sarara, Ohoama’s wife and queen and mother of Crown Prince Kusakabe, formally take the reins of state and go on to reign as the sovereign, the Sumera Mikoto, or Tennou, until 697. From there she would become the first ever Retired Sovereign, keeping her hand in government until her death in 703.
This episode we are going to look a little more in depth regarding everything that went on around Ohoama’s death and the various rites accompanying his passing.
Ohoama’s was obviously not the first royal death that we have seen in the Chronicles. It is perhaps, however, one of the best documented in terms of the funerary arrangements and the various rituals that accompanied his passing. Some of those arrangements are mentioned previously in the Chronicles, but not to the same extent as we see for Ohoama. This leaves me wondering: are we seeing something novel—new rites for a new type of sovereign, perhaps? Or was this just the first time the ritual had been documented to this level of detail?.
Before jumping into what we see this time around, we should probably look back at what we have seen around the death of previous sovereigns, and which are still going on here.
First and foremost is the creation—or at least the designation—of a “Palace of Temporary Interment”.    This is the Mogari no Miya, with “mogari” being the term for the period between an individual’s death and their eventual burial. In the Nihon Shoki we see this practice go back to the earliest times. After all, most deaths do not occur on a set schedule, and once someone has passed away, funerary arrangements would need to be made. Now, if all you are doing is putting a body into a box and lowering it into the ground, you can probably bring it all together rather quickly. However, for centuries the burial practices on the archipelago had been significantly more elaborate. Even those without royal blood might be afforded a special mound, or kofun. There would be giant stones selected to create the chamber, and then tons of earth and pebbles placed on top. There might also be haniwa—clay cylinders—which then might even be topped with special figures. All of this had to be planned out and taken care of, and in some cases, such as the creation of haniwa, it appears as there was a major industry involved in funerary preparations. In the case of royal family members things got even more elaborate, and based on the size of many of the kofun that we see one can assume that their construction took time. In fact, I would not be surprised if the construction of a new tomb mound might not have kicked off on or near the ascension of the sovereign just to make sure it would be ready, but even still it would take time for all of the rites associated with a royal burial to be ready to go.
And so it was common practice that one would have to wait before a burial could actually take place. Since you couldn’t just leave a body out in the open in the community, the corpse would be deposited, instead, in a temporary building. These are sometimes referred to as mogari huts, which would likely be placed well away from others. Here we should also take into account the general pollution associated with death in its various forms. So you would want to have the body kept out of sight and away from people as best you could while you prepared for the actual burial at some later date.
For sovereigns, this mogari hut, or hut of temporary interment, was eventually referred to as a “miya”, or “palace”. In some cases it seems as if one of the buildings of the sovereign’s old palace was used for this purpose, while a new palace was then also built for the new reign.
In addition to the place of temporary interment, one of the common traditions we see in funerals in the Chronicles is the role of the eulogy. While a person lay in state during their temporary interment, we are told that people could come to eulogize and lament. In the case of a sovereign, the high ministers and politically connected would come together and deliver speeches. This served multiple purposes. On the one hand, these rituals reinforced concepts of the State and the central authority in the body of the sovereign. On the other hand, they also served as markers of status for those delivering the speeches, and provided opportunities to be seen and heard, signaling their support of the system that provided them their own power and authority.
So all of this process and ritual that we see for Ohoama is familiar, from previous royal deaths. However, it’s interesting to note that in the most recent years before Ohoama’s funeral, a lot of these traditions seem to have been scaled back. For one thing, there was the decline of large, keyhole shaped kofun, ever since the introduction of Buddhism in the 6th century and the move to memorial temples over large tombs. Furthermore, as part of the Taika era reforms we see regulations on how long temporary interment may last for those of princely rank and below—though nothing is clearly stated for the sovereign themselves.

Let’s look at the most recent royal death’s before Ohoama’s, but since the beginning of the Taika era. There are at least three we’ve talked about. First off is the death of Karu, aka Koutoku Tennou. Karu’s death is barely remarked upon—he was buried about two months after he passed away, and very little fanfare is given. One can’t help but wonder if this was, in part at least, due to the fact that Naka no Oe was actually in charge and running things at the Crown Prince.
Takara hime, aka Saimei Tennou, would pass away in the middle of the Baekje war against the Silla-Tang alliance. Her body was sent back to Yamato, but the Crown Prince and many of the elites established themselves in Tsukushi—modern Kyushu—to better conduct the war on the peninsula. Not only was her interment thus delayed, but Naka no Oe’s own ascension wouldn’t take place for several more years, possibly because of the new capital he was building in Ohotsu.
Naka no Oe’s own funerary arrangements were interrupted by the events of the Jinshin no Ran. In fact, the building of his tumulus was used by the government as a cover to bring in soldiers to prepare for the conflict. There may have been various funerary rituals planned or even carried out by the Afumi court, but if so they were overshadowed by the civil war that broke out between the two claimants to the throne.
As such, Ohoama’s appears to be the first royal funeral of this magnitude in a while, and in this case they really pulled out all the stops. There were various activities and rituals associated with Ohoama’s passing up through the 11th month of 688, over two years later, when he was finally buried. So let’s go over what happened and maybe what dragged it out so much longer.
First off were the immediate lamentations and eulogies. Ohoama passed away on the 9th day of the 9th month, according to the Nihon Shoki. It was the year 686 according to the western calendar. Two months later the erection of the temporary palace of interment began in the southern courtyard—presumably the area south of the Asuka Kiyomihara palace, where they had previously held the various archery competitions. This took a couple of weeks, and Ohoama’s body was finally placed in the temporary palace as of the 24th of that month.
While ritual lamentations were raised at the start of the building of the mogari palace and when the sovereign’s body was interred, the major rites appear to have started three days after he was laid to rest, on the 27th day, proceeding for the next three days, from the 27th until the 30th.
The rites started with Buddhist monks and nuns who arrived before sunrise and began to perform lamentations in the courtyard of the mogari. Later that day, we see food offerings, apparently for the first time in the Chronicles.
Offering food to the dead is not unique to Japan. Some in Japan will offer food to their ancestors, especially during the Obon festival. People will also offer food to kami. In the case of Obon, a bowl of rice is often served with two chopsticks sticking straight out of it. This has actually led to a social taboo on leaving your chopsticks “stuck” in food, as it looks as though you are offering the food up to the dead. Instead, chopsticks will be placed on a chopstick rest, on the table, or even across the top of a dish, just not sticking up out of the food, especially the rice.
In this case it isn’t clear exactly how the food offering was done, nor what happened to the food afterwards. In the case of food offered to the kami, it is often the case that once the kami have had enough time to partake of the aura of the food—its spiritual essence—the food will then be removed and often consumed by people. So for Ohoama’s funerary offerings, something similar may have happened—possibly with a feast of some kind to which the various nobles were also invited.
Along with the offering of food, we are told of a whole list of individuals who gave eulogies—though we aren’t told what the content was. It is likely that these eulogies were largely ritual utterances—stock phrasing by the participant to demonstrate their active performance of the rituals, rather than a deeply thought sermon about the sovereign. After all, this seems to have gone on at a rather constant pace for the next several days. The ritual order seems to have stayed the same, with priests and nuns kicking things off with lamentations in the courtyard, and various nobles presenting their eulogy. The third day, the 29th, was the same.
On the fourth day, the 30th, the last day of the month, the priests and nuns raised lament, and the eulogies were given by a Baekje prince in exile, on behalf of his father, as well as the various Miyatsuko of the various provinces. In addition there were all performances of all manner of singing and dancing—which makes it sound more like a wake than anything else.
With the close of the 9th month, we have a break in the tale of Ohoama’s funeral, as the narrative switches over to the next part of the Chronicles covering the reign of Uno no Sarara, aka Jitou Tennou. The first order of business—other than telling us who Uno no Sarara was and covering some of her history—was to deal with the Prince Ohotsu conspiracy. So we see Prince Ohotsu arrested, along with 30 conspirators. Prince Ohotsu was killed at his residence, where his wife and consort ran to him and took her own life as well. That all happened the 2nd and 3rd days of the 10th month. The 30 co-conspirators were apparently held for about twenty-seven days while the court debated what to do with them. Finally, the decree was made to pardon all except Toki no MIchidzukuri, who was only banished instead of executed, and the monk Heng-sin, who was exiled to a temple in Hida, over on Kyushu. The month after that, Ohotsu’s sister, Royal Princess Ohoku, returned to the capital from Ise Shrine where she had been serving as the Shrine Princess—though we aren’t told who replaced her.
And so it isn’t until the twelfth month that we see what appears to be the rites for Ohoama’s passing seem to resume. This takes the form of a universal great assembly held in Ohoama’s name at the Five temples, listed as Daikandaiji, Asukadera, Kawaradera, Toyoradera in Woharida, and Sakadadera.
This is an interesting list, as one would have expected that the rites would have occurred at the National Temples established previously—for more on the National temples, we talked about that back in Episode 142.. Daikandaiji, Asukadera, and Kawaradera were, of course, national temples. Yakushiji is not mentioned, probably because it was still under construction. At this date it’s only been dedicated, and we won’t see it show up in the Chronicles until 688—a year and change from the current gathering. Toyoradera was the nunnery of Toyoura temple, and Sakada temple appears to be another nunnery, formerly known as Kongoji. It is said to have been in MInabuchi, and ruins of a temple are found in the southeast of Asuka, in an area known today as, funnily enough, Sakada. There is also a modern temple known as Kongoji nearby, though I can’t tell if there is any connection between the two other than the name— whether its a true successor temple or just given that name because of the proximity of the ruins.
Either way, in this phase of the funerary rites, we have a combination of temples and nunneries involved. I wonder if that was so that men and women could gather in spaces for them. Either way, it is clear that these rites were held specifically to build merit for Ohoama. This was probably also the intent behind the actions of the court a week later, when presents of cloth and silk were made to orphans, as well as childless, widowed, and elderly men and women of the capital—those who didn’t have someone else to look after them or who were assumed to not have a stable income.
Come the first day of the new year of 687, we see a return to the palace of temporary interment, and this time it is in a new and different fashion. We are told that the Crown Prince, accompanied by ministers and public functionaries, proceeded to the Palace of Temporary Interments and made lament. We are told that it was the Nagon, Fuwe no Ason no Miaruji, who performed the eulogy, after which everyone once again raised a lament. Then the common people raised a lament. Then Ki no Ason and others of the High Stewards of the Palace made food offerings. After this, the Uneme of the Steward’s department raised a lament and then music was performed by the officials of the Department of Music.
This clearly indicates an involved ceremony, with set roles and functions. It is being headed by Ohoama’s son, Crown Prince Kusakabe, and attended by all the high ministers, and it is being held on the first of the year in place of other festivities for that day. Other than the timing, the basic pattern of events is similar to the other rituals of lamentation. . The contents of the ceremony might be different, and it was always someone new who was chosen to give the formal eulogy, but there does seem to be some ritual and pattern to the rites performed.
For major ceremonies, we are told of the Crown Prince, the ministers, and the various public functionaries who are there, in attendance, but in other instances we are just told of who is providing the lamentations or the eulogy. For example, on the 5th day of the first month—four months after the big ceremony, we are told that everyone—Crown Prince down to the common people—proceeded to the Palace of temporary interment and made lamentations. Either way, the period for the next year and change is filled with various ceremonies either at the palace of temporary interment, where Ohoama’s body lay in state, or elsewhere in the capital, such as at various temples. There were also various gifts from the court.
All of this was as much political spectacle as it was grieving. There are some suggestions that, according to Confucian tradition, a son was expected to mourn the loss of his father for up to three years. So perhaps that is part of what was happening—the royal family was participating in some costly signaling to both raise Ohoama—and thus, themselves—up on a pedestal and to try to demonstrate the virtue of Crown Prince Kusakabe. After all, the Queen and her son had been effectively running the government before Ohoama had passed, so it wasn’t like there was any actual change and only minor risk. The timeframe also allowed the court time to send messengers out to inform the far reaches of the archipelago of Ohoama’s passing and give them time to come and do homage. They even sent messengers to Silla, no doubt to both let them know about what had happened and possibly to solicit a condolence embassy. All of that would also play into the pageantry and mythmaking of the moment, further strengthening the position of the Yamato court, which was, of course, under the control of Uno no Sarara and her son.
And so we see numerous, and quite public, displays. Besides the lamentations and the eulogies, we see repeated gifts to the underprivileged, like giving gifts of coarse and floss silk to those residents of the Capital who were at least 80 years old, as well as to invalids with little hope as well as to the poor people who had no other means to support themselves. All of it being done in Ohoama’s name, even though the reputation no doubt was actually accruing to his son and widow.
In the third month we see a special mention: an ornamental chaplet of flowers, known as a mikage, was offered at the Palace of Temporary Interment. Today, flowers are often found in abundance at Japanese funerals. Certain flowers may be “gifted” to the deceased as a last gift from mourners, and large, elaborate flower constructions are often used to decorate the funeral parlor where the corpse is laid out. Groups and individuals may pay exorbitant sums to place flowers with a name card indicating who donated it, and some flowers may be for the grieving family to take home. There are meanings behind the type of flowers, and often white flowers are preferred, as white is often seen as the color of death.
Some of this appears to be influenced by the West, but flowers have long been symbols and used in various ceremonies and rites. It is possible that some of this was influenced by Buddhist and Tang court rituals. Or maybe they just wanted something that was sweet smelling to help cover up the inevitable odor that no doubt resulted from leaving a body out for about six months at that point.
Whatever the purpose, we aren’t given too many details on just what this floral display was. Aston calls the “mikage” a “chaplet” and Bentley simply describes it as decorative flowers placed at the mogari palace—the palace of temporary interment. Once the flowers were placed, then Taji no Mabito no Maro performed the ceremony of the eulogy.
Next, in the 5th month, we see the Crown Prince and various government officials once again involved. This time they were accompanied by the chiefs of the Hayato and the Ata of Ohosumi, accompanied by their people, advancing and providing a eulogy. The Hayato and the Ata were both indigenous groups of people from southern Kyushu, who were considered to be outside of the Yamato polity, with distinct cultural differences. It is unclear if they were ethnically Wa people. Evidence from that area suggests that the people there, whatever their ethnicity, had adopted many of the Yayoi and Kofun cultural life-ways. This was not without some differences, such as distinct burial practices, such as underground burial chambers. Hayato were also known in Yamato for their shields, which are often depicted as long, thin pentagonal shapes with red, white, and black figural paintings.
The propaganda-slash-merit making continued over the next few months. In the 6th month we see an amnesty, where criminals were pardoned, and in the 7th month the court unilaterally cancelled out any interest on debts contracted in the year 685 or earlier. In cases where the debtors already owed service to their creditors, for some reason, they made it so that the creditors could not demand that they provide additional service. People still had to pay back the balance, but they didn’t have to pay back anything extra.
The next ceremony at the palace of temporary interment wasn’t for about three months later, in the 8th month of 687. We are told that offerings of food were made, and that only awokimono—green things—were offered. Bentley translates this passage to say that it was the feast of first fruits, the Niinamesai, and they do use the character for “namé”, but not the full name. As for “Awokimono” – Aston translates this as plain, boiled rice, and says it is meant that it was without meat of any kind. Indeed, the characters appear to be for blue or green cooked rice. There is another reading for “Awokimono” as “Hijikioono”, and Aston suggests that there may have been some hijiki, or seaweed, involved. Regardless this appears to have been specifically a funerary tradition.
A day after the food was offered—and we aren’t told who did that—the elderly people of the capital, both men and women—some possibly with new duds thanks to the silk they had received earlier—came and made lamentation west of the bridge. I suspect that this means they didn’t enter the actual courtyard where the palace of temporary interment was set up, but simply gathered on the west side of the Asuka River, which flowed past the west side of the courtyard.
Later that month, we see another Buddhist ceremony. Fujiwara no Ason no Ohoshima and Kibumi no Muraji no Ohotomo invited 300 Buddhist dignitaries, known as Ryuuzou and Daitoku, to Asukadera. There they gave each one of them the present of a kesa—a Buddhist sash worn as part of their vestments.   Kesa were typically stitched together from cloth donated by Buddhist laypersons, and we are told that these kesa were made from the garments of the late sovereign. The language of the decree itself was apparently so painful—Aston translates it as pathetic—that it couldn’t be fully set forth. That sounds to me like someone forgot to write it down.
Eleven days after the assembly at Asukadera, a national Buddhist feast was sponsored at all of the Temples in the capital. The day after that, a feast was sponsored at the mogari palace.
Later that same month, Silla ambassadors arrived at the archipelago. The Dazai, the viceroy of Tsukushi, met with them and informed them of what had happened. It is likely that they had left before any word had reached the peninsula, so this was the first they heard of it. Nonetheless, they all put on mourning clothes, turned to face the East, and bowed three times and raised lamentations. This was all being done in Kyushu, but nonetheless it was clearly important to the people who were recording these interactions.
A similar note in the record appears on the 23rd day of the first month of the following year, where we are told that Ohoama’s death was announced to the Silla ambassador, Gim Sangnim, and his colleagues. They, in turn, made their lament three times. It is possible that these are records of the same event, and I even wonder if one was recorded on the date they arrived and the other was recorded on the date that they were formally told what was happening. Either that, or the events of the 9th month of 687 were an informal notice, so that they could get ready, after which they traveled the three months and change to Asuka, where they then were given the formal notification.
Moving on to finish out the year 687: on the 22nd day of the 10th month, the Crown Prince and government officials, along with all of the governors and Kuni no MIyatsuko—and not forgetting the common people—all began work on the sovereign’s tomb. This is one of the few tombs that we have some confidence in, though it isn’t a keyhole shaped kofun like many others from previous eras. Today it looks mostly like a round hill, but originally it seems to have been an eight-sided tomb with five distinct levels. Eight sides suggests a Buddhist influence, as eight is an auspicious number, such as in the 8-fold path. I can’t help but wonder if the five levels were connected to concepts of five in Confucian and Daoist teachings. For instance, there was the idea of five Confucian virtues as well as the Wuxing, or Gogyou, where we have five specific elements. Given the importance and influence of continental thinking at the time, neither one would surprise me.
The tomb would take almost a year to complete, which almost doesn’t seem like enough time given everything that they did. It is possible that they had already prepped much of what they needed and that the 10th month of 687 was simply the date they broke ground, but either way it was an impressive feat.
Meanwhile, as the construction was ongoing, the public displays of mourning continued. Once again, new year’s day celebrations of 688 were postponed in favor of public mourning, with the Crown Prince and all of the ministers making their lamentations on the first day of the year, followed by a company of priests the following day.
On the 8th day of the first month of the year we are told that there was a public great congregation of priests held at Yakushiji. This is the first official event held at Yakushiji, and so presumably the temple was now finished—or at least finished enough. Since Ohoama isn’t mentioned, it is certainly possible that this wasn’t directly connected to the ceremonies around the official mourning of Ohoama. On the other hand, Yakushiji was commissioned by Ohoama for the health of his wife, Uno no Sarara, so I have a hard time thinking that there weren’t any connections at all.
In the second month of 688, we get a decree that has a few different interpretations. The decree states that, “in the future, on all days of national mourning, it is absolutely necessary that abstinence be practiced.” Bentley translates this to mean that there would be a feast on the day of national mourning every year after. The key contention appears to be whether or not the day of mourning was a monthly or annual thing. The court appears to have been creating a national holiday around the memory of Ohoama, and it may have chosen the second month for that day of mourning and remembrance. Alternatively, this was for a day of mourning each month of the current year. The wording is vague. It is like the question of whether or not “Bi-weekly” means twice a week or once every two weeks, and I don’t know that there is any consensus. Still, it is interesting that they created their own holiday to remember Ohoama, and as far as I can tell this is the first such example of a holiday being used to remember a person in this way.
Once again on the 22nd day of the third month, flowers were again presented at the palace of temporary interment. This was only two days different from when the mikage had been set up in the previous year, so it would seem that the timing was significant—possibly because it was spring and the flowers were blooming. Fujiwara no Ason no Ohoshima, the same individual who had helped gather the various priests together at Asukadera to hand out kesa made of the sovereign’s own garments, presented the eulogy.
The ceremonies are then put on hold for a bit. There is an account from the 11th day of the 6th month where prisoners guilty of capital crimes would have their punishment mitigated one degree while those in prison for lighter offenses would be pardoned altogether. In addition, only half of the commuted taxes were to be levied. This might have been more merit-working for Ohoama or it may have been because the nation itself was undergoing a drought and they were seeking the Buddha’s favor to bring the rains.
Once again in the 8th month we see offerings of food are made, and a lament raised inside the palace of temporary interment. This time the eulogy was performed by Ohotomo no Sukune no Yasumaro. The day after that, Prince Ise was given commands regarding how the upcoming funeral was to be handled, which was to happen three months later.
The 11th month kicked off with the Crown prince and the ministers once more going to the palace of temporary interment, this time on the 4th day of the month. They had with them guests from the “frontier lands” as Aston notes—Bentley says foreign countries. Offerings of food were made, and the Tatefushi dance was performed. This was a dance with shields and swords, according to later records. It seems that the dancers also wore armor, or something to approximate armor. All of the ministers then advanced, each in turn, and pronounced a eulogy, with each recounting the services that their ancestors had rendered to the throne.
The following day, there was further ceremony as over 190 Emishi brought tribute in on their backs, and pronounced a eulogy for the departed sovereign.
Six days later, on the 11th day of the 11th month, Fuse no Ason no Miaruji and Ohotomo no Sukune no Mimiyuki both pronounced eulogies, and then Tahema no Mabito no Chitoko recited, as a eulogy, the succession to the throne of the royal ancestors.
And when that was finished, Ohoama’s body was finally placed in the Ohouchi tomb and the tomb was sealed.
And with that, the sovereign was put to rest, after over two years of mourning and ceremony, specifically designed to put on display the court’s apparent grief. Whether they were actually grieved or not, the importance was the performance of grief through the rituals set forth by the state. Individuals and groups demonstrated their loyalty through their participation. Noble families used the platform to recount their service and thus demonstrate their own history and pedigree and thus why they were deserving of their status in the court.
Furthermore, during all this ceremony around the funerary arrangements, to try to also have an ascension ceremony for the new sovereign was probably a little too much to try and push through. It would have also meant that they would been holding a ceremony that should be joyful and august under the pall of the mourning period. For the Crown Prince to don the robes of office while his father’s body lay in the courtyard was probably, as they say, a bad look. And, as I mentioned earlier, it wasn’t like it was making any real, practical difference. The ship of state was hardly rudderless, with Kusakabe and his mother both guiding it through the various ceremonies.
Sure enough, in the following year, 689, the new year ceremonies were no longer about mourning and lamentation. The queen gave an audience to all the lands in the Front Hall, and the following day the Ministry of Education presented 80 wooden staves, presumably for an old form of the Setsubun festival. Today, Setsubun, the day before Spring, is celebrated with soybeans, which are tossed at characters in oni masks, and then inside the house. The cries ring out “Oni ga soto” – “Demons Out” and then again, “Fuku ga uchi” – “Good luck inside!” Thus evil spirits are kept at bay and good fortune is welcomed into the home. In the older version of a similar ritual, it seems that wooden staves were used to symbolically drive the demons out, rather than just a handful of auspicious beans.
The first month of year 689 continued to look a lot like previous years, prior to Ohoama’s death. There was a banquet given to the Ministers, and gifts of clothing were handed out to them. And then, halfway through the month, the various officials brought presents of firewood to the palace. And then a meal was given to the various public functionaries.
A few days after that, Queen Uno left to visit the Yoshino palace for a few days, returning two days later.
There is something that is not mentioned in all of this that I suspect was happening. First of all, they had no doubt torn down the palace of Temporary Interment, and they were likely preparing for Crown Prince Kusakabe’s ascension. There are some that suspect Prince Kusakabe was waiting until three years had passed before taking the throne, mimicking a tradition sometimes observed on the continent, but nothing is explicitly said.
Instead, we see that on the 24th day of the 3rd month there was another amnesty across the realm, and we are explicitly told that crimes that hadn’t been pardoned in ordinary amnesties were also excepted in this amnesty. Amnesties typically seem to be part of merit-making to either prevent disaster or to celebrate something auspicious. Was this clearing the way for the ascension ceremony to take place? Or had something befallen the royal family?
We aren’t given many details, but on the 13th day of the 4th month, we are simply told that Crown Prince Kusakabe died. We aren’t told that he had previously been ill, or that anything in particular had happened. It is just a simple line in the text. And yet, this must have had tremendously serious consequences. I think we can fairly safely assume that he was prepared to ascend the throne—unless he was thinking of pulling something like Naka no Oe and running things from behind the scenes. However, there is plenty of evidence that Uno no Sarara was more likely to be the one to step back and be the power in the shadow. She had operated from that position before.
Whatever the plan was, clearly that plan was no more. Crown Prince Kusakabe was dead, and his only heir was still a young child. He also had no brothers to take the throne. The Chronicles don’t mention it, but this must have been a moment of incredible weakness for the court and the Queen. History as we know it could have turned out very differently from this point.
Also, sidebar—Prince Kusakabe’s death is recorded on the 13th day of the 4th month. While 13 would not necessarily be an inauspicious day until the Western superstition was introduced in recent times, the number 4 has long been associated with death because the pronunciation, “Shi” is the same as—or at least very similar to—the pronunciation of the character for death. This is also the case in Chinese, and so the number four is often avoided and seen as unlucky. Sometimes hotels will skip both the 4th and 13th floors in Asia to avoid any inauspicious vibes. In Japanese, the numbers 4—“Shi” and seven—“Shichi”—will often be pronounced with their kun’yomi readings, so “yon” and “nana” respectively. So I just find it rather an unfortunate coincidence that Crown Prince Kusakabe died on the 13th day of the 4th month. Yikes.
Anyway, if there was any wavering or grief by Uno no Sarara, it isn’t mentioned in the Chronicles. They continue to march on. Later that same month, Prince Kasuga passed away. Prince Kasuga was a non-royal prince, and the death of Prince Kasuga and the Crown Prince were met with an equal lack of fanfare or explanation. Compare to the death of Prince Ohotsu, who was given an entire eulogy about how he was really well liked.
Instead, the Chronicle simply moves on. The rest of the year passes by as though nothing had happened. The government continued with Uno no Sarara at its head. In the first day of the first month of the following year, Uno no Sarara formally ascended to the royal dignity in a ceremony where Mononobe no Maro set up the shields, Nakatomi no Ohoshima recited a prayer for the blessings of Heaven, and Imbe no Shikofuchi delivered the divine seal, sword, and mirror to her majesty. At that point all of the ministers and government officials made their obeisance in turn, clapping their hands as they did so.
One has to wonder if this ceremony wasn’t a little bittersweet, given everything that had happened. A few things about the ceremony to note. First are the three families mentioned: Despite the fact that the Mononobe house had been defeated by the Soga centuries back, here they stand in their traditional role as soldiers, raising up the shield. Then we see Nakatomi no Ohoshima—earlier mentioned as Fujiwara no Ohoshima—as the director of the Ministry of Kami matters, handling the ceremony. And then there is the Imbe, in some ways the rival to the Nakatomi and their descendants, the Fujiwara, who is handling the regalia.
Also of note is that the three regalia here are not the jewel, sword, and mirror, but the seal, sword, and mirror. We mentioned this many episodes back when we had seen these same three used for the ascension ceremony, and noted then that a royal seal appears to be used, rather than mention of a jewel. The character used, on the continent, referred to the imperial seal of the dynasty, which itself would have been carved into jade, or a jewel. And in Japan the character is also said to refer to the “Yasakani-magatama”, the sacred jewel. So was it the jewel, and they just called it the seal? Or is that a later attribution to try and maintain the concept that the three regalia remained the same? I couldn’t honestly say, but either way we see the concept of these three regalia as central to the ceremony.
And with that, Uno no Sarara, known to us as Jitou Tennou, ascended the throne. She would continue the process of making updates to the court and to the laws and regulations. She would also see the creation of the Fujiwara palace and accompanying city—designed as the first permanent capital city in all of Japan. She would also take a hard line with Silla and make her mark on the world stage, as well. But we’ll talk about that in future episodes.
And so, until next time, 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 147: Here We Go Again

April 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Photo of a wooden image from the Muromachi Period of Prince Ōtsu given to Yakushiji. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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The king is dead. Long live… who? Ōama’s death was probably not a huge surprise, given his apparent ill health, and it seems like things had been set up pretty well for his successor. His wife and Queen, Uno no Sarara, was already stepping in to keep the government operating, and his son and heir, Crown Prince Kusakabe, had been named and in the position for at least five years at that point. He had also taken steps to ensure that the entire royal family was supporting everything. One could hardly ask for a better setup for a smooth, bloodless transition of power. And yet, while it wasn’t as bad as the Jinshin no Ran, things do not seem to have been quite that simple. In the end, two of the Royal Princes would be dead and Kusakabe would not, ultimately, succeed his father to the throne. So what happened? Listen to the episode to find out.

In the meantime, here is a rundown of the major players at the time, in case you have trouble keeping track.

Queen Uno no Sarara (鸕野讚良皇后)

Uno no Sarara was the daughter of Naka no Ōe, aka Tenji Tennō, and Wochi no Iratsume. Wochi no Iratsume was the daughter of Soga no Kurayamada no Ishikawa no Maro, who had supported Naka no Ōe in the overthrow of Soga no Iruka and Soga no Emishi during the Isshi Incident. Royal Princess Uno no Sarara and her sister, Royal Princess Ōta, were both married off to Naka no Ōe’s brother, Ōama, who would later become Temmu Tennō. Together they would have one son, Royal Prince Kusakabe.

Uno no Sarara was clearly devoted to Ōama and his cause. She left with him to go to Yoshino and then hurried away when they left Yoshino to rally forces in the East for the Jinshin no Ran. She is said to have been heavily involved in prayers to the deity of Ise Shrine, Amaterasu, and appears to have played a hand in many areas of governance. When she grew ill, Ōama had Yakushiji, the temple of the Medicine Buddha, dedicated in her honor.

When Ōama passed away, Uno no Sarara was in charge of the government, and seemed poised to place her son, Crown Prince Kusakabe on the throne.

Crown Prince Kusakabe (草壁皇太子)

Son of Ōama and Uno no Sarara, he was born in 662 and he was made Crown Prince in 681. He was married to Royal Princess Abe, herself a daughter of Naka no Ōe and Mehi no Iratsume, another daughter of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro and sister to Uno no Sarara—so technically Abe was Kusakabe’s aunt, though she was only about a year older than he was. And since they had different mothers that was considered far enough apart to not count as incest. Crown Prince Kusakabe also had a young son, born around 683, known as Prince Karu.

Kusakabe is said to have been operating as the Crown Prince, meaning he would have been heavily involved in the government in preparation for eventually ascending the throne. That said, there were several matters to consider. One of them was the construction of a new palace. The Fujiwara Capital and its palace would have been under construction, and with the building of the mausoleum, the temporary and eventual interment of Ōama, and the construction still to be done on the palace, it seems that they postponed his ascension for several years.

That said, there were also a few other sons of Ōama who might have had a claim on the throne, should they decide to press it.

Royal Prince Takechi (高市皇子)

Royal Prince Takechi was Ōama’s eldest son. He had been present with the troops during the Jinshin no Ran, and appears to have been a favorite of his father’s. That said, Takechi did not have as illustrious a pedigree as his younger half-brother, as Takechi’s mother was the daughter of Munakata no Kimi no Tokusen. The Munakata were a powerful family from northwest Kyushu, overseeing the Munakata shrine and associated cultic sites, including Okinoshima, in the middle of the Genkai Sea, which is still considered particularly sacred, today. Nonetheless, his mother was not of royal blood, and as such Prince Takechi only had royal blood through his paternal line.

Royal Prince Ōtsu (大津皇子)

Royal Prince Ōtsu was technically the third eldest son of Ōama, and his mother was the Royal Princess Ōta, elder sister to Uno no Sarara. Ōtsu was born only a year after his brother, and his mother was technically senior to Uno no Sarara. Unfortunately, Ōta passed away before Naka no Ōe and the events that put Ōama on the throne, so she was never formally a queen. Ōtsu is also specifically called for and mentioned during the events of the Jinshin no Ran, though he likely was not old enough to do much at the time. In the Kaifusō, a book of Sinitic style poetry, we are told that he was best friends with Royal Prince Kawashima (川島皇子), who was actually one of the sons of Naka no Ōe, so technically more like an uncle.

Kusakabe, Ōtsu, and Takechi are often mentioned together in the Chronicles, in that order. They were clearly favorites of Ōama, and all three were part of the Yoshino conference where they all pledged to work together for the good of the State. However, Ōama’s body was hardly cold before word got out that a group of about thirty nobles was supporting a different son to become the next sovereign, rather than Crown Prince Kusakabe.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 147: Here We Go Again

Iki no Hakatoko looked around the spacious room and recognized many of the faces he saw there. There were various nobles from around the court present. All of them were familiar, even if they were not the closest of acquaintances—they ran in similar circles and were connected to each other over various political positions. Some were connected by marriage, some were just allies, and others were almost rivals—but they were all there for a common cause.
The open chamber had been buzzing as all of those elites of Yamato talked about why they might have gathered. Of course, the big news was the death of the sovereign. Ohoama had passed away, and the court was formally in mourning. And yet the government seemed stable.    The Queen was at the helm, guiding t he government, and her son was beside her as the Crown Prince. So what was everyone doing here, gathering for what they could only assume were… other options?
Finally, the buzzing started to die down as the doors to the chamber were closed and guards posted. And then, the host for the discussion arrived, as Royal Prince Ohotsu stepped out and greeted all of his soon-to-be co-conspirators….

This episode, at long last, we are about to dive into a new reign. And if you haven’t picked up by now, this, the end of the 7th century, was a turbulent time. Although the court had been instituting reforms to be more like the courts on the continent—and it wasn’t like Ohoama died without any heir whatsoever—things were still unstable. I know, shocker, right? So what happened?
Let’s go over the history some, and the main players, and then we can see what happened and the aftermath. Before that, however, let’s talk about what we might expect to have happened, if everything had worked like clockwork.
While Ohoama passed away in 686, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t made any plans. His wife and Queen, Uno no Sarara, was deeply entrenched in governmental affairs, and their son, Prince Kusakabe, had been named Crown Prince in 681. This meant that both were in positions of significant power within the current government. All things being equal, and assuming a Confucian model, one would expect that upon Ohoama’s passing, Kusakabe would step up and take the reins of the government, ascending to the throne as the new ruler. Uno would oversee the transition and take her place as the Queen Mother, remaining in the palace and helping to shepherd the new rule, while one of Kusakabe’s wives—probably Abe-hime, who, like her half-sister Uno, was also a daughter of Naka no Oe—would become his queen.
And yet that is not what happened. Prince Kusakabe does not show up in our list of sovereigns, and we are told he never ascended the throne. Instead, his mother, Uno no Sarara, came to power. So what exactly happened? Why would she not have handed over power to her only son and set him up on the throne? To understand all of that, I think there are several things we need to discuss, first of them being just how tenuous and fragile transitions like this were.
If you’ve been listening to the podcast for a while, you might be nodding in agreement with this statement: for more than a century, at this point, whatever high-minded ideals the rulers of Yamato may have espoused, their path to the throne had been covered in blood. Let’s roll back to the events of 587. We talked about this in Episode 91, when the Soga and Mononobe families had each lined up behind different aspirants to the royal throne. The Mononobe were a powerful family, known to be warriors for the throne, and the head of the Mononobe, the Ohomuraji, Moriya, was one of the most influential people at court. However, in recent years, the Soga family had been on the rise. Soga no Iname had married his daughters to members of the royal family, and he and his son, Umako, were known as the Ohoomi. The Mononobe were not having it with these uppity newcomers, but the Soga seem to have built their power, anyway, likely using their connections to the continent to do so. In a series of succession disputes, the Soga came out on top, defeating the Mononobe and eventually killing Moriya. It was a bloody fight, but eventually the Soga’s royal relatives won out.
This brought Hasebe Wakasasagi, aka Sushun Tennou, to the throne. For a time, Wakasasagi and Soga no Umako ruled the land, but eventually Wakasasagi grew suspicious of Umako—perhaps jealous of his power. He considered taking him out, but Umako caught wind and had the sovereign assassinated, instead. Umako then put his own niece, Kashikiya Hime, on the throne, where most know her as Suiko Tennou.
Kashikiya was no stranger to the court, having served as the wife of her own half-brother, Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou. Kashikya is thought to have been a compromise candidate, chosen specifically to avert any further power struggles. Certainly, Umako did not want a repeat performance of what had just happened with Wakasasagi. And though she reigned, power was apparently shared between Soga no Umako, Kashikiya Hime, and Kashikiya Hime’s nephew—Umako’s grandnephew—Crown Prince Umayado, aka the legendary Shotoku Taishi.
By all rights, it seemed like things should have gone smoothly. Umako, the eldest, would pass away to be succeeded by his niece, and it would make sense that after Kashikiya Hime’s passing, Umayado would assume the throne. Instead, Umayado would be the first to pass, creating uncertainty as to the future of the throne. Then Umako would follow several years later. Finally, Suiko would pass away soon thereafter.
So, in about six years the three most powerful people in court all passed away. Soga no Umako’s son, Soga no Emishi, was still coming out from under his father’s shadow. Furthermore, it was not clear who should sit the throne—should it be Prince Yamashiro no Oe, the son of the Crown Prince, Umayado? After all, his father would have likely inherited the throne and then it would have no doubt been passed to him. And yet, there was another contender: Prince Tamura. Ultimately Soga no Emishi backed Prince Tamura, a man with ties to Nunakura through both his father and mother, and yet who was not truly a royal prince in that his own parents had never held the throne. Then again, neither had Umayado.
Eventually, Prince Yamashiro no Oe would back down from his claim to avoid bloodshed—and yet blood would be shed anyway. When Prince Tamura died, in an apparent bid to keep Soga power and quash any resistance before it started up, Soga no Emishi had Tamura’s wife, Takara hime, aka Kougyoku Tennou, installed—but Prince Yamashiro no Ohoe was still alive, and his heirs were still out there. Soga no Emishi appeared to be content, but his son and heir, Soga no Iruka, was not. And when his father was ill and Iruka had a free hand, he ordered the destruction of Prince Yamashiro no Oe, presumably to avoid a future challenge to the throne and thus to the Soga family’s hold on power.
This move shocked many, and rather than preventing conflict, it seems to have stirred up ill feelings against the Soga for their heavy hand in the politics of the period. This would lead Prince Naka no Ohoe and several co-conspirators to rise up, killing Soga no Iruka in court, and then attacking his father, Soga no Emishi, in their home. See episode 106 for more on that, known as the Isshi Incident. Naka no Ohoe and his supporters would take their place in the court, but Naka no Ohoe would not ascend to the throne, himself – at least not yet. Instead, he took the position of Crown Prince, and his uncle, Prince Karu,aka Kotoku Tennou, took the throne.
However, that still left a loose end. Prince Furubito no Oe, who had appeared to be the favorite for the throne under the Soga, was still alive. Furubito no Oe was the son of Tamura and a Soga consort—Hotei no Iratsume, the daughter of Soga no Umako. Although the Chronicles do not mention it, he seems to have been well placed to be Crown Prince in place of Naka no Oe, especially in a Soga dominated court. Without that backing, however, his claim may not have been quite so strong. He had gone into exile in Yoshino, but opponents of Naka no Oe’s faction and their bloody coup began to use him as a rallying point. It is unclear if Prince Furubito himself had any ambitions, but the fact remained that he was a threat, nonetheless, and Prince Naka no Oe had him taken out.
By controlling things from behind the throne, Prince Naka no Oe seems to have been able to keep things fairly stable. When his uncle Karu passed away, the throne went back to his mother, who is known as Saimei Tennou in her second reign, but Naka no Oe was still in a place of considerable power, and the continuity likely helped keep things on track. Then Takara Hime passed away in the midst of a national crisis—the mobilization to support Baekje against the Silla-Tang alliance. That military effort turned out to be less than successful, but by that point, there does not seem to have been much question over who was in charge – it was finally Naka no Oe’s turn to take the throne, and he did, as Tenji Tennou.
And so it wasn’t until Naka no Oe’s own death that we again see major violence. Naka no Oe’s brother, Ohoama, is said to have been the Crown Prince, but then Naka no Oe’s son, Ohotomo, came of age. He was made the Dajo Daijin and supported by the most powerful nobles in court.   It is clear that there were divergent factions within the court itself, though, with some supporting Ohotomo and others supporting Ohoama. In the midst of this, Ohoama chose to bow out, at least while his brother Naka no Oe was still on the throne. However, Ohotomo and his supporters could not leave Ohoama out there as a loose end. They knew that he still had a claim and supporters, and they started to make plans to move against him after Naka no Oe’s death. They were too slow, however—Ohoama caught word and moved against the court, instead. In a bloody struggle that upended the politics of the court one more time, Ohoama came to the throne. That struggle, the Jinshin no Ran, was covered in detail in episodes 129 to 132.
So if we look back we can see that for all of the thoughts of inheritance and legitimacy, most of those who had ascended the throne had done so by eliminating their rivals—either before or just after they assumed the royal mantle. As such, this is something that Ohoama was, himself, quite concerned about, and he took several steps to try to avoid a repeat of this scenario.
First, and perhaps somewhat confusingly, he ensured that those in positions of authority in the government were largely tied by blood to the royal family. The royal and non-royal princes were all nominally related in one way, shape, or form. If nothing else this meant that the nobility— those elites without direct blood ties to the throne—were not, themselves, gaining the kind of power and authority that had previously been given out to families like the Ohotomo, the Mononobe, and the Soga. We don’t even hear that much about the relatives of Nakatomi no Kamatari, who had achieved such heights under Naka no Oe that he had become the Naidaijin, the great minister of the interior.
One might think that this system still had issues, however. After all, each princely line had their own tie to a previous sovereign, and we’ve certainly seen times where a sovereign came in out of left field, with a nominal, but hardly convincing, connection to the throne. This is particularly true in a time when succession was still not necessarily a strictly patrilineal custom; where it was not unusual for a senior family member to take up the mantle of leadership, rather than just the first-born son of the current ruler.
And that seems to be why Ohoama also held the Yoshino conference with his immediate family members in 679. This included his Queen Consort, Uno; the Royal Prince Kusakabe, the Royal Prince Ohotsu, the Royal Prince Takechi, the Royal Prince Kawashima, the Royal Prince Osakabe, and the Royal Prince Shiki. These were sons of both Ohoama and Naka no Oe, but they were all considered to be loyal insiders of the royal family. Ohoama had them swear to work together and to protect one another. And yet, as we shall see, that promise does not seem to have survived Ohoama himself.
So let’s talk about some of these characters, now that we are here at another question of succession.
We’ll start with the Queen herself, Uno no Sarara. Uno was born in 645, the daughter of Naka no Oe and a consort, Wochi no Iratsume, daughter of Soga no Yamada no Ishikawa no Maro. Ishikawa no Maro had been a powerful ally of Naka no Oe, assisting with the overthrow of his own uncle and cousin, Soga no Emishi and Soga no Iruka. In turn, he seems to have become the head of the Soga family. Despite the rhetoric that the Soga family was destroyed, it was more that the power of Emishi and Iruka was broken. Ishikawa no Maro had parlayed his assistance into another means to access power at the court, and married his own daughter to Naka no Oe. That worked until it didn’t—enemies in court slandered Ishikawa no Maro and Naka no Oe had him killed in 649.
Wochi no Iratsume would have three children with Naka no Oe. The eldest was Princess Ota, followed by Princess Uno, and finally Prince Takeru. There is a theory that she died in 651, giving birth to Prince Takeru. Prince Takeru himself would only survive a short while passing away in 658. He was only seven years old.
Both Princess Ohota and Princess Uno were married off to their uncle, Prince Ohoama. Princess Ohota was the elder of the two, and bore Princess Ohoku and Prince Ohotsu, whom we’ll discuss in a bit. However, Princess Ohota passed away in 667, during the reign of Naka no Oe, and so did not play as big a role in the politics of the day as her younger sister.
Uno, on the other hand, appears to have been Ohoama’s ride-or-die. They were married when she was only thirteen years old, and she followed him when he and Naka no Oe went to Kyushu to oversee the war on the peninsula. It was there that she gave birth to her first and only son in 662. She left the court behind to follow Ohoama to Yoshino, along with their son, Prince Kusakabe. She then followed Ohoama on his lightning blitz through the mountains over to the east. It is said that while he went on to the front, she maintained a place in the relative safety of the land of Mie. From there she likely organized the rearguard and would have been involved with the back-end logistics. She is also said to have made particular entreaties to the deities of Ise shrine, and may have had a hand in raising the Shrine to greater prominence during the reign of Ohoama and later.
A key note is the fact that, when Ohoama became ill, and could not effectively manage the affairs of state, Uno stepped in and made sure that things continued to operate. And so, when Ohoama finally passed away, his projects were not simply left hanging—his queen and consort, Uno no Sarara, was there to see that everything remained on track.
As queen, Uno’s son, Prince Kusakabe, was the favorite to succeed his father. In fact, in 681, he was named Crown Prince at the age of 19. Kusakabe had even married his own aunt, Princess Abe—his mother’s half-sister. Princess Abe was another daughter of Naka no Oe and a Soga related consort; in this case it was Wochi no Iratsume’s younger sister, Mehi no Iratsume—sometimes called Sakurai no Iratsume. I should note that Princess Abe was only about 20 years old in 681, only a year older than the Crown Prince, so it isn’t like there was a huge age gap between them, even if he was technically marrying his own aunt. Still, they had already had a child between them the year before, in 680—this was Princess Hidaka or Niimi. Two years later, in 683, they had another child, Prince Karu, and later we know that they had a third child, Princess Kibi. This is all a pretty good start for a future sovereign, and Kusakabe seems to have been on track to succeed his father.
By all rights, it seems that Kusakabe should have stepped up in 686 to take the throne, but that was not to be. Instead, his mother, Queen Uno no Sarara, would retain her place at the head of the government. It is possible that this was meant to be merely temporary —there were still many things to be taken care of. With Ohoama’s death there were numerous rituals having to do with his interment, and the Crown Prince, Kusakabe, appears to have been integral to those events. Whereas we may have previously seen powerful nobles step up, with the increased influence of Confucianism, it makes sense that a son would be responsible for ensuring that things were taken care of.   There was also the issue of a new palace that would need to be built, and the court would need to prepare for the various enthronement ceremonies. After all, Naka no Oe himself wasn’t formally enthroned for three years into his supposed reign. And just like his grandfather, as Crown Prince, Kusakabe maintained a powerful portfolio at the court that would still allow him to have a heavy hand on the rudder of the ship of state. In fact, had things gone differently, then the Chroniclers may have simply counted these early years as part of Kusakabe’s reign, as they had done with Naka no Oe.
And all that would have been great—except that, despite all those nice family agreements at Yoshino, there were others who seem to have had designs on the throne.
The first claim that likely could have been made was by Prince Takechi. Prince Takechi—written as Takaichi, like the district of the same name—was technically the eldest son of Ohoama. He had been called to Ohoama’s side during the Jinshin no Ran, and given nominal control over the troops waiting to cross the pass from Ohowari into Afumi. This was likely more of a sinecure, however; Prince Takechi was still quite young, and while the position would no doubt teach him much about organization and leadership, I certainly hope that there were more experienced individuals assisting him.
However, for all of that, Prince Takechi had a major strike against him In the form of his parentage. Although he was Ohoama’s eldest son, his mother was not a royal princess. Instead she was Amago no Iratsume, the daughter of the powerful head of the Munakata family, Munakata no Tokusen.
Munakata was a powerful area on the northwest coast of Tsukushi—modern Kyushu. It is famous for the three Munakata shrines. The outer, or Hetsu, shrine is on the land, but the middle shrine is on the island of Ohoshima, 11 kilometers from the Hetsu shrine. Then the Oki, or deep sea, shrine is on the aptly named Okinoshima, another 49 kilometers past that, out in the middle of the Genkai Sea, the body of water between Kyushu, Tsushima, and the Korean peninsula. Even today, Okinoshima is considered a sacred place, and has never been developed: even today, only those closely associated with the shrine are allowed to set foot there. Because of that we can see something remarkable, as Okinoshima was held as sacred for hundreds of years, during which time, offerings were regularly made to the kami there, presumably for safe passage across the waters. These offerings have accumulated over the centuries and serve as a fascinating glimpse back into the history of the shrine and of the relations between the archipelago and the peninsula.
The land of Munakata—and by extension the rulers, or Kimi—appear to have had not inconsiderable influence over the trade back and forth across the ocean to the continent. This is further corroborated by the wealth left at Okinoshima and elsewhere, as well as by large kofun nearby, thought to be those of the ruling family of the area. This would have no doubt been a powerful and prestigious family to be allied with, especially in Ohoama’s role as a Prince. However, despite all of that, they were not, ultimately, a royal family.   That would seem to have made Prince Takechi ineligible to take the throne—at least without some serious backing and perhaps a little re-working of his parentage.
And this brings us to the third eldest son of Ohoama: Prince Ohotsu. Unlike Prince Takechi, Prince Ohotsu was the son of a royal princess—Princess Ohota. In fact, not only was she a royal princess, but she was the sister to Queen Uno. And Prince Ohotsu was born only a year later than Prince Kusakabe. Furthermore, during the Jinshin no Ran, Prince Ohotsu was called to Ohoama’s side, along with his half-brother, Prince Takechi, and he is specifically mentioned in that role, despite the fact that he was still too young to have played much of a role. Like Prince Kusakabe, Prince Ohotsu was in his early twenties.
So if we put Kusakabe and Ohotsu side-by-side, we can see that they have a lot of similar qualifications. Both were the sons of Ohoama by daughters of Naka no Oe, giving them double-royal lineages. Their mothers were even full sisters, so they were both great-grandsons of Soga no Ishikawa no Maro, for whatever that means. Kusakabe was older by a day, but Ohotsu’s mother was the eldest of the two sisters. But for the fact that his mother had passed away, she could possibly have been declared Queen, and Ohotsu might have ended up as Crown Prince, instead of Kusakabe. Even if something had simply befallen Kusakabe, Ohotsu likely would have been able to step in, especially since Kusakabe had no full-blooded siblings, himself.
The reign of Ohoama is replete with examples of Kusakabe, Ohotsu, and Takechi often acting together or being given honors together. While it is always clear to rank them in that order, it is also clear that all three seemed to hold a place of high esteem.   What we don’t seem to see is any ill will between them—but then again, the Chronicles rarely give much attention to anyone who is not the sovereign except to mention them in passing.
As such, we get only a simple sentence in the record, dated barely two weeks after Ohoama’s passing, that Prince Ohotsu conspired against the Crown Prince, which is to say, Prince Kusakabe. As is so frustratingly often the case we aren’t told how he was conspiring. Clearly, it refers to succession and we can see that it wouldn’t take much for Ohotsu to gather support and place himself on the throne—had that occurred, we likely would see some differences in the Chronicles as well.
However, as it stood, the conspiracy came to naught. We are told that about one more week later, after the temporary interment of Ohoama’s body and the many, many days spent eulogizing him and those around him—seriously, the Chronicles go into way too much detail, which is great for giving us a lot of details on people in the court and their court ranks, but otherwise is mostly paragraphs of names of individuals who were likely important enough for the Chroniclers to ensure that they got at least a mention.
It was after that was finished that we are told that Prince Ohotsu’s conspiracy was discovered. He had the support of some thirty nobles, including a priest from Silla and the famous Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko—the one who had written the detailed account of the embassy that had been held under arrest by the Tang court, which we talked about back in Episode 123. The point is these were people with some amount of clout and who moved in important circles, and for thirty of them to be in Ohotsu’s camp might not seem like much, but that doesn’t begin to illuminate all of the people that they would have brought with them to the party. Furthermore, once they went public, who knows how many others might have joined them.
Fortunately for Kusakabe—and unfortunately for Ohotsu—the would-be conspiracy was quashed and quashed hard. We are told that it was discovered on the second day of the tenth month of 686—less than 30 days after Ohoama’s death—and the Queen herself, Uno no Sarara, stepped in and had Ohotsu executed at his own mansion in Wosada. She then issued a royal decree, stating to everyone that Ohotsu had committed treason, and that the punishment for treason was death. She also stated that those who had assisted him were also guilty, and should likewise receive the same sentence, except that she was going to be merciful. And so she ended up pardoning Prince Ohotsu’s co-conspirators. The only exceptions were Toki no Michidzukuri, who was banished to Idzu, and the Silla priest, who was exiled to a temple in Hida. While we aren’t told what roles they played, those two apparently were considered more complicit than the others.
A few days later, Prince Ohotsu’s sister, Princess Oku, was recalled from her position as the shrine princess of Ise. It is unclear if this is related, but it seems relevant given the proximity of the two events.
There is one other thing I should likely mention, and that seems to come from the Kaifuso. The Kaifuso is a collection of continental style poetry from the 8th century, similar to the Man’yoshu, but with a different focus. In both works they often given some description of the authors of the poems, which provide us more information on the people of the time. For instance, the Kaifuso speaks favorably of Prince Ohotomo, Ohoama’s rival in the Jinshin no Ran, and seems more than a little sympathetic towards him and his cause, compared to the way he is treated in the Nihon Shoki’s main narrative. In regards to our current point in the narrative and the treason of Prince Ohotsu the Kaifuso tells us that Prince Ohotsu was ratted out to the Queen by none other than his best friend, Prince Kawashima. Prince Kawashima was another one of the princes who had been called to Yoshino and who had pledged to work together. He was not Ohotsu’s brother or even half-brother, however, as Kawashima was the son of Naka no Oe. He was actually a good deal older than Ohoama’s actual sons, but apparently trusted by Ohoama at the same time. The Kaifuso also seems to tell us that Kawashima was rewarded for his efforts by the court.
The only problem is that the Nihon Shoki, our primary source, tells us none of this. Not only is Prince Kawashima not mentioned in regards to the plot, neither is he mentioned as having received any kind of reward or gift by the court. That doesn’t mean the Kaifuso is wrong, but it does raise the question.
Similarly, it is just as easy to suggest that the Nihon Shoki itself may be covering up what actually happened. After all, we only have one side of the story. What if there wasn’t a conspiracy? Or what if the conspiracy were of the Queen’s making, instead. Prince Ohotsu was clearly popular, and had a reasonable claim to the throne. That was a threat to her own son’s eventual ascension. It is possible that the Queen, Uno no Sarara, saw a threat and decided to do away with it, herself, keeping her own son’s hands relatively clean in the process.
Whatever the truth, we likely will never know, and so this is all we have to go on. Whether it was an actual conspiracy or just the paranoid concerns of a queen and mother, it is clear that it was not yet enough to have an heir named—there was always the possibility for these things to go sideways and for someone else to jump in with a claim of their own.
For all of that, while it seems that Prince Kusakabe was intended to ascend to the throne, for one reason or another, that was delayed. For some three years, as we’ve mentioned, Kusakabe and his mother ruled as Queen and Crown Prince, perhaps just because they were handling Ohoama’s burial and the creation of a new palace from which Kusakabe himself could then reign. Unfortunately, it seems that time accomplished what Prince Ohotsu and his conspirators could not, and in 689, Prince Kusakabe passed away. Shortly thereafter, the Queen, Uno no Sarara, ascended to the throne herself. This appears to have been because Kusakabe’s own son and heir, Royal Prince Karu, was only about 6 years old, having been born in 683, and his daughter was only 9. So rather than giving up the throne to some other woman’s child, Uno no Sarara took the throne for herself. She is remembered, today, as Jitou Tennou.
Jitou Tennou continued to work the initiatives that had been pushed forward during the reign of her husband. These were projects that she herself was quite familiar with, and in fact, many of the projects are sometimes thought to have been hers, with attribution given to her husband just to give it a greater air of legitimacy. Ultimately, however, she would oversee some quite formidable changes, even if many of them started in the previous reign or not.
And so begins the last reign of the Nihon Shoki, covering the years 686 to 697. The Nihon Shoki itself wouldn’t be complete and presented to the court for another 23 years or so, and yet this is where they chose to leave off. Perhaps that is because of when it was started, or they just didn’t have all the records ready for anything beyond. They clearly had to end somewhere, after all. And given that both Ohoama and Uno had such a hand in many of the changes, perhaps it just made sense to end here. Much of what would come would set the tone for centuries to come.
There is one more thing that I want to address in all of this. We’ve talked about the lineages of the various individuals, who trace their lineages back to either powerful noble families, like the Soga, or to specific sovereigns. There is a tendancy by some to talk about Ohoama having started what some would call the Temmu Dynasty. The idea being that Ohoama’s offspring would continue to reign for a time, displacing the offspring of his brother, Naka no Oe. Then, at a later date, Naka no Oe’s line would reassert itself.
This seems to be pretty clear cut from a strictly patrilineal viewpoint of royal succession, but I think it ignores a lot about the cultural aspects of the time. For one thing, descent was about both the father AND the mother, and too often people discount the mother’s influence, when, in fact, the mother most likely had more influence in the raising of children than did a royal father. After all, we don’t exactly get a lot of anecdotes about sovereigns spending quality time with their children—and I don’t think calling them to help you on campaign counts. To be fair we get hardly any anecdotes about children. But we also see that sovereigns were having multiple children with multiple consorts. Naka no Oe is said to have had about 14 children—possibly more. I count 17 children for Ohoama. And we see the ages spread out across the sovereigns’ lifetimes, with some children being born at a point that they had not even attained the age of majority by the time their father passed away. Put another way, look at how Prince Kusakabe was able to marry his own aunt, who was only a year older than he was. Clearly there was a bit of an age difference between siblings. I don’t imagine that they were being raised by their father, necessarily, but probably by their mothers and the servants at the palace, generally.
I would also point out that Ohoama included both his own children as well as children of his brother in the Yoshino conference, further indicating that he did not have any specific intention to entirely shut out the his brother’s line.
And then there is Uno no Sarara. She was Ohoama’s spouse, but also the daughter of Naka no Oe. Are we to think that she stopped being her father’s daughter because she married someone?
That doesn’t mean that labels might not be helpful in some ways, but I just don’t want to over emphasize the familial or dynastic connections. Brothers regularly turned on each other, and blood ties were no guarantee of cordial relations. In fact, only maternal siblings—those with the same mother—were actually considered true siblings in most cases. That’s how they justified so much of what we would consider incest in the royal family in the first place.
So while I do think that Ohoama and Uno tweaked the system set up by Naka no Oe and made their own impression on Yamato and, by extension, Japanese culture, I just don’t want to read too much into the lineages. The stories of politics and royal succession are often much more involved and complex.
And hopefully, we’ll get to see how complex as we continue on down this path. For now, I think I’m going to leave it here, and so, until next time, 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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 146: Coins, Letters, Games, and More

April 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Fuhon-sen, a replica of the early copper coins found and thought to be those ordered by Temmu Tennō in the late 7th century. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we close out the reign of Temmu Tennō with what I hope are some interesting tidbits that didn’t quite fit elsewhere, for one reason or another.

Fuhon-sen

The Fuhon-sen, or Fuhon coins, are coins found in Japan with the characters “Fu” (富) and “hon” (本) written on them, hence their name. Based on the fact that they are copper coins, and found from the late 7th century onward, it is thought that these are likely the coins that were produced on the order of Temmu Tennō. If so, they would appear to be the first coins minted in Japan for the Yamato state with a specific design—there are earlier coins known as mumon-ginsen, or unmarked silver coins. As noted in the name, they do not have any particular characters. It is thought that copper was used specifically because it was easier to create the design on the coins themselves.

The New Writing System

We also hear, this reign, about a new writing system. It was catalogued in a work consisting of about 44 volumes… and then never used. We have references from later people who saw the book in the royal archives, but it does not appear to have survived until modern times. Aston names the head of the project as “Ihashiki, Sakahibe no Muraji”, though some sources suggest the name should be read “Iwatsumi”. I’m currently sticking with Aston, but please note that this could be in error.

The letters appear to have been based on a Brahmic script—others describe it as “Sanskrit”, but there were multiple scripts used for Sanskrit over the years. The Sakaibe were quite involved in diplomatic missions with the continent, and as such would have been familiar with other languages and likely in a good position to try to pull something like this together. However, it seems that it was never as popular as the idea of simply using the existing Sinitic characters, which thus evolved into Man’yogana, which in turn led to the development of hiragana and katakana as phonetic systems for the Japanese language.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 146: Coins, Letters, Games, and More

The large audience hall was filled with nobles, sitting in pairs across from each other. Throughout the hall, the roof and walls reverberated with the sounds of numerous stone markers being placed on painted wooden tables—or more appropriately, game boards.   It was accompanied by the sound of dice clattering. At the far end of the hall was the royal presence, where his majesty could likewise join in the entertainment—with someone of sufficient standing, of course.
Throughout the day there were bursts of joy and frustration throughout the hall. In some instances, one could see two players sharing in the joy and love of the game. In other cases, political rivals stared each other down, neither one willing to give away any strategic advantage. Any smiles there were merely a mask. And yet, no matter how hard one tried, there was only so much you could do. Ultimately, your fate was in the hands of the dice, though you could certainly do your best to nudge it here and there.
And so they continued. As they played, small wagers were made between players. At the conclusion of their match, each player could find another opponent, and see if their luck held out. Victory was desired, but at the very least one didn’t want to be embarrassed. As such, losing gracefully was just as important as winning with humility. Sure, there were the petty stakes that were gambled here and there, but the real stakes were embedded in the politics of the court. That was a game that everyone was playing, except that there was no board, and the rules were often merely suggestions, at best.

This episode we are going to close out the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tenno. It has been a while getting here—but then again, Ohoama’s reign is the best documented so far, almost like the entire Chronicle has built up to this point. We have spent about a dozen episodes on this reign—not including the four before that discussing the Jinshin no Ran.
During that time we’ve talked about how Ohoama continued the Ritsuryou experiment, while at the same time shaping it into something that was even more directly under his control. A lot of this appears to have been done with the mostly willing consent of a good part of the archipelago.
That may have been because of a few different things. For one, all of this was justified through the philosophical underpinnings of the continent. This is the new knowledge that the court had been devouring for over a century, and so I suspect that none of it seemed particularly surprising or out of place. Furthermore, it seems that Ohoama’s actions may have appealed to some of the more middle-tier elites; those for whom the idea of a government stipend was quite appealing.
There was also the external threat of Silla and Tang. Though in reality, Silla was in conflict with the Tang dynasty, up until the conclusion of the Silla-Tang War, around 676. In truth, the Tang court wouldn’t recognize Sillan sovereignty south of the Taedong river until 736, so there were still tensions. However, early on in the reign there was at least the thought that hostilities could spill over onto the archipelago.
And then there are all of the projects. The designation of national temples, the beginning of a national history project, the founding of a permanent capital city, and the creation of a formal code—the Asuka Kiyomihara Code.
Compared to all of that, the topics of this episode really are some miscellaneous stuff that I didn’t have anywhere else to put, but wanted to bring to light anyway.
First, we’ll talk about the minting of coins, and what that meant. Once again, this is really neat because we actually have some coins that appear to be from this time frame, providing what might be a direct relationship between what is written down and what we have in the archaeological record.
Then we’ll touch on another project of Ohoama’s—this one less successful than some of the others we’ve discussed. This was an attempt to create a new writing system specific to the Japanese language. Remember, at this point literate people in the archipelago were using kanji to write everything down, and for the most part they were using kanbun—so Sinitic characters and grammar, with occasional use of characters purely for their phonetic qualities when they absolutely had to spell something out. Eventually this would evolve into the syllabaries of katakana and hiragana, but there were several false starts before that, and we’ll talk about what was being attempted during Ohoama’s reign.
Beyond those court projects we’ll talk about some of the kami and Buddhist related rituals, especially as they related to growing merit and attempting to protect the state and its people from disasters—natural or otherwise. And then there are various omens, and just a few edicts that were more geared towards the court but are still fun, like when Ohoama forced the entire court to join him for a day of… board games. I guess when you are the sovereign and trying to set up a game day, scheduling is suddenly not so big of a problem.
So that’s what we are going to cover. We are skipping around throughout the reign, and so while I’ll mention dates here and there, I’ll try not to get too bogged down with the exact dates unless it really matters.
First off: coins. We are going to start somewhere in the middle, on the 15th day of the 4th month of 683. It is here that we see a note that Ohoama decreed that copper coins would be used, and not silver. Remember that a silver mine had been discovered in Tsushima back in 674. At that time we know that there were silver coins being made, but in 683 it looks like they were changing from silver to copper. But three days later, they reversed the decision to completely cancel the silver coins, so they presumably had both silver and copper coins.
Coins are interesting for several reasons. For one, coins often help us to date various collections—if they are distinctive enough. They can be quite helpful in telling us that a particular archaeological assemblage is almost certainly from sometime after the coins had begun to be circulated. After all, if you unearth a stratum of an archeological dig and you find a penny dated to 1912, you can be reasonably confident that that layer was last exposed on or after 1912, unless time travel was at play. There are some exceptions where animals or tree roots or other forces can disturb the layering, but that’s why archeologists carefully pay attention to soil features.
That isn’t to say that all coins of the time had clear dates on them. In fact, the oldest coins we have in the archipelago are something called “Mumon Ginsen”—literally unmarked silver coins. They are found in various assemblages and thought to have originated under Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou. The silver from Tsushima would have likely been used for this. For many reasons it is unclear if these were minted by the state or if they were privately minted and circulated.
The copper coin mentioned in Ohoama’s record in the Nihon Shoki would appear to be what is known as a Fuhonsen coin, which we also have extant examples of. These are round copper coins with a square hole in the middle, as was common on the continent. The previous unmarked silver coins were just small circles of solid silver. In contrast, the Fuhonsen bear the characters “FU-HON”: FU, or “Tomi”, means wealth, and HON, or “moto”, means something like base or basis. “SEN” just refers to the fact that it is a coin. So the coin represents the basis of wealth. They are just under an inch in diameter, and 1.5 millimeters thick. While primarily copper, they do have traces of antimony, silver, and bismuth. The use of copper was likely because of its lower melting point, which would have been easier to cast with.
So it seems that these were the new copper coins mentioned in the Chronicles, and the intent was originally to completely replace any silver currency. I suspect that they quickly realized that they could not easily replace all of the silver, and so the older silver coins were probably still in circulation—though I don’t know if any new ones were being minted.
We don’t exactly know how the coins were used. They weren’t being used to pay taxes or similar things—that was still all being handled in rice, silk, cloth, and labor. They might have been used by the government to pay individuals, who would then exchange them for goods, but they were probably not used very often between individuals. There is even some suggestion that they had a more ritual meaning.
Coins of a similar shape—round with a square hole in the center—go back to at least 350 BCE on the continent, and were quite common by the time of the Han dynasty. The round hole allowed them to be placed on strings—you’ll often see references to strings of cash. In the Qin dynasty, a string was meant to be a superunit, made up of 1000 coins. Merchants and others operating at some scale could then just pay in “strings” of cash rather than counting out each and every coin. It also provided a way of transporting them. Anyone doing business in east Asia would have encountered coinage from one of the dynasties on the mainland, and we certainly see various coins making their way over to the archipelago, though how exactly they were used and valued isn’t certain. It may have been more important to just have them on hand for trips to the continent so that an embassy or trading vessel could participate in the economy, there.
The next coin to be minted in the archipelago itself wasn’t until 708, and that was the Wadokaichin, or Wado coins, named for the four characters around the square hole, which included the era name that they were created, “Wado”. This seems to have kicked off an actual national currency that would only last for a couple hundred years before it was debased and lost its value. For centuries after that, rice was once again the primary currency, and would continue to be so, even though the Tokugawa shogunate would begin to mint and issue coins again through much of their rule. Still, coins were often outside the grasp of most of the common people.
While coins may not have fully caught on, they did better than our next project. This was a task that was given to Sakahibe no Muraji no Iwashiki who compiled, by royal command, a new set of characters, which were recorded in a book of 44 volumes. Though this book is no longer extant, we do have later sources that claim it was once in the royal library. It describes the characters as similar to Sanskrit characters.
This appears to be an attempt to create an alphabet, or syllabary, for the Japanese language. While Yamato had adopted the Sinitic systems of logographic writing, it wasn’t exactly up to the task of directly writing in Japanese. For one thing, the languages had different sounds that they used, and in different combinations. Furthermore, grammatically, the two were quite different. Many Sinitic languages are Subject, Verb, Object, similar to English, while Japanese is Subject, Object, Verb, meaning the verb goes at the end. But beyond that, Japanese relies extensively on conjugation of verbs, with verbs and adjectives changing to express tense and other such things that Sinitic languages, such as modern Putonghua and languages such as Middle Chinese handle in other ways.
To give an English speaking person a similar experience, imagine writing sentences as “The bird in the tree sat” or “the man the bread at the store bought”. Now remove many of the articles and prepositions, so you get things like “bird tree sit” and “man bread store buy”. You can imagine how that can really get unwieldy if you want to convey more nuanced concepts.
Japanese would either need to add a phonetic writing system—which it did—or it would need to come up with new characters to use in place of the special qualities of the language. Or they would need to continue to write in Sinitic grammatical order and continue to do the translation to Japanese on the fly.   One can imagine that this was hardly efficient—in order to learn how to write you would basically have to learn a whole new language.
That these new symbols were similar to characters associated with Sanskrit also makes sense, and we even see similar attempts on the continent, though they had other writing systems to compare to as well. For example, we see the Persian Sogdian, written with a variation of Syriac script, and the Ghandari language written with its own Ghandari or Kharosthi script, but the influence of Buddhism likely explains why scripts associated with Sanskrit likely had a greater influence than other languages. I should note here that Sanskrit itself does not have a single script—today, people probably think of the Devanagari script, commonly used in India, but that doesn’t seem to have been developed until the 8th century. The work of Iwashiki was likely based on something like the Siddham, or Kutila, script. This is an abudgida, where consonants and vowels are connected together when written. This would have worked well for the Japanese language as phonemes are often grouped together as consonant-vowel clusters known as morae. Siddham evolved in the late 6th century and many Buddhist scripts that were making their way along the Silk Road would have used it. However, it is said that Siddham proper—or at least as we know it today—was introduced to Japan by the famous monk Kuukai in the early 9th century. If that is the case, then what script was Iwashiki using as his inspiration?
Regardless of the details, this new script doesn’t seem to have taken off. It may have just been too much to ask someone to learn the various kanji AND another system on top of that. Instead, the Japanese would adopt certain kanji over time, and simplify them into what we know, today, as kana.
Our earliest example is what we know of as Man’yogana, named for the Man’yoshu, an 8th century collection of poems attributed to various contemporary and historical figures. Because the poetic structure of Japanese required specific counts of syllables or, more specifically, morae, it was important to capture the actual pronunciation of the language. Certain characters were chosen and used over and over again purely for their phonetic value, rather than any other inherent meaning. Over time, those characters were simplified and standardized, developing into the katakana and hiragana still used today. While it was these organically-evolving systems that would eventually be most popular and fill the gap, but it is still incredible to see someone deliberately tackling the problem at this early date.
Moving on from money and writing, let’s turn now to matters of the kami and the Buddha.   Yamato existed in a world that saw itself as being caught between forces both seen and unseen. Besides the natural world there was the spiritual world, and to many it was just as real as anything else.
We’ve talked all along about the interplay between the court, the kami and the Buddha, and some of the evidence we see is relatively simple. For instance, in 675, the Ohokami, the great god, of Tosa presented a divine sword to the sovereign. I doubt that a kami was showing up in person to the court—this would have been priests from the shrine.   Aston suggests that the kami in question was probably either Hitokotonushi no Mikoto or Misukitakahikone no Mikoto, quoting “authorities” which he does not otherwise name.
We get more serious, though, when it comes to major events. And the drought and famine of 676 seems to fit that description. As you may recall from episode 144, the governor of Shimotsukeno reported a bad harvest in the 5th month, and by the 6th month we see more reports coming in of a great drought. Clothing was collected for the Buddhist temples to help build merit. Later, there was a comet in the sky, and then, in the 8th month, we see that the court compelled the Kuni no Miyatsuko and the governors to all contribute to an Ohoharae, or Great Purification.
Eventually, the Ohoharae would become a regular ceremony held on the 30th day of the 6th and 12th months of the year, with royal princes down to the high ministers gathering at the southern gate—the Suzaku-mon. Members of the Urabe, the Diviners, would read the various norito, the ritual prayers, to disperse evil influences. It was, and is,also used when there is a royal visit to the Ise or Kamo shrines, as well as at the Dajosai festival at the start of a new reign. It can also be done if there is thought to have been some kind of offense that was committed.
“Harae”, or “purification”, is a common part of Shinto ritual today. From the simple washing of the hands and mouth before entering the shrine grounds to pray to spiritual purification performed by a priest who waves a large stick with paper streamers—the ohonusa or haraegushi—while chanting prayers to ward off evil influences, purification is a key component in Shinto, which often concerns itself with aspects of spiritual pollution. And so the Oho-harae, the Great Purification, is that, but turned up to eleven.
The litany used for the Ohoharae, today, is also known as the Nakatomi no Ohoharae, indicating the importance of the Nakatomi in the ritual. This Ohoharae, however, was taking place in the 8th month, and may not have had all of the traditions of the later rituals we know today. Rather, we are told what was required: The Kuni no Miyatsuko of the provinces were instructed to send one horse and a piece of cloth to specific shrines of purification. In addition, the governors of the various districts were each told to supply one sword, one deerskin, one mattock, one smaller sword, one sickle, one set of arrows, and one sheaf of rice. In addition, each household had to supply a bundle of hemp cloth. These may not have been used in the ritual as much as they were offerings to the kami and their shrine.
We’ll see this in various cases where the State places rather onerous financial requirements on the population in order to perform rituals. Of course, by the logic of the time, whatever was donated would make the ritual more effective—it would be more pleasing to the kami. Still this seems remarkably costly in a year where we are told that the peasants were starving just a few months prior.
I’ll also take this moment to point out a link here to something that anyone who has been to a shrine may be familiar with, and that is the donation of horses. Horses were common enough a donation—if people of status rode horses, then how much more so the kami themselves? Sacred or votive horses could be used to carry the kami, and even today some shrines keep sacred horses for the kami. However, not everyone has horses to donate, and I suspect that the shrine probably didn’t need an entire herd of horses. And so some would pay money for an image of a horse, instead, to be hung in the shrine, likely indicating the donor. Of course, this wasn’t just a picture, but an official record of some kind of donation, which could theoretically go to purchase horses and other such things that the shrine might need. These pictures of horses were known as “e-ma”, literally “picture horse”, and we still see them today: The most common type of e-ma will be small wooden placards sold at the shrine, and people will write their desires on the back, with their name and information. They will often be found hanging in groups on specially designated racks meant for that purpose. Today, e-ma might have horses on them, but more often have other pictures, associated with the particular shrine and kami.
Speaking of horses, we have a couple more references to them this year. At some point, Ohoama had issued an edict seeking horses, not just for riding, but other good horses so that the givernment would have them when needed, distributed to the various post-stations. So when he was returning from a banquet by the Todoroki pool in Hatsuse—modern Hase--Ohoama made a diversion to the post-station of Tomi and had the horses demonstrate their speed. Presumably this was just a horse race, which seems to be popular around the world, in any place with horses.
We see something similar when we are told that Ohoama went to Asatsuma to inspect the horses of the officials there. At his request, the officials organized a competition of horseback archery. This appears to reference the famous art of Yabusame—though it may not have been recognized as such just yet, there is some thought that the idea of a horsed archer shooting at three targets while galloping past may have originated in the 6th century, with ties to Usa Jingu. Still, horseback archery would remain important, and later it would become the primary art of the warrior class from about the 12th to the 13th century or so—and arguably even up until the Sengoku period, with its spear formations and foreign guns.
Later, in the 10th lunar month of 681, Ohoama and the court were prepared to go hunting on the Hirose plain. A temporary palace was prepared and all of the bags were packed, but ultimately, Ohoama didn’t go. Instead, those from the rank of Prince to high ministers stayed at Karunoichi—a market at a cross-roads in the Nara basin that likely was the location of a government stable. There, they inspected the horses and saddle equipment. Those from the rank of Shokin up sat under the trees while those of Daisen and below mounted up and passed along from south to north. Not quite as exciting as horse racing or horsed archery, but who doesn’t like a parade.
One wonders what happened to call off the hunt. Perhaps Ohoama, while not bedridden, was not in the best of health. If he was having some kind of recurring problems then that could explain some of the merit-making as well. You may recall we discussed how much merit the state seemed to be trying to make in support of the sovereign’s health, which we discussed in episode 142.
Getting back to the Ohoharae—the great purification. That was followed up by a general amnesty, which we talked about last episode, as well as a command to let loose living things. This is a Buddhist practice that one still sees today in various places, usually in the form of letting loose animals like fish and birds that were kept by individuals. I don’t think they were just opening up the paddocks and letting the horses, cattle, and other animals go. As fascinating as that might be to contemplate, with horses just running wild and cattle trampling the rice fields, I doubt they took it that far.
Still, this practice was clearly an attempt to make more merit for the State.   This edict was repeated only a few months later, in the 11th lunar month, but then it was confined to those provinces that were considered to be “near” to the capital, so a little more focused. The day after that second release of animals, men were dispatched to all parts to expound the Konkwoumyou and Ninou sutras. This was the Sutra of Golden Light and the Sutra of the Benevolent King—both sutras focused on concepts of good rulership and protection of the State. In fact, together with the Lotus Sutra, they would come to be considered the Gokoku Sanbukyou—the Three sutras for Protection of the State. They were read for the purpose of averting disaster, but they also helped to prop up the image of a righteous and benevolent ruler—what might be termed a golden-wheel turning sovereign, or Chakravarti.
So all of this would seem to simultaneously reflect an intention to protect the State while also demonstrating performative regnal righteousness. It was, after all, what a good ruler was supposed to do, which also conveniently told people what a good ruler was supposed to do.
It is unclear whether or not the court actually felt this did anything. I would note that a month later they were asking Princes and Ministers to gather up weapons, so it is possible that they were concerned about more than just natural disasters— such as a concern that the people were getting restless. A few days later, we see more largess, as the court made presents to public functionaries and men of the frontier states. It is unclear to me if this is a reward of some sort or perhaps an attempt to boost their morale and support.
Later in that month we see preparations for the upcoming Feast of First Fruits, or Niinamesai, two months later. We are told that the Jingikan, the Office of Kami Matters, had made the divination that the Yuki, the ceremonially pure rice for the ritual would come from the District of Yamada, in Owari. For the Sugi, the “next” lower quality of rice, that would come from the district of Kasa, in Tamba. The feast went off as usual in the 11th month, pre-empting the normal announcement of the first of the month.
Later in the record we see that preparations were started for another Ohoharae, or Great Purification, and a general amnesty was issued. This time, instead of sending horses for the kami, the Miyatsuko of each province were to supply one male and one female servant to the shrines, instead.
Fifteen days later, in the intercalary 7th lunar month—an extra month inserted to keep the lunar and solar calendars in synch—we see the queen, Uno, hosting a feast after ritual fasting. She then had sutras expounded throughout the capital. I find it particularly interesting that this was apparently instigated by the queen, but along with the Ohoharae, this all speaks towards the feeling that the State needed to be purified and supplied with good merit.
The Ohoharae was not the only way to curry favor with the kami. For example, in one record we see Ohoama designating sacred rice-tax for the shrines of Heaven and Earth—shrines for the Amatsu kami and Kunitsu kami. One third of the rice was to go to the kami directly, while two thirds of the rice was to go to the priests who kept the shrines going.
This same year, 677, we aren’t told where the rice for the Niiname-sai came from, but we are told that those who donated as well as members of the Jingikan, who were involved in the divination and ritual more generally, were all compensated for their troubles with various presents.
The Jingikan is one of those aspects of the new, bureaucratic state, that feels extremely tied to the archipelago. It literally is the Bureau of Kami Matters, or the Bureau of Kami Affairs—the Kami no Tsukasa. It would even come to be ranked above the Council of State in the official org chart of the government. While the government had national temples and appointed members of the clergy who were responsible for keeping the Buddhist institutions in line with the State, the Jingikan was that entity for court ritual, and even for interfacing with various shrines around the country.   In the 10th century, all of the official shrines across the archipelago would be catalogued and assessed a rank and position, with Ise Shrine and the royal court at the top of the list.
Speaking of the national temples, the fourth month of 680 was when Ohoama designated the national temples—which we also covered in Episode 142. On the first day of month after that, we are told that he bestowed gifts of silk and cloth to 24 temples around the capital; and if there really were 24 temples just around the capital itself, one can imagine why they had to put a stop to publicly funding all of them. That must have been quite the upkeep. That same day, the Golden Light Sutra was expounded in the palace and at select temples as well. As we’ve seen, the court relied just as heavily—or more—on Buddhism for certain rituals and providing spiritual power.
While both Kami-based rituals and Buddhism were revered for their ability to affect the supernatural, Buddhist priests seem to have had a particularly revered place in—or perhaps more rightly outside—of society. One is more likely to hear about someone who was a Buddhist priest or a novice being revered than a kannushi, or shrine priest. For example, in the 7th month of 680, the priest Kouchou, of Asukadera, passed away. The royal princes Ohotsu and Takechi were sent to express royal condolence. Later that same year we would see something similar, with Royal—later Crown—Prince Kusakabe visiting the eminent priest (Y)emyou on his death bed. Yemyou died the next day, and three royal princes were sent to offer the condolences on behalf of the royal family.
Towards the end of 680, Ohoama fell ill. One hundred individuals were made to take holy orders on his behalf, after which he appears to have recovered—or at least recovered enough for the time. Earlier in the month his queen, Uno no Sarara, had taken ill, for which Ohoama had pledged to build Yakushiji, a temple of the Medicine Buddha, as we talked about in Episode 142.
Although Ohoama temporarily recovered, we have mentioned how there are plenty of suggestions that he may not have been entirely better. It could just be that time and numerous diseases were taking a toll, or perhaps he had an ailment that came and went. I get that impression from things like in the 10th month of 685, as autumn changed to winter, several nobles were sent to Shinano to build a temporary palace in preparation for a royal progress. It seems that Ohoama wanted to visit the hot springs at Tsukama. Tsukama may have been located on the outskirts of modern Matsumoto city, in Nagano, which is known for its hot springs, today. Bentley implies that the court was not entirely thrilled with Ohoama taking this journey. I have to wonder whether or not this was all about Ohoama’s health—hot springs were often seen as restorative. At the same time, this sounds like a fairly long journey into the mountains as the weather was growing colder. That also may have been part of the draw, however, allowing them to travel and see the changing leaves, a very common pastime in successive centuries, and even today.
I can’t help but imagine that Ohoama was seeking the restorative properties, while his court may have been apprehensive about the journey there and back as the days were getting colder. Compare this to his actions at the start of the Jinshin no Ran, when he made that incredible dash from Yoshino, through the mountains, over to Owari. But that was well over a decade ago, at this point, and he seems not quite so spry as he once had been.
Another popular record that we find in this reign were various oddities and omens. We’ve covered quite a few, but I did want to cover a few more before we pull the curtain closed on this era.
First off, early in the reign, we see a record in the 10th month of 675 for a woman in the district of Takakura, in the province of Sagami, giving birth to triplets. A quick Internet search suggests that natural triplets occur in about 1 in every 8000 or 10,000 births. However, there is another thing to consider at this time: giving birth to a single child was already a risky business, and death during or just after childbirth was a constant threat. So now consider the issues with giving birth to twins or even triplets. The odds that there is a complication just go up at that point. So I suspect this was a very rare occurrence. The fact that it was three sons was probably also seen as particularly auspicious, at least for any who were studying traditional Confucian scholarship.
Moving on to the 4th day of the 4th lunar month of that same year, we get an omen for the court. First is a cock sent to the court by Wanitsumi no Yogoto, from the Lower Sofu district in Yamato province. This cock is said to have had a comb like a camelia flower, which was apparently quite auspicious. On the other hand, a report came in from Akunami, also in Yamato province, about a hen that had turned into a cock. Aston, of course, considers that this would have been an ominous sign—a disruption of the natural order. To be honest, I don’t see any particular judgment placed on it one way or the other. It is just listed as a wondrous or miraculous occurrence.
The year 678 has remarkably few events, in total, with nothing recorded between the 4th and 9th months. And the 9th month was just a note about the death of one, Prince Wakasa, of the third princely rank. The month after that we have another one of those strange occurrences. This time it is a report of something falling from the sky like silk floss, except that it was 5 or 6 feet long and 7 or 8 inches wide. It supposedly floated on the wind and waved from the fir woods and the reed plains. People who saw it called it kanro, or “sweet nectar”.
This is really just a crazy entry. I’ve wracked my brains to think of a natural event that could cause something like this, but this seems like something that was more like a rumor that got written down. “Kanro” is thought to be something that Buddhist texts refer to as “Amrita”, an exlixir of immortality. In continental lore, it is said to be a sweet nectar that forms when yin and yang are in harmony—such as during a benevolent reign. So whatever the truth of any natural event, to the Chroniclers the entry is clearly a chance to hype up Ohoama’s reign.
And then, towards the end of the 8th month, we see Katsura no Miyatsuko no Oshikatsu presenting auspicious stalks of grain. Reportedly they all came from different plots and yet had very similar ears of grain. Auspicious stalks of rice weren’t uncommon, but Aston suggests that this was possibly an allegory for all of the royal princes who were brought together in Yoshino to swear to support each other. The 8th month may have been when the grain was harvested—because it wasn’t until the final month of the year that we see the court reacting. At that point presents were made to the Royal and non-Royal Princes, the Ministers, and the public functionaries, all according to rank, in consequence of the auspicious stalks of grain. In addition there was an amnesty for all offences from capital crimes on down.
Now on top of all of that, there were a few edicts that touched on various topics that we just haven’t gotten to, elsewhere.
For instance, in the 8th month of 681, on the 10th day, we see a notification to all of the people in the archipelago who claimed descent from those from the continent—specifically those from the Korean peninsula, or the Samhan. They were told that the taxes, which had previously been remitted for 10 years, so starting in 671, had come to an end. However, corvee labor was still remitted for ten years to them and their children and grandchildren who had been with them when they first arrived.
There are some questions about this passage, but in general it seems that those refugees who had escaped to the archipelago from Baekje and Goguryeo had previously been given 10 years from the time they arrived during which they did not owe taxes. This included corvee labor—which also extended to any children that had been with them at the time. Children that were born after that… well they wouldn’t be of age to be used as corvee labor in 10 years so this would only apply to those who were with them at the time and who would be of age within that 10 year timeframe.
This exemption from taxes appears several times in different forms, and appears to be a grace period, during which people were expected to establish themselves, open fields, and begin to thrive. At the end of 10 years, then they would start paying taxes, with the assumption that they had more than enough time to prepare and work the land.
Moving on to one of my favorite entries, on the 18th day of the 9th lunar month in 685, Ohoama declared a game day. He had the Princes and Ministers gather at the Ohoandono, the Great Audience Hall, and had them play a game called “Pakugi” or “Bakugi”. We aren’t quite sure what the rules were—it probably wasn’t Settlers of Catan, but you never know. It was likely a game with dice, possibly a version of backgammon, which is quite old and commonly known as a game for gambling. That same day, Ohoama gave out gifts of robes and trousers to ten princes and others—perhaps related to the gaming session?
The history of games and gaming is particularly fascinating. For one thing, many of the games that were played in the archipelago had come from the continent, and many had variants that had traversed the entirety of Eurasia. Backgammon and Chess were both games that had variants that would be known in Japan. Backgammon was known as sugoroku, and in Japan they played a game similar to chess known as Shogi. They would also play go—or more appropriately igo—from at least the Nara period, though that game, invented in what is now China, does not seem to have spread quite as much as either backgammon or chess variants. And while chess was a game that was often highly localized—with different pieces representing different things and often moving in different ways depending on the variant—backgammon seems to have been quite similar everywhere, and could probably be played by two people with wildly different cultural backgrounds with very little interpretation needed.
The day after Ohoama had the court join his game day, there were more presents. This time it was brown bear hides given to the royal and non-royal princes. In total there were 48 hides given out, which is really pretty incredible. I have this image in my mind of a very Asuka era wooden mansion, with wood and bronze and silk, and then a large bear hide sprawled out on the floor. I’m not sure exactly how they were used, but I suspect that they were mostly used as floor coverings for people to sit or lay on, though I could also see them being used as sleeping mats. It seems they were clearly elite status goods, but hardly what we think about in this period.
And that is where we are going to come to a close. There are only a few more things that we’ll get to, but they are all related to what happened with the events surrounding Ohoama’s death and the succession that followed, so we’ll touch on those when we kick off the next reign.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 145: Law and Order in the Reign of Temmu

March 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

A 1921 drawing of the famous Tang official, Di Renjie, aka “Judge Dee”. The Tang dynasty was clearly a model for the government and, it appears, for the ideas of justice—though how well Yamato lived up to that can be debated. Image in public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we explore the setup of the government, talk about the Asuka Kiyomihara Codes started in this reign, and some examples of law and order.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is Episode 145: Law and Order in the Reign of Temmu

The sound of struggle could be heard, as a man, hands bound behind him, was roughly brought into the courtyard by several sturdy men. They thrust him roughly to the bare ground in front of the pavilion. The man’s clothes were disheveled, his hair was unkempt, and his right eye was swollen shut. He was a stark contrast from the four officials standing over him, and even more from those who stood in the pavilion, above, prepared to dole out judgment. A clerk was handling the paperwork at a nearby desk, but the court official already knew this case. He had read the reports, heard the testimony of the witnesses and, to top it all off, he had read the confession. It seems it had taken some coercion, but in the end, the criminal before him had admitted to his wrongdoing.
And thus the official was able to pronounce the sentence with some sense of moral clarity. After all, if this man was innocent, why would he confess? On the other hand, if he were truly innocent, how would he even have come to their attention? Even if he was not guilty of this crime, if he had been such an upstanding citizen, why would his neighbors have accused him in the first place?
One way or another, justice was being done.

We remain—for at least the next couple of episodes—firmly in the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. There is a lot more in this reign, and we are reaching a period where we won’t be able to cover nearly as much as previously, so we’ll have to summarize some things, but there is still a lot here to discuss. Last episode we looked at what was happening outside of the court. This episode we turn our attention back to the center, and specifically, what law and order meant in Ohoama’s time.
This period is called the Ritsuryo period, and as the name indicates, it is characterized by the set of laws and accompanying penal codes, the ritsu and the ryo. Most of these codes are no longer extant, only known to us by other sources which contain only fragments of the originals. But it was this adoption of a continental style of law that seems to most characterize this period. So this episode, we are going to look at the project Ohoama kicked off to establish one such law code —possibly even the first actual—for Yamato, as well as some of the examples of how law and order were enforced.
In Episode 143 we talked about Ohoama’s historiographical project, which kicked off in the third month of 681 and culminated in the very chronicles we have been poring over. However, a month before that, we see the start of a different and likely more immediate project, as the sovereign ordered work to begin on a new legal code. This task was decreed from the Daigokuden to all of the Princes and Ministers -- who were then cautioned to divide it up and take it in shifts, since after all, they still needed to administer the government. And so this division of labor began.
The code would take years to compile, so, like so many of the ambitious projects of this reign, it was not quite ready by the time of Ohoama’s death in 686. In fact, it wouldn’t be promulgated until 689, and even then that was only the “Ryou” part of the “Ritsuryou”—that is to say it contained the laws, the “ryou”, but no the penal code, or “ritsu”. Still, we are told that the total body of laws was some 22 volumes and is known today as the Asuka Kiyomihara Code. It is unfortunately no longer extant—we only have evidence of the laws based on those edicts and references we see in the Nihon Shoki, but it is thought by some to be the first such deliberate attempt to create a law code for Yamato. We do have an earlier reference to Naka no Ohoye putting together a collection of laws during his reign, known as the Afumi Code, but there is some question as to whether that was actually a deliberate code or just a compilation of edicts that had been made up to that point. These various codes are where the “Ritsuryo” period gets its name, and the Asuka Kiyomihara Code would eventually be supplanted in 701 by the Taihou code—which is one of the reasons why copies of previous codes haven’t been kept around. After all, why would you need the old law code when you now have the new and improved version?
This also means that often, when we don’t have other evidence, we look to later codes and histories to understand what might be happening when we get hints or fragments of legal matters. The Chronicles often make note of various laws or customs, but they can be sparse on details. After all, the main audience, in the 8th century, would be living the current law codes and likely understood the references in ways we may have to work out through other sources.
As for the Kiyomihara Code, there are further notes in the Chronicles that seem to be referencing this project. Besides the obvious—the new laws that were promulgated through various edicts—we see a few entries sprinkled throughout that appear to be related to this project. First, I would note that in the 10th month of the same year that they started the project, 681, there was issued an edict that all those of the rank of Daisen on down should offer up their admonitions to the government.   Bentley notes that Article 65 of the Statutes on Official Documents provides a kind of feedback mechanism via this admonitions, where anyone who saw a problem with the government could submit it to the Council of the State. If they had a fear of reprisals they could submit anonymously.
This entry for the 10th month of 681 could just refer to a similar request that all those who had a problem should report it so it could be fixed, but in light of several other things, I would also suggest that it was at least in line with the ongoing efforts to figure out what needed to be figured out vis a vis the laws of the land. Later, in the 8th month of 682 we see a similar type of request, where everyone from the Princes to the Ministers were instructed to bring forward matters suitable for framing new regulations.   So it looks like that first year or so there were, in a sense, a lot of “listening sessions” and other efforts going on to give deliberate thought to how the government should operate.
A few days later in 682 the Chronicles tell us that the court were working on drawing up the new laws, and as they did so they noticed a great rainbow. Bentley suggests that this was an auspicious sign—even Heaven was smiling on the operation.
So we know that there was lawmaking going on. But what did these laws actually look like? This episode we are going to look at both criminal law – crimes and punishments, and gow they could be mitigated as well as those laws that were less about criminal activities and more about how the state itself was to be run.
As I just stated, a lot of the laws and edicts are not necessarily about criminal activities. Many of them are about the government and how it works—or at least how it is supposed to work. Some of this helps to reveal a bit about the theoretical and philosophical underpinnings of this project. That said, I’m not always sure that Ohoama and his officials were necessarily adherents to those philosophies or if they saw them more as justifications fro their actions. And, in the end, does it matter? Even if they weren’t strict Confucianists, it is hard to argue that Confucian theory didn’t loom large in their project, given its impact on the systems they were cribbing from. Furthermore, if we need to extrapolate things that go unsaid, we could do worse than using Confucianism and similar continental philosophies as our guide, given what we see in the record.
A particularly intriguing record for understanding how that government was supposed to work is a declaration that civil and military officials of the central and provincial governments should, every year, consider their subordinates and determine what promotions, if any, they should receive. They were to send in their recommendations within the first ten days to the judges, or “houkan”. The judges would compare the reports and make their recommendations up to the Daibenkan—the executive department of the Dajokan, the Council of State. In addition, officers who refused orders to go on various missions for the court were ineligible for promotion, unless their refusal was specifically for genuine illness or bereavement following the loss of a parent.
This feels like an important note on how the whole bureaucratic appointment and promotion system worked. It actually follows early ideas of the meritocratic bureaucracy that was at the heart of how the government was supposed to work. It isn’t quite the same as magistrates roaming the land and seeking out talented individuals, but it still demonstrates a promotion system that is at least nominally about the merit of the individual and not solely based on personal patronage—though I’m sure the sovereign, the sumera no mikoto, or tennou, could still issue promotions whenever he so wished.
And as cool as I find all that to be, I think the piece that I find particularly fun is the fact that they had to specify that only a “genuine” illness was a valid excuse. That suggests to me that there were people who would feign illness to get out of work. In other words, faking a sick day is nothing new and you could totally have a ritsuryo version of “Ferris Buehler’s Day Off”.
This meritocratic idea seems to be tempered a bit a few years later, in 682. We see an edict that not only describes the language and character of the court ritual, but also talking about verifying the lineage and character of anyone who applies for office. Anyone whose lineage was found to be less than sufficient would be declared ineligible, regardless of whatever else they had done.
And this is the tension of trying to overlay a theoretical system, based on the idea of merit, on a hereditary aristocracy. In a meritocracy, one wouldn’t blink twice at a person from a “lesser” ranked family making their way up and above those of “superior” families. Then again, you probably wouldn’t have families ranked in a hierarchy, anyway. I feel like we’ve touched on this in a past episode, somewhere, but it isn’t the last time we’ll be talking about this. After initially adopting the system as it theoretically should be, the cultural pressures of the elite nobles would start to shape the government into something that was not quite so threatening to the power of those elite families. After all, those families held a lot of power—economic, political, and otherwise—and, as elites throughout history have done, they would do whatever they could to hold onto that power.
This is actually something we see on the continent. Whatever sense of justice or equality may have lay at the heart of the theory behind good governance, it was always going to be impacted by those with resources and the familial connections that bind people together. For instance, it was the wealthy who would have the money and leisure time to be able to hire tutors, acquire books, and spend time studying and learning—something that is hard to do if you have to help your family work in the fields. And the court would always be a place of politics, which was fueled by wealth and connections. No doubt, if you asked someone of the time, they would say that the “correct” thing to do would be to work your way up from the bottom, starting from a low ranked position and climbing up based on their good deeds. That’s all well and good, but then we see preference given to the highest nobles, with their own progeny getting a jump on things by being automatically placed higher in rank. With only a finite number of positions in the government, this meant that climbing through the ranks would be almost impossible at some point, as there just weren’t enough positions for those qualified to take them.
This is an all-too-common problem, regardless of the actual system of government. The powerful and wealthy have always had a leg up—though sometimes more than others.
That isn’t to say that those less fortunate were always ignored. For instance, early in his reign, Ohoama made a decree to divide the common people—those who were not members of the royal family, so not princes or princesses—into three different classes, Upper, Middle, and Lower, all based on their wealth or financial status. Only the two lower groups were eligible for loans of seed rice, should they need it. That isn’t so different than a lot of modern, means-tested government assistance programs, when you think about it. The idea of breaking up groups into an “Upper”, “Middle”, and “Lower” category is found elsewhere—Bentley notes Article 16 of the Statutes of Arable Land dividing up families who planted mulberry. “Ryou no Shuuge”, a 9th century commentary on the Yoro law-code, notes that, at least by that time, the three categories were based on the number of people in a given household, not just the total wealth, it would seem.

Other decrees help us understand the make-up of the court, such as decree in the 8th month of 679, with the sovereign requesting that various houses send women to work in the court. Bentley notes that this is very similar wording to Article 18 of the statutes of the Rear Palace, where the sovereign’s consorts lived. He also mentions a note in Ryou no Shuuge stating it was specifically women from noble families in the capital city and nearby who were employed for low-level tasks in the palace.

Continuing with the ordering of the government, in the third month of 681, Ohoama went to the well of the New Palace—the Nihi no Miya—and he ordered the military drums and other instruments to be played. In the continental style, music was an important part of the military, with certain instruments and tunes that would be played for a variety of purposes. It is unclear that the archipelago had such a detailed history of military music, and so it seems that this is in emulation of the continental practice.
Then, in the 5th month, Ohoama had to crack down on another practice that was apparently taking off with the various public functionaries. As we noted, earlier, public functionaries were reliant on their superiors, the judges, and then the Council of State for their promotion. However, some appear to have found another way to garner favor, and that was through female palace officials—those working in the private quarters. Those palace officials would have access to the sovereign and his families—his queen and various consorts. And of course, if Ohoama heard good things about a person, then perhaps he would put them forward for promotion. At the very least, if that person’s name came forward, it might be well thought of. And so public functionaries had taken to paying their respects to the women working in the palace. Sometimes they would go to their doors and make their case directly. Other times they would offer presents to them and their families. This was clearly not how the system was intended to work. As such, Ohoama told everyone to knock it off—should he hear about anyone trying this in the future, then the offenders would be punished according to their circumstances.
Of course, I would note that this only would be a problem if the individuals were caught. If the rest of Japanese history—heck, world history—is anything to go on, then humans are going to human and the court was no doubt deeply steeped in political maneuvering of all kinds. I imagine that this practice never fully stopped, but it probably stopped being quite as blatant—for now.
Continuing with the development of how the government operated, we get the entry for the 28th day of the 3rd lunar month of 682. It starts with various sumptuary laws, with Princes down to public functionaries no longer wearing specialized caps of office—effectively getting rid of the idea of “cap-rank”. They also would no longer wear the aprons, sashes, or leggings that were part of the previous outfit. Likewise the Uneme and female palace officials would no longer wear the elbow-straps or shoulder-scarves. This appears to have moved the court closer to what the continent was wearing at the time, with belted garments based on clothing not too dissimilar from what was found across the Silk Road, to be honest.
They also discontinued all sustenance-fiefs for Princes and Ministers. Those had to be returned to the State. Presumably their salaries would then come from any stipends associated with their rank, instead. This doesn’t seem all that connected with the other edict, focused on clothing and rank, except that is part of the further centralization of power and authority—all taxes were to go to the central government and then get parceled out, and everyone—or at least those in the court—were to conform to a standard uniform. That said, for all that it may have been the intent, as we shall see, the court would never fully get rid of the idea of privately held tax land—it would just take different forms over time.
Later, we get more sumptuary laws, some about what the people of the court would wear, but others that were more general. Sumptuary laws are laws specifically focused on controlling things such as expenditures or personal behavior—including what one wore and how they expressed themselves--and they are generally made to help order society in some way. There were a lot of cultures where purple, for instance, was reserved for royalty—often because of how expensive it was and difficult to make. Wearing an expensive purple fabric could be seen as an expression of wealth—and thus power—and that could feel like a challenge to those in power themselves. It probably also meant that there was enough dye for the royal robes and it was not nearly so scarce.
In other instances, we see sumptuary laws to call out people of certain groups. Some laws are to distinguish an in-group, and others to call out a group to be set apart from society. Other such laws were made to distinguish between social constructs such as caste or gender. Even today we have a concept of “cross-dressing” as we have determined that certain clothing or styles are seen as either more masculine or feminine, and there are those who call out such things as somehow perverting society. And yet, the clothing is simply pieces of fabric, and what may have been considered masculine or feminine in one time or place may not bee seen as such in another.
In this case, the sumptuary laws in question focused on hairstyles. Ohoama decreed that all persons, male or female, must tie up their hair—they couldn’t leave it hanging down. This was to be done no later than the last day of the year—the 30th day of the 12th lunar month, though it could be required even before that. We are also told that women were expected to ride horses in the saddle similar to the way men did. This appears to mean they would sit astride a saddle, with their legs on either side, and not in something akin to side saddle. This also likely meant that women riding horses would want trousers, similar to what men wore, at least for that part of it. Trying to wear a long skirt with your legs on either side of a horse does not strike me as the most comfortable position to put yourself in, not that people haven’t figured it out over the centuries in various ways. Indeed, in some Tang statuary, women are often depicted riding horseback with trousers.

In the 9th month of 682 we get a fun entry. Well, I find it amusing. We are told that the practice of ceremonial crawling and kneeling was to be abolished and that they would adopt the ceremonial custom of standing, as had been practiced in the Naniwa court. And a part of me thinks of some old courtier who was having trouble with all of the kneeling who was suddenly very happy with this new ordinance. On the other hand, it is fascinating to think of the other implications.
First, we are being told that there was a custom of standing at the Naniwa court, while in Asuka there was a tradition of ceremonial crawling and kneeling. Bentley’s translation makes it apparent that this was specifically as you entered through the gates: that you would bow and then crawl through the entranceway.
I’m assuming that the standing custom was based on continental tradition, since that seemed to be what the Naniwa palace was built to emulate, and that in returning to Asuka they were partaking in a more local ritual—though I’m not entirely certain as I just don’t have enough information to know at this point. Aston does claim that it was custom in the Tang court, though I’m not sure of his source for that.
In 683 we get more information on how the court functioned. We are told that there was a decree that all persons of rank in the Home Provinces were expected to present themselves at Court at some point in the first month of each quarter. You were only excused if you were sick, at which point an official would need to send a report up to the judicial authorities.
So every noble in the Home Provinces had to travel to the court once every four months. And if they couldn’t, they need to be able to produce the equivalent of a doctor’s note, saysing so.
We aren’t told why this was implemented. I suspect that there had to be some compromise between nobles being at and working at the court and going back to their hometown to also keep an eye on things there. It is possible that there were plenty of people who just weren’t coming to the court unless they had to—living off their stipend, but not necessarily doing the work. So this may have been a “return to office” type order to make sure that people were there, in the “office” of the court at least once every four months.
This brings to mind the Edo period practice of alternate attendance, or Sankin-koutai, where daimyo would have to attend on the Shogun for a time and then could return home. Of course, that was also done as a means to drain their coffers, and I don’t believe this was meant in quite so punishing a manner.
Having a permanent city, where the nobles had houses in the city, would likely fix these issues, allowing the court to be more regularly staffed. Sure enough, that same decree included the decree that there would be a Capital City at Naniwa as well as other places, while the work at Nihiki, on what would become the Fujiwara capital, was already underway.
Speaking of the capital, that work would require labor and people to oversee it. In 10th month of 684, we see a note that gives us a glimpse into the management of corvee labor, as Prince Hatsuse and Kose no Asomi no Umakahi, as well as officials down to facilities managers, 20 people in all, were set up as corvee labor managers for the royal region.

Next, let’s talk criminal matters. What kinds of things were people being accused of or what laws were being set up to constraing the activities of individuals.

We’ll start by looking at how justices was handled, generally speaking. Some of it seems almost obvious, like in 675, when we are told that the sovereign ordered that nobody—whether a minister, a functionary, or a citizen—should commit an offense lest they be punished accordingly. ‘But what was happening previously to make such a proclamation necessary?
On the one hand, I suspect that this was a warning to the elites of the archipelago more than anything else, especially those who might not have been in direct fealty to the Yamato sovereign previously. Those elites farther out in the provinces were probably used to a looser hand, and fewer consequences for their actions. Back in Taika years, in the late 640s, just as everything was kicking off, the court had had to bring the hammer down on the governors and various kuni no miyatsuko, local elites who had been doing things their own way. I suspect this was just a similar attempt to bring people into line and a reminder of who actually wore the hakama in this administration.
It also seems to be a straightforward statement that the law applied to every person—or at least every person outside of the sovereign, himself. That was likely a novel idea for many people, where those in positions of power were likely able to get away with murder, quite literally, because who was going to stop them? We’ve seen how many of the more powerful families controlled what were essentially private armies.
At the same time, 675 is before these new formal law codes and punishments were in place. Presumably there was tradition in place and some understanding that the sovereign could declare laws and punishment, but I also wonder if this isn’t part of the reason that they felt that centralized, authoritative, written law codes were required in the first place. After all, communicating laws and punishments verbally across the archipelago, even with the potential for written edicts, likely relied a lot on local administrators to interpret the edicts and figure out what was going on.
This seems to align with an edict from the 10th month of 679, which decried that there were many people guilty of crimes and violence hanging around the capital. This was blamed on the Princes and Ministers, since the edict claimed that these high officials heard about it but didn’t do anything, instead treating it like a nuisance that was too much trouble—or perhaps too personally expensive—to do anything about. Alternatively, those same princes and ministers would see people that they knew were guilty, but they didn’t want to go through the trouble of actually reporting them, and so the offenders could get away with it. The proposed solution was to exhort those in higher stations to punish the offenses of those beneath them, while those of lower stations were expected to remonstrate with their superiors when those superiors were rude or violent. In other words, if everyone just held everyone else accountable, then things would work out.
This seems like a great sentiment, but I have to imagine that there was something more beyond the high-minded ideals. Again, I suspect that it was probably as much Ohoama putting people on notice. Still, this seems aspirational rather than definitive.

A clear example of the kind of thing that was being prohibited is likelye the decree about fishermen and hunters, who were forbidden from making pitfalls or using spear traps or similar devices. Also, from the beginning of the 4th month until the 13th day of the 9th month, no one was to set fish-weirs, or himasakiri—an unknown device, but probably another type of fish trap. Ohoama also prohibited the eating of cattle, horses, dogs, monkeys, or chickens. Other animals, including boar, deer, fish, etc., were all fair game, as it were.
The prohibition on traps is likely because they were a hazard to anyone walking through the area. In the Tang dynasty they did something similar, but they did make exceptions for hunters in the deep mountains, who were supposed to put up signs warning any travelers. As for the weirs and himasakiri, whatever that might be, I have less context, but likely it did have some reasoning—possibly similar to our modern concepts of having certain seasons for various types of fishing. Fish weirs do create obstructions, and between the 4th and 9th lunar months Japan does see the summer monsoon rains—could that be the reason? Tsuyu, or rainy season, is often around July to mid-June, today. Or perhaps there is another motivation for that particular prohibition.
As for the eating of various animals—of the animals listed, all but the monkeys are domesticated animals who generally weren’t considered as food animals. Cattle were used for working the fields, horses were ridden, and dogs were used for hunting. I wonder if monkeys were just too close to people. The chicken prohibition may seem odd to us, today. The word for chicken, “niwatori”, literally means garden bird, though the Nihon Shoki uses something more like “barn door bird”. We know that cock-fighting was a thing in later periods, and that chickens were associated with Amaterasu, possibly for their legendary habit of crowing as the sun comes up. We can also note the lack of some animals, like cats, from the list. Perhaps cats were never in danger of being seen as a food source, or perhaps cats just weren’t as prevalent at the time—we know cats were around from at least the Nara period, but there isn’t much evidence before that. There are examples of bones thought to be from a cat from the Yayoi period found on Iki island, but it is hard to say from that if they were fully established across the archipelago. Still, I do find it curious they are not on the list.Continuing on, we later see where see the court issued an edict that prohibited the cutting of grass or firewood on Mt. Minabuchi and Mt. Hosokawa. Furthermore they prevented any indiscriminate burning or cutting on all of the mountains in the Home Provinces. This feels somewhat religious—after all, the mountains were often considered the domain of the kami. Perhaps there were some religious restrictions. On the other hand, some of it sounds like they were trying to just ensure that with a growing population they didn’t denude the mountains around the capital.
This whole incident brings to mind problems that occurred in and around Chang’an, the western Tang capital. The palace itself—not to mention all of the houses and temples—took so much wood that it was a drain on the nearby forests. And that is without taking into account the simple harvesting of wood for cooking fires, tools, etc. In fact, the logging industry of that time devastated the local environment, meaning that they had to travel farther and farther to find suitable wood for the monumental buildings they wished to create. It is also thought to have contributed to various natural disasters in and around the capital. Perhaps Yamato was worried that unrestricted logging in the Home Provinces could likewise cause problems? Or was that simply an added benefit gained from the idea that mountains were sacred spaces?

Later in the 10th month of 679, there was an edict determining sumptuary rules for monks clothing, as well as what kind of retinue could accompany them when they went out. We talked about this back in Episode 142. That same month, there was an edict that, while monks and nuns might normally be expected to stay at a temple—such as in the quarters identified in the ruins of Kawaradera—that it became a problem when older monks became bed-ridden. After all, if they couldn’t leave their bed, then one can only imagine how it must have been. Not to get overly graphic, but they couldn’t exactly make it out to the latrine at that point, either. So it was determined that if an elderly monk were to reach the stage that they were bed-ridden, and unlikely to recover, then the temple would seek out relatives or laypersons to help build a hut or two in vacant spaces on the temple grounds. There, the sick and bed-ridden monks could be cared for in a more sanitary manner.
Now the way this is written, on the one hand it seems they were worried about ritual purification as much as anything, but I imagine that this was also practical. After all, as you get all of those monks living together, one can only imagine that disease and illness could easily spread in those close quarters. So separating those who were quite sick only makes sense, like an early form of quarantine.
A lot of these prohibitions seem to be fairly practical. Don’t put traps where people could accidentally fall into them. Don’t chop down the nearby forest—we may need that later. And even: don’t leave a sick or elderly monk in a crowded dormitory situation.But what about the penal codes?
If you lived in the latter part of Temmu’s reign and you did violate one of the rules mentioned above, or one of the many others at play, what would happen to you, and how did that vary based on your place in society?
Unfortunately, most of what we get on this is kind of bare bones. We often see the punishment, but not t he crime. We are just told that someone was found guilty, or condemned. Take, for example, the Buddhist Priest, Fukuyou, of Asukadera, who was condemned and thrown into prison. We aren’t told what he did to deserve confinement, but it wouldn’t last long. Apparently Fukuyou cut his own throat, ending his life, rather than face other consequences or live with the shame of whatever crime he had committed.
By the way, the term “prison” here is interesting. We certainly see people being imprisoned in some way, shape, or form—locked up and unable to freely travel. That isn’t exactly the same, however, as a prison complex or system. There may have been buildings used a jail—a temporary holding facility while the actual punishment was determined. And we also see the equivalent of house arrest. Later, there would be formal “prisons” set up for the detention of individuals, who were often then forced to labor as part of their punishment. However, they had many other forms of punishment, many of which required much fewer staff. After all, a prison requires that you have guards constantly watching the prisoners to make sure nothing gets out of hand. Instead, you could just exile them to an island or even just another province, with a lot less manpower.
A less drastic punishment was handed out back in the 4th month of 675, when we are told that Tahema no Kimi no Hiromaro and Kunu no Omi no Maro were both forbidden from attending the court—for what purpose we aren’t immediately told. However, six days later, Kunu no Maro was held accountable for offering resistance to a royal messenger—maybe the one who communicated that he was banished from the court. As a punishment, he was stripped of all of his offices and dignities. Both Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro appear to have been pardoned at a later date, though we aren’t sure when. It could have been one of the various general amnesties—and we’ll talk about that in a moment. Hiromaro passed away in 685, but he was provided a posthumous promotion in rank and is noted for his efforts supporting Ohoama during the Jinshin no Ran. Meanwhile, Kunu no Maro—also known as Abe no Kunu no Maro is seen delivering a eulogy in 686. Perhaps somewhat ironically, he did so on behalf of the Office of Punishments—later the Keimu-shou, or Ministry of Punishment. These actions certainly seem to be at odds with them being punished, let alone banished from the court.
We also see an example where Prince Womi, who was of the 3rd princely ranks—even higher than Prince Kurikuma, whom we discussed last episode—was guilty of some kind of offense and banished to Inaba. One of his children was also banished to Izushima and the other to Chikashima. Aston suggests that this means Ohoshima and Chikashima may be in Hizen. Again, very little to go on as to what was happening, though it seems that all three were punished together and sent away from each other, perhaps so that they could not plot or scheme together. Later amnesties would probably have resulted in pardons for them.

Speaking of pardons—the punishments that we are speaking about all appear to be permanent, other than imprisonment, which may have been more of a temporary situation. It wasn’t like being sent away for so many years. However, on the other side of the coin was the option for a pardon or amnesty. While I imagine that the sovereign could always provide a pardon directly, we more regularly see general amnesties declared, sometimes with very specific guidelines.
One of the most illuminating such instances, and possibly where Kunu no Maro and Tahema no Hiromaro were pardoned, came in the 7th month of 676. That month the court issued a general amnesty, likely to increase the merit accrued to the State through an act of mercy and forgiveness, given the drought and famine that had been reported earlier that summer. Perhaps paradoxically, this act of leniency gives us an interesting view into the types of punishments that were made, as well as how severe each was considered.    The amnesty mitigated all sentences of death, enforced servitude, or the three classes of banishment, and they would all be mitigated by one degree. So anyone sentenced to death would instead just become enslaved. Those who were sentenced to enslavement would be banished to a distant province. Those banished to a distant province would only be banished to a province at a medium distance. Banishment to a medium province would be downgraded to a nearer province. And Banishment to a nearer province would be downgraded to banishment—or removal—to a place in the same province. For anyone who committed a crime for which they would be removed to a place in the same province—or for any lesser crime—would be completely pardoned, whether or not the crime was actually known. So you couldn’t be held responsible, retroactively.
This gives us a kind of hierarchy to use as far as the kinds of punishment that might be handed out. Of course, there are also a few others, which I generally assume were considered lesser. For instance: banishment from the court, or being stripped of government rank, that sort of thing.
There was a caveat that this amnesty would not apply to those who had already left for their place of banishment—nor, obviously, to those who had already been executed. So if you had already settled in to your new life, this amnesty didn’t exactly matter. This could be where Tahema no Hiromaro and Kunu no Maro were pardoned and thus allowed to find their way back into the court’s good graces. On the other hand, others probably wish that this amnesty happened a bit later—one month later, to be exact. We are told that Prince Yagaki, the current viceroy of the Dazaifu, was accused of some offense and banished to Tosa, in Shikoku. As usual, the record does not feel the need to tell us what the offense was or try to justify it anyway.

This is all well and good, but what exactly did the justice system look like? How were criminals accused, and how would they investigate and prove your guilt? In the 11th month of 682, we see a rather detailed description of how trials and punishment were to be carried out. For any offense against the law, whether it was in the palace or the court, it would be immediately examined, and nobody was allowed to conceal information about it. If the offense was grave enough, then the next step would depend on the rank of the individual. For individuals of high birth, their guilt would be reported to the court, presumably for whatever punishment they deemed appropriate from there. For others, they would be arrested. If they resisted arrest, then the palace guards would be sent after them. A typical punishment was flogging, which was not to go beyond 100 blows. Finally, if the individual were clearly guilty, but yet continued to profess their innocence, then that would be considered perjury and added to their sentence.
It should be noted that in East Asia at this time, there was no concept of innocent until proven guilty. If you were accused of a crime, then it was up to you to prove that you were innocent. It was not uncommon for an arrest to occur, and then for the authorities to then torture a confession out of the individual. Since they already had assumed the individual’s guilt, this was just meant to get them to admit it. Even into modern times, Japan has had a high conviction rate, but there are accusations that this is simply because of the presence of coerced confessions. A coerced confession helps to demonstrate that the system is correct, and working as designed, whilst protestations of innocence call into question the validity of the system.
There is another type of guilt and punishment—and leniency, for that matter—mentioned in the 6th month of 677: We are told that the Yamato no Aya no Atahe were considered guilty of the “seven misdemeanors”, which seems like it is more an indictment of their moral failings rather than any kind of direct criminal behavior. Furthermore, they were accused of pushing back against the rightful sovereigns from the time of Kashikiya Hime down to the time of the Afumi court. This would seem to indicate that they had been supporting the Soga and the Afumi court, but if so, I wouldn’t say that the Chronicles help to clarify it in any way. Perhaps they just were willful and not showing the right amount of loyalty to the throne. Whatever they did, Ohoama was none too pleased, but he also didn’t want to completely destroy the uji. Instead, as a compromise, he offered them clemency for any past actions, pardoning them, but also claiming that if they stepped out of line again, then their offense would be unpardonable. This whole entry is a vibe. It is less of a punishment and more of a sword of Damocles being set up above them.
Several years later, in 682, we see the Yamato no Aya being granted the title of Muraji. In consequence of the appointment, the entire household—all the men and women alike, presented themselves to the court. They rejoiced and praised Ohoama, thanking him for raising them in status. This doesn’t feel like a normal entry—it isn’t like every family was coming into court and giving thanks every time that a promotion was handed out. This feels like classic “kissing the ring” to get back into good graces with someone who was, effectively, an autocratic ruler. While there was a bureaucracy, based on everything we’ve seen Ohoama had bent it largely to his will by appointing family members and other members of the elite princely class—those with at least nominal familial connections—to positions of power and authority.

And with that, I think we will bring this episode to a close. Next episode we’ll finish out this reign with a few projects and various other miscellaneous events.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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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

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Gui, Wanrong, jin shi 1196 & 桂萬榮, jin shi 1196 & Gulik, Robert Hans van, 1910-1967. (2007). Crime and punishment in ancient China : T'ang-yin-pi-shih = Tang yin bi shi / [translated with an introduction and notes by] R.H. van Gulik. Bangkok, Thailand : Orchid Press. ISBN 9789745240919
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN 0-80480984-4.

Episode 144: On the Edge

March 1, 2026 Joshua Badgley

The waters at Kofunakoshi all the way out in Tsushima. This is where boats from the continent would anchor while they transhipped goods across to the other side of the island to then make its way to the Dazai and then on to Yamato, proper. Photo by author.

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Various records from the reign of Ōama, aka Temmu Tennō. These are some of the records focused on what was going on outside of the Home Provinces, for the most part.

Tsukushi Dazai (筑紫太宰)

The Yamato government’s outpost on Tsukushi, aka Kyūshū. Also known as the Ōmikotomochi. The head of the Dazai was perhaps the most powerful individual outside of the Yamato court. They were largely autonomous, and had authority over a large area, as well as all of the trade and diplomatic missions to and from the archipelago. They also had a tremendous military presence, especially since the fall of Baekje. They were responsible for ensuring that all of the castles built in the end of the 7th century were likewise manned.

Kibi Dazai (吉備太宰)

The Kibi Dazai is only mentioned once in the Nihon Shoki, but from what we can tell it was set up as part of the Taika reforms and oversaw Kibi and Harima. It may have had some prestige at the time, but it never had the diplomatic or military responsibilities that the Tsukushi Dazai had, and eventually it would be dismantled, as Kibi was divided into the provinces of Bizen, Bitchū, and Bingo.

Settsu-shiki no Daibu (攝津職大夫)

The Settsu-shiki was the office in Settsu that operated in lieu of the kokushi, or government office. The Daibu position had more expansive powers than your typical governor, and also oversaw Naniwa. This was technically one of the Home Provinces, but still demonstrates the complexity of administration beyond the court itself.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua, and this is episode 144: On the Edge
The ships sat low in the water, bobbing gently against the docks at Naniwa. The captain eyed them warily as the officials went over the manifest. The Seto Inland Sea was generally calm and smooth sailing—at least compared to the open ocean, anywhere else -- and yet, as he looked, he could only think of how sluggish these ships would be. They were laden down with cargo—silk, cloth, thread, and of course provisions for the men accompanying them. But more than that, they were laden down with iron. Tons of iron ingots, destined for the far reaches of the archipelago. First to Suwa, but then on to the Dazai on Tsukushi, no doubt to be forged into weapons for the defense of Yamato.
But that wasn’t the captain’s concern. He just needed to make sure that the ships weren’t weighed down too much: as long as they remained buoyant, they would make the journey, even if they had to travel at a snail’s pace to do it. But if the ships sat too low in the water, then all it would take was some uncooperative waves and the ships, crew, and cargo, would be sent straight down to the palace of the dragon king, beneath the waves.
Fortunately, with enough ships, it looked like that wouldn’t be too much of a problem, as long as the goods were properly spaced out. Now to just hope that the weather cooperated. Even in the relatively safe waters of the Seto Inland Sea, you never know what could happen…

So last episode we talked about two large projects that Ohoama is said to have started. First was the history project, which likely led to the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki. Second was the start of a brand new capital. This episode, we are going from the macro, down to the micro—smaller events that just weren’t covered in previous episodes. For the most part the next few episodes are going to be a grab bag of various items, but I’m going to try and put some semblance of cohesion to this. Next episode we’ll be looking at some of the laws that they made, including the law code and examples of the kinds of punishment—and forgiveness—that the court could bestow. This week, however, we are going to cover a bunch of stories focused on the areas outside of the Home Provinces. We’ll look at the Dazai in Tsukushi—and elsewhere. We’ll talk about how the provinces were governed, and what concerned them. Granted, a lot of what concerned them, at least from the Chroniclers point of view, were taxes and economic production. So we see recorded concern with taxes and with what was there—the land and the people that worked it. Also with natural events, like droughts and tsunami, which would affect that same economic production.

We’re starting off with the Dazai, and the person in charge there. The Viceroy, as it is often called in English.
The Dazai appears to have started off with something of a military purpose. It was a gathering place before ships would sail off to the Korean peninsula, raiding up the rivers, or trading with their allies. As the archipelago began to be more embroiled in the wars of the peninsula, it was that much more important. And when Yamato’s ally, Baekje, fell, and it looked like Silla and the Great Tang might turn their attention to the islands that had been a thorn in their side for so long, it became a bulwark against potential invasion.
However, it also had another function. It was the jumping off place for warships, but also for embassies and trading missions. It was also the primary destination for most ships approaching Yamato. They would take a route through Tsushima island, and then Iki island, and continue to the main coast of Tsukushi—Kyushu, and up and around to the sheltered waters of Hakata bay. At some point they would even move that initial contact farther out, to Tsushima island itself. Ships would dock on one side of the island, and transport their goods to a Yamato ship on the other side, with a pilot who knew the waters. The local island officials could then send word ahead to the Dazai that they were coming. No surprises, and nobody jumping the gun thinking that a fleet of warships was on their way.
The Dazai played a key role in defense, trade, and diplomacy. When the embassies arrived, they were entertained at the Dazai while word was sent to the court. If the court deemed it appropriate, then they might have the ambassadors take the journey the rest of the way. Otherwise, the court at the Dazai would stand in for the sovereign, and receive the messages, and various diplomatic gifts that were sent along.
This was a powerful and also highly lucrative position, and it is reflected in the people who were granted the title. This was the Dazai no Sochi, or Oho-mikoto-mochi no kami.
We see the post held by Soga no Himuka in 649, during the Taika era. Then we see Abe no Hirafu in the reign of Takara Hime, 655-661. Hirafu would go on to become the Minister of the Left. Then we see Prince Kurikuma.
We talked about Prince Kurikuma before—he was Ohoama’s ally in Tsukushi who refused the Afumi court’s request for troops during the Jinshin no Ran. He is one of the few figures that we have more than just a bit of information on. For one thing, we have two different appointments to his position as viceroy in Tsukushi—there is one in 668, and another in 671, with Soga no Akae being given the post in between. There are some questions about whether or not those were different people—the first one might have been someone named “Kurisaki” or “Kurimae”, but it is generally assumed that was just misspelled, and it may be that there were just some questions as to when he was appointed. We also know that he was a friend to Ohoama. The Afumi court said as much, and in the Jinshin no Ran, when he and his sons stood up to the Afumi court’s request for troops, he came down heavily on Ohoama’s side. It is no wonder that he would have still been in such a powerful position.
His sons, by the way, are named as Prince Mino and Prince Takebe; we’ve seen what appears to be different Princes named Mino, but it is possible that this is the Prince Mino mentioned elsewhere in this part of the record.
Sources suggest that Kurikuma was a descendant of the sovereign Nunakura, aka Bidatsu Tennou, and that he was an ancestor of the Tachibana clan. There were stories about him in Tsukushi, beyond those in the Nihon Shoki, and while he isn’t always named explicitly, one can infer that he hosted a number of embassies and ambassadors in his time. In fact, in his position as head of the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, he was in what was perhaps the most lucrative post outside of Yamato. In addition to being in charge of trade, diplomacy, and military readiness, the Dazaifu oversaw all of Tsukushi—the island of Kyushu, and was like a miniature representation of the central government.
I suspect it is the military responsibilities that saw Kurikuma being appointed to the post of Director of Military Affairs—Tsuwamo-no-Tsukasa-no-Kami, or Heiseikan-cho. That was in the 3rd lunar month of 675, just a few years into Ohoama’s reign.
This would later be known as the Hyoubu-shou, or Ministry of War. The appointment would not last long, however. A year later, Kurikuma would pass away from disease.
Prince Kurikuma is one of those enigmatic and yet somewhat exciting individuals that exists beyond just the Nihon Shoki.   The Shoku Nihongi and later sources give us additional details, which may or may not be accurate. Even moreso, there are stories in modern Nagasaki prefecture about Prince Kurikuma helping to regulate the animals that lived in the waters surrounding Kyushu. According to the Shoku Nihongi record, he was reportedly granted the 2nd princely rank upon his death—which, if true, would seem to say a lot about how he was viewed at the time.
Moving into the year 676, we see an edict that restricted governorships to individuals of the rank of Daisen and below. The exceptions to this were the Home Provinces, Michinoku, and Nagato, and let’s explore why these areas were excepted.
Home Provinces make sense, as that is where the capital is and this more prestigious area was therefore deserving of a higher ranked noble. Michinoku was the opposite geographically: it was the general wilderness of Tohoku, and the land of the Emishi. It was also the farthest east of the capital, so I suspect they wanted someone of rank to handle that.
The governor of Nagato, however, is interesting. Nagato is part of Honshu, the main island, just north of Kyushu, across the Shimonoseki strait. Similar to Michinoku, Nagato was one of the most remote provinces on Honshu. It was also an important province for potential defense and trade, and often coordinated with the Dazaifu in Tsukushi, to the south. As such, it was also considered a more prominent posting than other governorships.
It is somewhat interesting that the Dazaifu is not mentioned, but I suspect this is because the head of the Dazaifu was not, in fact, a governor, but more akin to a viceroy. After all, they had to be entrusted with a certain amount of authority to be able to conduct military, trade, and diplomatic business without constantly sending back to the Yamato court for instruction. We’ve already seen that there were Princes and other men of wealth and status who had been given that posting.
Interestingly, in this reign we see at least one other viceroy—one other Dazai, or Ohomikotomochi—and that is in Kibi, of all places. From what we can tell Kibi was one of the main rivals for power and authority in the prior centuries. It has come up again and again in the stories. Unfortunately, most of the stories only hint at what we think actually happened. Today, when we talk about the Dazaifu we are almost exclusively talking about the one in Kyushu. Besides being far flung from the center of power, it had huge responsibilities.
Comparatively, though perhaps not as directly involved with trade, the rulers of Kibi were important figures, as demonstrated by the amount of manpower they were able to leverage for building their large, kingly tombs. We talked somewhat about that back in Episode 48, looking at Tsukuriyama Kofun, one of the largest in the archipelago. Furthermore, Kibi was well-placed on the Seto inland sea to be able to control the passage of ships. The Kibi Dazai appears to have been established around the time of the Taika reforms, though it is only mentioned once in the Nihon Shoki, and I don’t see any other examples of it. There is also evidence that it was given authority over not just Kibi, but also the neighboring province of Harima. Eventually, however, Kibi would be broken up into the three provinces of Bizen, Bitchu, and Bingo, and it would no longer need to be aggregated under a single administration. Rather, each province would get its own governor, overseeing a much smaller part of the whole. From this I can only assume that there may have been other, similar situations, prior to the various provinces being broken up like that.
A couple months later, in the 5th month of 676, we are once again discussing governors. First was a decree about governors who weren’t paying their commuted taxes on time. Aston goes on to note that non-rice taxes were due in the middle of the 8th month—at least for the home provinces. Near provinces—a little farther away—taxes had to be received by the end of the 10th month, and for those a bit farther away—in the middle distance—they had to be there by the 11th month. Finally, the taxes from the farthest provinces were due by the end of the 12th month. This would have given officials time to collect the taxes and to transport them all the way to the capital. So when the chronicles talk about governors not paying on time, not keeping to this schedule may have been what the court was getting at—or at least some kind of similar schedule with deadlines, since it might have been modified over time.

Another record, that same month—actually a few days later—concerns specifically the governor of Shimotsukenu—or Shimotsuke, on the other side of Honshu. He sent in a report that that province had been hit pretty hard that year with a poor harvest. In fact, it was so bad that many peasants were seeking permission to sell their children. The court ultimately denied the request, but this does speak to a rather disturbing—yet not exactly uncommon—cultural practice. I don’t think we need to get into the different nuances here, beyond a look at the fact that this was likely not a new practice, but it does seem that the appeal to the government for permission to sell one’s children was something new. Perhaps this came with all of the records and registrations that the government had undertaken to know who was in what household. Regardless, one can hardly imagine that most parents would willingly take this option unless they had no other choice, and I suspect that it is meant to show both the desperation of the people in Shimotsuke, as well as the harsh benevolence of the sovereign, who would not permit the children to be separated from their families.
Of course, we aren’t told how the court otherwise ameliorated the situation, since moral righteousness is tremendous, but doesn’t suddenly fix the problems with the harvest or cause food to appear out of nowhere. One hopes that the court at least sent some amount of rice or other provisions to help the people.
Although it was Shimotsuke in the 5th month, in the 6th month we see a more general report of a large drought. Messengers were sent throughout the land to get people to donate cloth, and make prayers to the kami, while Buddhist Priests called upon the power of the Three Precious Things. It was all to no avail—the usual rains didn’t come, so the wugu, the five grains didn’t grow, and peasants starved. The five grains per se are rice, soybeans, wheat, and two types of millet, but in this case the term is just a stand-in for all types of agricultural produce.
Possibly unrelated, but somewhat telling, two months later we see a record of the court granting sustenance-fiefs of all Royal princes and princesses down to the high ministers and female officials at the palace down to the rank of Shoukin. So only two months after the peasants of Yamato were apparently starving, the court is handing out stipend increases to the elite. So… yeah….
We do see a focus in the 8th month on an Oho-barai, or Great Purification. I’m going to talk about this more in a future episode, though, so just noting here that they seem to have been working to purify the land and that may have been part of ongoing spiritual attempts to request the support of the kami in what appear to be difficult times. There were also plenty of examples of attempts to make merit by demonstrating righteousness and reading various sutras.
Moving on to the events of 677, things seem to have been going better than the previous year, so maybe all that merit-making had an effect? Either way, we don’t see any mention of droughts or famines this year, and we make it to the ninth month, when we see a notice that any vagabonds who returned after being sent back to their hometown would be set to forced labor. Vagabond, in this case, is “furounin”, or “person who floats on the waves”. This appears to be the origin of the term “Rounin”, which would later refer to masterless samurai. At this point it seems to refer mostly to commoners who were expected to work the land—and when workers abandoned the land that had implications for the government’s tax base system. So the State was invested in ensuring that people didn’t just move somewhere else—at least without asking permission and being properly registered. This does seem different from an actual fugitive, such as someone who was banished who tries to leave their place of banishment.
The following month, the 10th month of 677, we see that Kawabe no Omi no Momoye was appointed head of the Minbukyo, the Minister of the Interior. In addition, Tajihi no Kimi no Maro was made a Daibu, or high official, of the province of Settsu.     The term “daibu” could just refer to high ministers of the court, but the “daibu” of a province appears to be similar to a governor, but with more expansive and comprehensive authority. Settsu is one of the five home provinces, and as such an important part of the geographical heart of Yamato.   So we have the local chieftains, the governors, the viceroys at the Dazai, and also, apparently, a “high official” in some regions, each with what appear to be overlapping but slightly different portfolios.
The next month we see that the Viceroy of Tsukushi—whoever had taken the place of Prince Yagaki—had his officials present a red crow to the court. The person who caught the crow was granted five steps in rank—not a small reward. Also, local officials had their own rank raised, and taxes were remitted to the peasants of that district for a year. Finally, a general amnesty was announced across Yamato.
We talked in Episode 141 how something like a red crow would have likely represented either the three-legged crow in the sun or the legendary Suzaku, the fiery bird of the south. Either way, it was clearly an auspicious discovery. It is interesting that we don’t see any names at all associated with this event. We do, however, see that people were no doubt incentivized to report such things up to the court. Whoever found such a curiosity would likely have been celebrated by all of those around given the court’s broad show of appreciation. No doubt the local officials were more than pleased given that they were also likely to receive some of the benefits that accrued if the court was well pleased.
As far as the type of events I’m focusing on this episode, there isn’t much recorded between the red crow of 677 and a few years later in 682. Picking up in the 3rd month of that year, we get a record of the Emishi of Michinoku being granted court rank, incorporating them further into the growing Yamato polity. As I talked about a little earlier, Michinoku on the other side of the archipelago, so this event really shows expansion of Yamato and solidification of its power over the rest of Honshu. It is easy to forget that much of the Tohoku region was not firmly under Yamato control at this time. They may have claimed it, but the people and culture there were still considered distinct and not a part of Yamato, proper. But they were making inroads.
In the following month, the 4th lunar month of the same year, 682, we are back on the west coast and see Tajihi no Mabito no Shima as the latest Viceroy of Tsukushi, sending as tribute a large bell. It is somewhat interesting that, compared to the past few viceroys, Shima is actually a member of a noble family and not a Prince. Of course, there was no requirement that the Dazaifu be overseen by a Prince—that certainly wasn’t the case for Soga no Akaye, but it is interesting given how Ohoama had been making appointments, so far. Even if they weren’t princely, it is clear that this was an important posting, which says a lot for Tajihi no Shima, even if we didn’t know anything more about him.
Fortunately, there are a few clues. For one thing, there are records that claim he was descended from one of the previous sovereigns, but he did not hold the title of “Prince”. That is reflected in his family’s kabane of “Mabito”, however, or “True person”, which seems to indicate at least a nominal descent from a previous ruler. Shima would continue to rise in the government, and would eventually serve as the Minister of the Right and then Minister of the Left, and at one point he would be the highest ranking noble in the government—though that was still a ways off. All of this speaks to the importance of the position of viceroy, and probably gives us a clue as to why the Chroniclers were so interested in someone sending a bell, large as it might be, to the government.
A day after the bell tribute arrived, Emishi of Koshi, including Ikokina and others, requested 70 households of prisoners of war to create a new district. While we’ve talked about the Emishi of Koshi, before, what is particularly interesting is the request for prisoners of war—captives. Were these Wajin, or Japanese, who had been captured by the Emishi and they were requesting permission to resettle them? Were they asking for 70 households of people being held captive by the Yamato government? It isn’t clear. It also isn’t clear if “Ikokina” is the name of an individual or of multiple individuals. Aston originally translated it as Itaka, Kina, and others, while Bentley’s more recent translation suggests it is one name. However, given that this is an Emishi name, being transliterated in Kanji through a Japanese translator, it is hard to know without further sources.
From the fourth month to the 7th month of 682, we see a small entry that presents were given to men from Tanegashima, Yakushima, and Amami no Shima. This simple entry is important mostly just because of its mention of continued contact with these islands south of Kyushu. This helps us maintain some idea of the extent of Yamato’s influence.
In the late summer of 683, we once again see a drought. It began in the 7th lunar month and lasted until the 8th. A priest named Douzou prayed for rain and eventually obtained it. Douzou is said to have been a monk from Kudara, or Baekje. Aston suggests that this means he was a priest of Kudaradera, but it isn’t really clear to me.
In the early 8th month, we also see that there was a general amnesty ordered throughout Yamato, which I suspect was connected with the disaster of the drought and an attempt to help build merit and otherwise strengthen the state in the face of natural disaster and potential unrest.
At the end of 683, we see a survey team being sent out. The sovereign sent Prince Ise along with Hata no Kimi no Yakuni, Ohoshi no Omi no Homuchi, and Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima with clerks and artisans to tour the realm and determine the border of the various provinces, but they were unable to determine them all in a year.
This really must have been quite the task. Certainly, the provinces were the ancient lands which people had been living in for some time, but there was never really a need for political lines on a map to determine where the boundaries were. People generally knew if they were in one or the other, and unless there was a very contentious piece of property, mostly you didn’t worry about which exact land or province you were in. Now, however, the court was in the midst of trying to lock down all of the data about the land, including what was where and how much there was. After all, their entire tax base was built on arable land, so they had to know where it was and what to expect. There is no way that such a project was going to be completed in a single year.
I would also note that Aston has this particular record misplaced. He seemed to think it was on the 23rd day of the month, but it is then followed by the 17th. It seems that Aston just got his dates wrong, and can you blame him? There was a lot that he was dealing with.
We do see, almost a year later, in the 10th month of 684, Prince Ise and others are once again sent to determine the boundaries of the provinces. Second time’s the charm, maybe? Evidently not, because we then see another mention in the 10th month of 685, where the court gave them gifts of robes and trousers as they headed back out to the Eastern Countries one more time.
In the 11th month of 684 we are given a small report of a huge disaster. The governor of Tosa reported that a great tide had risen high, with an overflowing rush, and destroyed many of the ships used to convey tribute.
Tosa is on Shikoku, facing out to the Pacific Ocean. It is the first piece of dry land just past the continental shelf. As such, a quake just off shore could create conditions not dissimilar to the 2011 disaster in Fukushima, and send a tsunami wave flooding the coastline. It looks like that is what happened, which would have devastated the fleet. Since Shikoku was an island, they relied on those ships to get taxes and tribute conveyed up to Yamato. So this was Tosa letting the court know that the “sea ate my homework.”
I can’t help but wonder if this tsunami wasn’t related to an earthquake recorded for the month earlier, which we mentioned back in Episode 139. It was a huge earthquake that seems to have had a tremdous impact. Much of it was mentioned as being focused on the Toukaidou region, but that region still lies along a related fault line all the way down through Shikoku. It may be that it took a while for the two events to be reported, and there may not have been an understanding that the event in one place could have had an impact elsewhere. I don’t know if they had yet connected that earthquakes could cause tsunami or not. On the other hand, it could be that it was a separate, but related quake, or even an aftershock, which caused the tsunami.
Overall, the year 684 does not appear to have been the best. We are told that in the lower district of Katsuraki, there was reported a chicken with four legs. Then, in the district of Higami, in Tanba province, there was a calf born with twelve horns. These don’t sound like great omens, and given the tsunami, and the earthquake, and other such things, I can perhaps understand why the court focused on trying to do some merit-making towards the end of the year. For instance they pardoned all criminals except those guilty of capital crimes.
And we are also told that Iga, Ise, Mino, and Wohari were notified that in future years, if they were paying commuted taxes—that is taxes other than rice, in lieu of service—that force labour would be remitted, and vice versa.   That is, if it was a year where they would pay in corvee labour, the commuted taxes would be remitted instead. In other words, they didn’t need to do both in one year. Similarly , in the 7th lunar month of 685, we are told that the Provinces on the Tousandou, east of Mino, and the Toukaidou, east of Ise, were all exempted from sending in conscript laborers as part of their taxes.
We aren’t told exactly why any of this was done, but I suspect that it had something to do with either construction going on in those regions, or just needing to have people to work the fields. Labor could always be remitted just because of something good like a good omen, but in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake, I wonder if there wasn’t a lot of rebuilding that had to take place, and maybe the court just wanted to make sure those regions had the people they needed for those projects.
The Tousandou and the Toukaidou were just two of the 7 official circuits around the archipelago. In this case, the Toukaidou hugged the coastal areas, heading from Ise out to modern Tokyo. Meanwhile, the Tousandou would have cut through the mountains in the middle of that area of Honshu, passing north of Fuji and through modern Gunma.    The other circuits were the San’youdou, the San’indou, the Nankaidou, the Hokurikudou, and Tsukushi, which was considered its own “circuit”. The San’youdou and San’indou were the Yang and Yin roads, going through the western part of Honshu. The San’youdou was along the Seto Inland Sea, while the San’indou was along the Japan sea. The Nankaidou, or South Sea Road, was the Kii peninsula and Shikoku. The Hokurikudou went north on eastern Honshu, through the Koshi region. Finally, Tsukushi, which would also be known as the Saikaidou, or Western Sea Road, was its own circuit
In the 9th lunar month of 685 we see Commissioners or Royal Messengers appointed to six of the seven circuits, the Hokurikudou being the one left out.    The commissioners were to tour and inspect the provincial and district offices and make sure they were good. Each person took a facility manager and a secretary to assist them. Bentley notes that there is, in later legal codes, a role of “Inspector”, who was similarly expected to tour and inspect the various provinces – but these were assigned on an as needed basis, so it wasn’t a permanent position.
Along with the inspection of the government offices, there was one other edict that same day in the 9th month of 685: the court ordered that male and female singers, as well as pipers/flute-players should pass down their skills to their descendants and make them practice singing and the flute. Thus they effectively created hereditary musicians which, at the time, was how you made sure that you had the different professions and skillsets you needed to run the State.
Then, in the 11th month of 685, we see a bunch of iron sent to the General Magistrate of Suwa. How much is a bunch? 10,000 kin, which is thought to be equivalent to roughly 6.6 tons. That is a huge amount of iron, assuming the record is true. At the same time, the viceroy of Tsukushi requested 100 bolts of coarse silk, 132 pounds of thread, 300 bundles of cloth, 4000 feet of labor tax cloth, 6.6 tons of iron, and 2,000 sets of bamboo arrows.   And by all accounts, the court sent it all out. No idea why—but there we go. Presumably it was to make things—probably clothing and weapons.
We see something similar in the 12th month, when the ships carrying the newest border guards out to Tsukushi were battered by bad seas and, eventually, they were left adrift in the water. They were rescued, but lost all of their clothing, so rather than sending clothes, the court sent cloth. 450 bolts of cloth were sent, to be made into new sets of clothing for the soldiers.
Sending raw materials makes sense. After all, there were likely artisans all over the place who just needed them. Furthermore, that way you could customize the equipment to the people who would be using it, rather than shipping off finished goods.
And with that, I think we are going to call it. Next episode will be a similar overview, but we’ll take a look at some of the laws that were passed, as well as how they dealt with law and order in the archipelago.
Until then, if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Wittkamp, Robert F. (2026). Reading the Nihon Shoki: Chinese Encyclopedias, Source Criticism and Historical Writing in Old Japan. ISBN 9783695198436
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Bentley, J.R. (2020). The Birth of Japanese Historiography (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367809591
McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 143: Temmu's Monumental Projects

February 16, 2026 Joshua Badgley

Indication of the location of pillar traces found in excavations of the Fujiwara Palace in Kashihara, at the Fujiwara capital site. Photo by author.

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This episode talks about two projects that were started—but hardly finished—in the current reign. One of these was what Bentley describes as an “historiographical project” and the other was nothing less than the creation of the first permanent capital city: The city of Fujiwara-kyō

The Temmu-Jitō Historiographical Project

In 681, the sovereign gave orders to a group of Princes and high ministers to collect the various historical documents. There are many that believe this was the start of what would become the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, though given the differences, it seems like these works may have each leveraged some part of the effort, but may have been later works that put the historical details this effort gathered into context.

The group putting everything together included:

Royal Prince Kawashima - Second eldest son of Naka no Ōe (Tenji Tennō). He wouldn’t see the project through, either—or at least not the
Royal Prince Osakabe - Non-inheriting son of Ōama. He would also be involved with the Taihō Ritsuryō
Princes Hirose, Takeda, Kuwada, and Mino - Four non-royal princes, meaning that they were considered descendants of some prior sovereign, but their parents were not sovereigns, themselves. Unfortunately, these all appear to be locative titles, meaning they are names that come from locations that are passed to different individuals, making it difficult to determine who is who without more information. Still, it is key that they are outside of the ministerial class, and given some deference as being part of the extended royal family.
Kamitsukenu (Kōzuke) no Kimi no Michiji (Lower Daikin Rank) - The only one on the list with the “Kimi” kabane and the highest ranked official at Lower Daikin. In previous portions of the Chronicles, one would assume that that “Kimi” meant that they were the lords of Kōzuke, and the family seems to have had influence in the region. Unfortunately, they would pass away later the same year that they started the project.
Imbe no Muraji no Kobito (Middle Shōkin Rank) - A longtime supporter of the sovereign, he had joined the Yoshino side and defended Asuka, removing the planks from the bridges and building barricades to help defend from the Ōmi court. His kabane would later go from Muraji to Sukune under the new system.
Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki (Lower Shōkin Rank) - Inashiki was a minister under the old Ōmi court, but not mentioned as directly fighting against Ōama, and would be among those pardoned by him. There must not have been too much distrust as he was clearly trusted with this task.
Naniwa no Muraji no Ōgata (no rank mentioned) - This individual is something of a mystery as no rank at all is mentioned and there seems to be no further mention of them in the Chronicles. We know that he was of the Naniwa family, which were previously the Naniwa no Kishi before they were given the status of Muraji. My assumption is that he was Lower Shōkin rank and they were just not restating it in the list.
Nakatomi no Muraji no Ōshima (Upper Daisen Rank) - Though a member of the powerful Nakatomi family, Ōshima’s position appears to have been that of scribe, helping to keep a record of what happened. This seemed to be the start of quite the career for Ōshima. He was a member of the Nakatomi house, but would later be listed as Fujiwara no Ōshima, from about 685 to 690. It is unclear if he took this name, or it was given to him—there is a bit of confusion around the name “Fujiwara” and which members of the Nakatomi clan would use it. This is something we should address at a later point in the story.
Heguri no Omi no Kobito (Lower Daisen Rank) - Another member of a prestigious family, but we don’t have much more to go on. Kobito itself is a fairly common given name in the Chronicles.

The Fujiwara Capital

We are going to discuss this more when we get into the next reign and they are actually occupying it, but the Fujiwara capital is the first time we’ve seen the state attempt to build an entire city. Previously we’ve seen “capitals” built, but it is mostly the palace, and we don’t necessarily see the larger infrastructure that was built around it. It may be that outside of the sovereign’s palace compound it was considered to be on the various ministerial families to figure out their own residences and lodging. However, in this instance it was full on large scale roads and blocks that were then divvied out amongst the ministerial families.

Palace comparisons

Oharida Palace (603-649)
Naniwa Toyosaki Palace (651-686)
Kiyomihara Palace (656-694)
Fujiwara Palace (694-710)

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Excavation of the Palace site

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Layout of the city

From the Fujiwara capital site. Photo by author.

Fujiwara palace ruins site

Photo by author.

Fujiwara Palace Ruins Site and Mt. Unebi

Photo by author.

Fujiwara Capital Roads

Diagram showing the excavated roads and how they may have been built. From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Kiln diorama

From the Exhibition Room of the Fujiwara Palace Site. Photo by author.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is Episode 143: Temmu’s Monumental Projects
Ohoama sat astride his horse and looked out at the land in front of him.   He could still see the image of the rice fields, now long fallow, spreading out on the plain. To the north, east, and west, he could see the mountains that would frame his vision. As his ministers started to rattle off information about the next steps of the plan, Ohoama began to smile. He thought of the reports his embassies to the Great Tang had brought back, about the great walled cities of the continent. In his mind’s eye, Ohoama envisioned something similar, rising up on the plain in front of him.
There would be an earth and stone wall, surrounding the great city. The gates would be grand, much like the temples, but on an even greater scale. Houses would be packed in tight, each within their own walled compounds. In the center painted red and white, with green accents, would be a palace to rival any other structure in the archipelago. The people would stream in, and the city would be bustling with traffic.
This was a new center, from which the power of Yamato would be projected across the islands and even to the continent.

Greetings everyone, and welcome back. This episode we are still focused on the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, between the years 672 and 686.
Last episode we talked about the Four Great Temples—or the Four National Temples. Much of this episode was focused on the rise and spread of Buddhism as we see in the building of these national temples, but also on the changes that occurred as the relationship between Buddhism and the State evolved. This was part of Ohoama’s work to build up the State into something beyond what it had been in the past—or perhaps into something comparable to what they believed it to have been in the past. After all, based on the size of the tomb mounds in the kofun period, it does seem that there was a peak of prosperity in the 5th century, around the time of Wakatakeru, aka Yuryaku Tennou, and then a decline, to the point that the lineage from Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou, seemed to have come in during a time when they were rebuilding Yamato power and authority.
This episode we are going to talk about two projects that Ohoama kicked off during his reign. He wouldn’t see the completion of either one, since both took multiple decades to complete, but both focused on linking the past and the future.
The first we’ll talk about is a new attempt to gather historical documents and records—the last time that was done was in the time of Kashikiya Hime, over 50 years ago. That was during the height of Soga power. Since then a lot had changed, and presumably there were even more stories and records that had been written down. Plus the tide had changed. So they needed to update—and maybe even correct—the historical record. But beyond that, there was a greater goal: Ohoama and his court also needed to make sure that the past was something that they wanted to go back to, among other things.
The other thing we are going to discuss is the start of a project to build a brand new capital city. And when we talk a bout city, we really mean a city. This was a massive undertaking, likely unlike anything that we’ve seen so far. Sure, there had been monumental building projects, but this was something that was going to take a lot more work - how much more monumental could you get than a new city? And it would create a physical environment that would be the embodiment of the new centralization of power and authority, and the new state that Ohoama was building, with his administration—and Yamato—at the center.
Let’s start with the big ones. First and foremost, we have the entry from the 17th day of the 3rd month of the 681. Ohoama gave a decree from the Daigokuden to commit to writing a Chronicle of the sovereigns and various matters of high antiquity. Bentley translates this as saying that they were to record and confirm the Teiki, which Aston translated as the Chronicle of the Sovereigns, and various accounts of ancient times. This task was given out to a slew of individuals, including the Royal Princes Kawashima and Osakabe; the Princes Hirose, Takeda, Kuwada, and Mino; as well as Kamitsukenu no Kimi no Michichi, Imbe no Muraji no Kobito, Adzumi no Muraji no Inashiki, Naniwa no Muraji no Ohogata, Nakatomi no Muraji no Ohoshima, and Heguri no Omi no Kobito. Ohoshima and Kobito were specifically chosen as the scribes for this effort.
We aren’t told what work was started at this time. Aston, in his translation of the Nihon Shoki, assumes that this is the start of the Kojiki. Bentley notes that this is the first in a variety of records about gathering the various records, including gathering records from the various families, and eventually even records from the various provinces. And I think we can see why. Legitimizing a new state and a new way of doing things often means ensuring that you have control of the narrative. Today, that often means doing what you can to control media and the stories that are in the national consciousness. In Ohoama’s day, I’d argue that narrative was more about the various written sources, and how they were presented. After all, many of the rituals and evidence that we are looking at would rely on the past to understand the present. The various family records would not only tell of how those families came to be, but would have important information about what else was going on, and how that was presented could determine whether something was going to be seen as auspicious, or otherwise. Even without getting rid of those records, it would be important to have the official, State narrative conform to the Truth that the state was attempting to implement.
Ultimately, there is no way to know, exactly, how everything happened. If the Nihon Shoki had a preface, it has been lost. The Kojiki, for its part, does have a preface, and it points to an origin in the reign of Ohoama—known as the sovereign of Kiyomihara. In there we are told that the sovereign had a complaint—that the Teiki and Honji, that is the chronicles of the sovereigns and the various other stories and legends, that had been handed down by various houses had come to differ from the truth. They said they had many falsehoods, which likely meant that they just didn’t match the Truth that the State was trying to push. Thus they wanted to create a so-called “true” version to pass down.
This task was given to 28 year old Hieda no Are. It says they were intelligent and had an incredible memory. They studied all of the sources, and the work continued beyond the reign of Ohoama. Later, in 711 CE, during the reign of Abe, aka Genmei Tennou, Oho no Yasumaro was given the task of writing down everything that Hieda no Are had learned.
The astute amongst you may have noticed that this mentions none of the individuals mentioned in the Nihon Shoki. Nor does the Nihon Shoki mention anything about Hieda no Are. So was this a separate effort, or all part of the same thing? Was Are using the materials collected by the project?
As you may recall, we left the Kojiki behind some time ago, since it formally ends with the reign of Kashikiya hime, aka Suiko Tennou, but realistically it ended with Wohodo, aka Keitai Tennou—after that point there are just lists of the various heirs. As such, there is some speculation that this was originally built off of earlier histories, perhaps arranged during the Soga era.
The general explanation for all of this is that Hieda no Are memorized the poems and stories, and then Yasumaro wrote them down. Furthermore, though the language in the Kojiki does not express a particular gender, in the Edo period there was a theory that Hieda no Are was a woman, which is still a popular theory.
Compare all of that to the Nihon Shoki. Where the Kojiki was often light on details and ends with Suiko Tennou, the Nihon Shoki often includes different sources, specifically mentions some of them by name, and continues up through the year 697. Furthermore, textual analysis of the Nihon Shoki suggests that it was a team effort, with multiple Chroniclers, and likely multiple teams of Chroniclers.   I have to admit, that sounds a lot more like the kind of thing that Ohoama was kicking off.
We have an entry in the Shoku Nihongi, the work that follows the Nihon Shoki, that suggests 720 for the finished compilation of the Nihon Shoki. So did it take from 681 to 720 to put together? That is a really long project, with what were probably several generations of individuals working on it.
Or should this be read in a broader sense? Was this a historiographical project, as Bentley calls it, but one that did not, immediately, know the form it would take? It isn’t the first such project—we have histories of the royal lineage and other stories that were compiled previously—much of that attributed to Shotoku Taishi, but likely part of an earlier attempt by the court. In fact, given that the Kojiki and Sendai Hongi both functionally end around the time of Kashikiya hime, that is probably because the official histories covered those periods. Obviously, though, a lot had happened, and some of what was written might not fit the current narrative. And so we see a project to gather and compile various sources. While this project likely culminated in the projects of the Kojiki and the Nihon Shoki, I doubt that either work was necessarily part of the original vision. Rather, it looks like the original vision was to collect what they could and then figure things out.
It would have been after they started pulling the accounts together, reading them, and noticing the discrepancies that they would have needed to then edit them in such a way that they could tell a cohesive story. That there are two separate compilations is definitely interesting. I do suspect that Oho no Yasumaro was working from the efforts of Hieda no Are, either writing down something that had been largely captured in memory or perhaps finishing a project that Are had never completed. The Nihon Shoki feels like it was a different set of teams, working together, but likely drawing from many of the same sources.
And as to why we don’t have the earlier sources? I once heard it said that for books to be forgotten they didn’t need to be banned—they just needed to fall out of circulation and no longer be copied anymore. As new, presumably more detailed, works arose, it makes sense that older sources would not also be copied, as that information was presumably in the updated texts, and any information that wasn’t brought over had been deemed counterfactual. Even the Nihon Shoki risked falling into oblivion; the smaller and more digestible Kojiki was often more sought after. The Kojiki generally presents a single story, and often uses characters phonetically, demonstrating how to read names and places. And it just has a more story-like narrative to it. The Nihon Shoki, comparatively, is dense, written in an old form of kanbun, often relying more on kanbun than on phonetic interpretations. It was modeled on continental works, but as such it was never going to be as easy to read. And so for a long time the Kojiki seems to have held pride of place for all but the most ardent scholars of history.
Either way, I think that it is still fair to say that the record of 681 was key to the fact that we have this history, today, even if there was no way for Ohoama, at the time, to know just what form it would take.
Another ambitious project that got started under Ohoama was the development of a new and permanent capital city.
Up to this point we’ve talked about the various capitals of Yamato, but really it was more that we were talking about the palace compounds where the sovereign lived. From the Makimuku Palace, where either Mimaki Iribiko or possibly even Himiko herself once held sway, to the latest palace, that of Kiyomihara, the sovereigns of Yamato were known by their palaces. This is, in part, because for the longest time each successive sovereign would build a new palace after the previous sovereign passed away. There are various reasons why this may have been the case, often connected to insular concepts of spiritual pollution brought on by the death of an individual, but also the practical consideration that the buildings, from what we can tell, were largely made of untreated wood. That made them easier to erect, but also made them vulnerable to the elements, over time, and is probably one of the reasons that certain shrines, like the Shrine at Ise, similarly reconstitute themselves every 20 years or so.
Furthermore, we talk about palaces, but we don’t really talk about cities. There were certainly large settlements—even going back to the Wei chronicles we see the mention of some 70 thousand households in the area of Yamateg. It is likely that the Nara basin was filled with cultivated fields and many households. Princes and noble households had their own compounds—remember that both Soga no Umako and Prince Umayado had compounds large enough that they could build temples on the compounds and have enough left over for their own palatial residences, as well. However, these compounds were usually distributed in various areas, where those individuals presumably held some level of local control.
It is unclear to me how exactly the early court functioned as far as housing individuals, and how often the court was “in session”, as it were, with the noble houses. Presumably they had local accommodations and weren’t constantly traveling back and forth to the palace all the time. We know that some houses sent individuals, men and women, to be palace attendants, even though they lived some distance away. This was also likely a constraint on the Yamato court’s influence in the early days.
We do see the sovereign traveling, and various “temporary” palaces being provided. I highly doubt that these were all built on the spot, and were likely conversions of existing residences, and similar lodging may have been available for elites when they traveled, though perhaps without such pomp and circumstance.
What we don’t really see in all of this, are anything resembling cities. Now, the term “city” doesn’t exactly have a single definition, but as I’m using it, I would note that we don’t see large, permanent settlements of significant size that demonstrate the kind of larger civil planning that we would expect of such a settlement. We certainly don’t have cities in the way of the large settlements along the Yangzi and Yellow rivers.
We talked some time back about the evolution of capital city layouts on the continent. We mentioned that the early theoretical plan for a capital city was based on a square plan, itself divided into 9 square districts, with the central district constituting the palace. This design works great on paper, but not so much in practice, especially with other considerations, such as the north-south orientation of most royal buildings. And then there are geographic considerations. In a place like Luoyang, this square concept was interrupted by the river and local topography. Meanwhile, in Chang’an, they were able to attain a much more regular rectangular appearance. Here, the court and the palace were placed in the center of the northernmost wall. As such, most of the city was laid out to the south of the palace.
In each case, however, these were large, planned cities with a grid of streets that defined the neighborhoods. On each block were various private compounds, as well as the defined markets, temples, et cetera.
The first possible attempt at anything like this may have been with the Toyosaki palace, in Naniwa. There is some consideration that, given the size of the palace, there may have been streets and avenues that were built alongside it, with the intention of having a similar city layout. If so, it isn’t at all clear that it was ever implemented, and any evidence may have been destroyed by later construction on the site. Then we have the Ohotsu palace, but that doesn’t seem to be at the same scale as the Toyosaki palace—though it is possible that, again, we are missing some key evidence. Nonetheless, the records don’t really give us anything to suggest that these were large cities rather than just palaces.
There is also the timeline. While both the Toyosaki palace and the Ohotsu palace took years to build, they did not take the time and amount of manpower that would be needed to create a true capital city. We can judge this based on what it took to build the new capital at Nihiki.
This project gets kicked off in the 11th month of 676. We are told that there was an intent to make the capital at Nihiki, so all of the rice-fields and gardens within the precincts, public and private property alike, were left fallow and became totally overgrown.
This likely took some time. The next time we see Nihiki is in the 3rd month of 682, when Prince Mino, a minister of the Household Department, and others, went there to examine the grounds. At that point they apparently made the final decision to build the capital there. Ohoama came out to visit later that same month.
However, a year later, in the 12th month of 683, we are told that there was a decree for there to be multiple capitals and palaces in multiple sites, and they were going to make the Capital at Naniwa one of those places. And so public functionaries were to go figure out places for houses. So it wasn’t just that they wanted to build one new, grand capital. It sounds like they were planning to build two or three, so not just the one at Nihiki. This is also where I have to wonder if the Toyosaki Palace was still being used as an administrative center, at the very least. Or was it repurposed, as we saw that the Asuka palaces had been when the court moved to Ohotsu?
This is further emphasized a few months later, when Prince Hirose and Ohotomo Yasumaro, at the head of a group of clerks, officials, artisans, and yin yang diviners were sent around the Home Provinces to try and divine sites suitable for a capital. In addition, Prince Mino, Uneme no Oni no Tsukura, and others were sent to Shinano to see about setting up a capital there as well. Perhaps this was inspired by the relationship between the two Tang capitals of Chang’an and Luoyang. Or perhaps it was so that if one didn’t work out another one might.
Regardless, Nihiki seemed to be the primary target for this project, and in the third lunar month of 684 Ohoama visited the now barren grounds and decided on a place for the new palace. A month later, Prince Mino and others returned with a map of Shinano, but there is no indication of where they might want to build another capital.
After that, we don’t hear anything more of Shinano or of a site in the Home Provinces. We do hear one more thing about Naniwa, which we mentioned a couple of episodes back, and that is that in 686 there was a fire that burned down the palace at Naniwa, after which they seem to have abandoned that as a palace site. And so we are left with the area of Nihiki.
This project would take until the very end of 694 before it was ready. In total, we are looking at a total of about 18 years—almost two decades, to build a new capital. Some of this may have been the time spent researching other sites, but there also would have been significant time taken to clear and level. This wasn’t just fields—based on what we know, they were even taking down old kofun; we are later told about how they had to bury the bodies that were uncovered. There was also probably a pause of some kind during the mourning period when Ohoama passed away. And on top of it, this really was a big project. It wasn’t just building the palace, it was the roads, the infrastructure, and then all of the other construction—the city gates, the various private compounds, and more. One can only imagine how much was being invested, especially if they were also looking at other sites and preparing them at the same time. I suspect that they eventually abandoned the other sites when they realized just how big a project it really was that they were undertaking.
Today we know that capital as Fujiwara-kyo, based on the name of the royal palace that was built there, and remarkably, we know where it was. Excavations have revealed the site of the palace, and have given us an idea of the extent of the city: It was designed as a square, roughly 5.3 kilometers, or 10 ri, on each side. The square itself was interrupted by various terrain features, including the three holy mountains. Based on archaeological evidence, the street grid was the first thing they laid out, and from what we can tell they were using the ideal Confucian layout as first dictated in the Zhouli, or Rites of Zhou. This meant a square grid, with the palace in the center.
Indeed, the palace was centered, due south of Mt. Miminashi, and you can still go and see the palace site, today. When they went to build the palace, they actually had to effectively erase, or bury, the roads they had laid out. They did the same thing for Yakushi-ji, or Yakushi-temple, when they built it as part of the city; one of the reasons we know it had to have been built after the roads were laid out.
We will definitely talk about this more when we get to that point of the Chronicles, but for now, know that the Fujiwara palace itself, based on excavations of the site, was massive. The city itself would surpass both Heijo-kyo, at Nara, and Heian-kyo, in modern Kyoto. And the palace was like the Toyosaki Naniwa palace on steroids. It included all of the formal features of the Toyosaki Palace for running the government, but then enclosed that all in a larger compound with various buildings surrounding the court itself. Overall, the entire site is massive. This was meant as a capital to last for the ages.
And yet, we have evidence that it was never completed. For one thing, there is no evidence that a wall was ever erected around it—perhaps there was just no need, as relations with the mainland had calmed down, greatly. But there is also evidence that parts of the palace, even, were not finished at the time that they abandoned it. Fujiwara-kyo would only be occupied for about 16 years before a new capital was built—Heijo-kyo, in Nara. There are various reasons as to why they abandoned what was clearly meant to be the first permanent capital city, and even with the move to a new city in Nara it would be clear that it was going to take the court a bit of time before they were ready to permanently settle down—at least a century or so.
Based on all the evidence we have, and assuming this was the site of the eventual capital, Nihiki was the area of modern Kashihara just north of Asuka, between—and around—the mountains of Unebi, Miminashi, and Kagu. If these mountains are familiar, they popped up several times much earlier in the Chronicles--Mostly in the Age of the Gods and in the reign of the mythical Iware-biko, aka Jimmu Tennou. Yet these three mountains help to set out the boundaries of the capital city that was being built at this time.
There is definitely some consideration that they were emphasized in the early parts of the Chronicles—the mythical sections, which were bolstering the story of Amaterasu and the Heavenly Grandchild, setting up the founding myths for the dynasty. Even though the Chronicles were not completed until well after the court had moved out, the Fujiwara capital is the climax of the Nihon Shoki, which ends in 697, three years into life at the new palace. And so we can assume that much of the early, critical editing of the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki were done with the idea that this would be the new capital, and so it was woven into the histories, and had it continued as the capital, the very landscape would have recalled the stories of the divine origins of the Royal family and the state of Yamato itself.
This was the stage on which Ohoama’s state was built. He, and his successors, didn’t just change the future path of the Yamato government. They rearranged the physical and temporal environment, creating a world that centered them and their government. I suspect that Ohoama didn’t originally consider that these wouldn’t be finished during his reign. That said, he came to power in his 40s, only slightly younger than his brother, who had just died. He would live to be 56 years old—a respectable age for male sovereigns, around that time. From a quick glance, Naka no Oe was about 45 or 46 years old, while Karu lived to about 57 or 58. Tamura only made it to 48. The female sovereigns seem to have lasted longer, with Ohoama’s mother surviving until she was 66 or 67 years old, and Kashikiya Hime made it to the ripe old age of 74. That said, it is quite likely that he thought he would make it longer. After all, look at all the merit he was accruing! Still, he passed away before he could see these projects fully accomplished. That would have to be left for the next reign—and even that wasn’t enough. The Fujiwara Capital would only be occupied for a short time before being abandoned about two reigns later, and the histories as we know them wouldn’t be complete for three more reigns.
So given all of this, let’s take another quick look at Ohoama himself and where he stands at this pivotal moment of Yamato history.When we look at how he is portrayed, Ohoama is generally lionized for the work he is said to have accomplished. I would argue that he is the last of three major figures to whom are attributed most of the changes that resulted in the sinification of the Yamato government.
The first is prince Umayado, aka Shotoku Taishi, who is said to have written the 17 article constitution, the first rank system, and the introduction of Buddhism. To be fair, these things—which may not have been exactly as recorded in the Chronicles—were likely products of the court as a whole. Many people attribute more to Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, as well as Soga no Umako. Of course, Soga no Umako wasn’t a sovereign, or even a member of the royal family, and Kashikiya Hime, aka Suiko Tennou, seems to have likewise been discounted, at least later, possibly due to the fact that she is thought to have come to power more as a compromise candidate than anything else—she was the wife of a previous sovereign and niece to Soga no Umako. Many modern scholars seem to focus more on the agency of Kashikiya Hime and suggest that she had more say than people tend to give her credit for. That said, Shotoku Taishi seems to have been the legendary figure that was just real enough to ascribe success to. That he died before he could assume the throne just meant that he didn’t have too many problematic decisions of his own to apparently work around.
The next major figure seems to be Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou. Naka no Oe kicks off the period of Great Change, the Taika era, and is credited with a lot of the changes—though I can’t help but notice that the formal sovereign, Naka no Oe’s uncle, Karu, seems to have stuck with the new vision of the Toyosaki Palace and the administrative state while Naka no Oe and his mother moved back to the traditional capital. And when Naka no Oe moved the capital to Ohotsu, he once again built a palace more closely aligned to what we see in Asuka than the one in Naniwa, which brings some questions about how the new court was operating. But many of his reforms clearly were implemented, leveraging the new concepts of continental rulership to solidify the court’s hegemony over the rest of the archipelago.
Ohoama, as represented in the Chronicles, appears to be the culmination of these three. He is building on top of what his brother had implemented through the last three reigns. Some of what he did was consolidate what Naka no Oe had done, but there were also new creations, for which Ohoama is credited, even if most of the work was done outside of Ohoama’s reign, but they were attributed to Ohoama, nonetheless. Much of this was started later in Ohoama’s reign, and even today there seem to be some questions about who did what. Nonetheless, we can at least see how the Chroniclers were putting the story together.
There are a lot of scholars that point to the fact that the bulk of the work of these projects would actually be laid out in the following reigns, and who suggest that individuals like the influential Uno no Sarara, who held the control of the government in Ohoama’s final days, may have had a good deal more impact on how things turned out, ultimately. In fact, they might even have been more properly termed her projects—there are some that wonder if some of the attributions to Ohoama were meant to bolster the authority of later decrees, but I don’t really see a need for that, and it seems that there is enough evidence to suggest that these projects were begun in this period.
All of this makes it somewhat ironic that by the time the narrative was consolidated and published to the court, things were in a much different place—literally. The Fujiwara capital had been abandoned. The court, temples, and the aristocracy had picked up stakes and moved north. Fujiwara no Fuhito had come on the scene, and now his family was really taking off. This was not the same world that the Chronicles had been designed around.
And yet, that is what was produced. Perhaps there is a reason that they ended where they did.
From that point on, though, there were plenty of other projects to record what was happening. Attempts to control the narrative would need to do a lot more. We see things like the Sendai Kuji Hongi, with its alternative, and perhaps even subversive, focus on the Mononobe family. And then later works like the Kogoshui, recording for all time the grievances of the Imbe against their rivals—for all the good that it would do. With more people learning to write, it was no longer up to the State what did or did not get written down.
But that has taken us well beyond the scope of this reign—and this episode, which we should probably be bringing to a close. There are still some things here and there that I want to discuss about this reign—so the next episode may be more of a miscellany of various records that we haven’t otherwise covered, so far.
Until then if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
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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

Wittkamp, Robert F. (2026). Reading the Nihon Shoki: Chinese Encyclopedias, Source Criticism and Historical Writing in Old Japan. ISBN 9783695198436
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Bentley, J.R. (2020). The Birth of Japanese Historiography (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780367809591
McCallum, Donald F. (2009). The Four Great Temples: Buddhist Archaeology, Architecture, and Icons of Seventh-Century Japan. ISBN 978-0-8248-3114-1
Bentley, John. (2006). The Authenticity of Sendai Kuji Hongi: a New Examination of Texts, with a Translation and Commentary. ISBN-90-04-152253.
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.
Philippi, D. L. (1968). Kojiki. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press. ISBN4-13-087004-1

Episode 140: Improving Diplomatic Ties

December 16, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Great King Munmu of Silla, according to a 1908 Korean textbook. Munmu is the king that oversaw the conquest of Baekje and Goguryeo and the expulsion of the Tang from the Peninsula. He is generally considered the founder of Unified Silla. Photo in the public domain courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

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This episode we look at some of the improving foreign relations.

Silla

Silla is the most prominent foreign entity in contact with the Yamato court at this time. Furthermore, under King Munmu the Great they are at a high point in their history. With the help of the Tang Empire they have defeated Baekje and Goguryeo. Then, after years of struggle, they would also push the Tang out of the peninsula, at least past the Taedong river, which runs through Pyongyang. From the Taedong south—or Southeast—was what we often refer to as Unified Silla. For the first time, the peninsula was under a single authority, and it would start to bring a unification of culture as well as politics. It seems that Silla was also interested in mending fences with Yamato. The two had long had an adversarial relationship, but it seems that was changing.

Goguryeo

For a kingdom that was destroyed, Goguryeo continued to have quite the presence in the Chronicles. While Baekje and Nimna had both largely been given up as lost, Goguryeo, despite its apparent non-existence, refused to give up the ghost, as it were. This appears to be in part due to local rebellions and restoration efforts, but also thanks to official sponsorship by Silla, who no doubt realized that Goguryeo’s restoration kept the Tang dynasty busy. And so we see Goguryeo envoys to the Yamato court, though each time accompanied by Silla escorts.

Tamna

Tamna is on the island of Jeju, in the ocean south of the Korean peninsula. Though archaeological evidence suggests that they have had close ties with Yayoi Japan and with Baekje, among others, from at least the 1st century, we don’t see them show up in the Chronicles until the 7th. This may be because they were dealing with groups other than Yamato. With the fall of Baekje, the appearance of Tamna at the Yamato court appears to have grown. This could be coincidence just having to do with timing, though it is interesting that Tamna appears to show a lot of linguistic similarities in terms of names with the people of the Japanese archipelago. Alexander Vovin suggested that they were one of the last hold-outs of a continental proto-Japonic speaking group. Their language and entire way of life would eventually come under the sway of the rest of the peninsula before they were able to record too much of their own history, and so mostly we know of them through the writings of others.

Tang Empire

The Tang Empire was expansive, dwarfing Yamato or Silla, but that expanse was also a problem. They had a massive border to defend, and they were regularly moving between fighting with Tibet and fighting on the Korean peninsula, which was no small feat. Eventually the peninsula would prove too much trouble, and they would relocate to Liaodong and focus on the former Goguryeo territory. The Tang court was also dealing with other issues. Tang Gaozong was the nominal ruler, but his wife, the Empress Wu Zetian, had been given unprecedented power, so that often it was her edicts that were actually being followed. For all of its power and might, we don’t see any more Tang envoys during this reign.

Mishihase

The Mishihase, or Sushen, are most likely the people also known as the Ohkotsk Sea Culture. We don’t have any of their own writings, and the term the Chronicles use for them appears to be appropriated from mainland references to another people altogether. But based on their activities and timeframe, the Ohkotsk Sea Culture is likely the group we can best identify them as. The Ohkotsk Sea Culture, itself, is a name for the culture that produced a variety of material goods found in archaeological excavations around the Ohkotsk Sea dated to around this time. The Ohokotsk Sea Culture appears to have had influence from or on the people we know today as the Nivkh and the Ainu—modern indigenous groups in Hokkaido, Sakhalin, and the area near the mouth of the Amur River.

Non-Yamato Cultures on the Archipelago

We don’t hear much about the Emishi at this point in time, but there are plenty of other people who are outside of the Yamato political sphere, and who are often represented as culturally unique or distinct.

Hayato

The Hayato are perhaps the most famous group of the ones mentioned. They are from Southern Kyushu—the regions of Ata and Osumi. Ata is thought to be the area of Satsuma, and Osumi refers to the Osumi peninsula. We do see some differences in the material culture of these areas, but also plenty of similarities, suggesting that they may not be entirely distinct, just outside of Yamato’s formal political reach.

Tanegashima and Yakushima

These are two islands south of Kyushu, at the head of the chain of islands made from the volcanic sea ridge that travels from the archipelago all the way to the island of Taiwan, many of the islands of which make up the Ryukyuan, or Okinawan, island chain. Tanegashima is known to us, today, because it was one of the first places that Europeans landed and became an early hub of firearms production—but that was still centuries off. Yakushima is known today as a UNESCO world heritage site for its pristine forests. It has long been inhabited, but never tremendously so.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 140: Improving Diplomatic Ties
Garyang Jyeongsan and Gim Hongsye looked out from the deck of their ship, tossing and turning in the sea. The waves were high, and the winds lashed at the ship, which rocked uncomfortably beneath their feet. Ocean spray struck them from below while rain pelted from above.
Through the torrential and unstable conditions, they looked out for their sister ship. It was their job to escort them, but in these rough seas, bobbing up and down, they were at the mercy of the elements. One minute they could see them, and then next it was nothing but a wall of water. Each time they caught a glimpse the other ship seemed further and further away. They tried calling out, but it was no use—even if they could normally have raised them, the fierce winds simply carried their voices out into the watery void. Eventually, they lost sight of them altogether.
When the winds died down and the seas settled, they looked for their companions, but they saw nothing, not even hints of wreckage on the ocean. They could only hope that their fellow pilots knew where they were going. As long as they could still sail, they should be able to make it to land—either to the islands to which they were headed, or back to the safety of the peninsula.
And so the escort ship continued on, even without a formal envoy to escort. They would hope for the best, or else they would explain what would happen, and hope that the Yamato court would understand.
The seas were anything but predictable, and diplomacy was certainly not for the faint of heart.

We are going through the period of the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou. It started in 672, with the death of his brother, Naka no Oe, remembered as the sovereign Tenji Tenno, when Temmu took the throne from his nephew, Ohotomo, aka Kobun Tenno, in what would become known as the Jinshin no Ran. From that point, Ohoama continued the work of his brother in creating a government based on a continental model of laws and punishments—the Ritsuryo system. He accomplished this with assistance from his wife, Uno, and other members of the royal family—his own sons, but also nephews and other princes of the time. And so far most of our focus has been on the local goings on within the archipelago.
However, there was still plenty going on in the rest of the world, and though Yamato’s focus may have been on more local affairs, it was still engaged with the rest of the world—or at least with the polities of the Korean Peninsula and the Tang Dynasty. This episode we are going to look at Yamato’s foreign relations, and how they were changing, especially as things changed on the continent.
Up to this point, much of what had been happening in Yamato had been heavily influenced by the mainland in one way or another. And to begin our discussion, we really should backtrack a bit—all the way to the Battle of Baekgang in 663, which we discussed in Episode 124. That defeat would lead to the fall of Baekje, at the hands of the Silla-Tang alliance. The loss of their ally on the peninsula sent Yamato into a flurry of defensive activity. They erected fortresses on Tsushima, Kyushu, and along the Seto Inland Sea. They also moved the capital up to Ohotsu, a more easily defended point on the shores of Lake Biwa, and likewise reinforced various strategic points in the Home Provinces as well. These fortresses were built in the style and under the direction of many of the Baekje refugees now resettled in Yamato.
For years, the archipelago braced for an invasion by the Silla-Tang alliance. After all, with all that Yamato had done to support Baekje, it only made sense, from their perspective, for Silla and Tang to next come after them. Sure, there was still Goguryeo, but with the death of Yeon Gaesomun, Goguryeo would not last that long. With a unified peninsula, then why wouldn’t they next look to the archipelago?
And yet, the attack never came. While Yamato was building up its defenses, it seems that the alliance between Silla and Tang was not quite as strong as their victories on the battlefield may have made it seem. This is hardly surprising—the Tang and Silla were hardly operating on the same scale. That said, the Tang’s immense size, while bringing it great resources, also meant that it had an extremely large border to defend. They often utilized alliances with other states to achieve their ends. In fact, it seems fairly common for the Tang to seek alliances with states just beyond their borders against those states that were directly on their borders. In other words, they would effectively create a pincer maneuver by befriending the enemy of their enemy. Of course. Once they had defeated said enemy well, wouldn’t you know it, their former ally was now their newest bordering state.
In the case of the Silla-Tang alliance, it appears that at the start of the alliance, back in the days of Tang Taizong, the agreement, at least from Silla’s perspective, was that they would help each other against Goguryeo and Baekje, and then the Tang dynasty would leave the Korean peninsula to Silla. However, things didn’t go quite that smoothly. The fighting against Goguryeo and Baekje can be traced back to the 640s, but Tang Taizong passed away in 649, leaving the throne to his heir, Tang Gaozong. The Tang forces eventually helped Silla to take Baekje after the battle of Baekgang River in 663, and then Goguryeo fell in 668, but the Tang forces didn’t leave the peninsula. They remained in the former territories of Baekje and in Goguryeo, despite any former agreements. Ostensibly they were no doubt pointing to the continuing revolts and rebellions in both regions. While neither kingdom would fully reassert itself, it didn’t mean that there weren’t those who were trying. In fact, the first revolt in Goguryeo was in 669. There was also a revolt each year until 673. The last one had some staying power, as the Goguryeo rebels continued to hold out for about four years.
It is probably worth reminding ourselves that the Tang dynasty, during this time, had reached out on several occasions to Yamato, sending diplomatic missions, as had Silla. While the Yamato court may have been preparing for a Tang invasion, the Tang perspective seems different. They were preoccupied with the various revolts going on, and they had other problems. On their western border, they were having to contend with the kingdom of Tibet, for example. The Tibetan kingdom had a powerful influence on the southern route around the Taklamakan desert, which abuts the Tibetan plateau. The Tang court would have had to divert resources to defend their holdings in the western regions, and it is unlikely that they had any immediate designs on the archipelago, which I suspect was considered something of a backwater to them, at the time. In fact, Yamato would have been much more useful to the Tang as an ally to help maintain some pressure against Silla, with whom their relationship, no longer directed at a common enemy, was becoming somewhat tense.
In fact, just before Ohoama came to the throne, several events had occurred that would affect the Silla-Tang alliance.
The first event is more indirect—in 670, the Tibetan kingdom attacked the Tang empire. The fighting was intense, and required serious resources from both sides. Eventually the Tibetan forces were victorious, but not without a heavy toll on the Tibetan kingdom, which some attribute to the latter’s eventual demise. Their pyrrhic victory, however, was a defeat for the Tang, who also lost troops and resources in the fighting. Then, in 671, the Tang empire would suffer another loss as Silla would drive the Tang forces out of the territory of the former kingdom of Baekje.
With the Baekje territory under their control, it appears that Silla was also working to encourage some of rebellions in Goguryeo. This more than irked the Tang court, currently under the formal control of Tang Gaozong and the informal—but quite considerable—control of his wife, Wu Zetian, who some claim was the one actually calling most of the shots in the court at this point in time. Silla encouragement of restoration efforts in Goguryeo reached the Tang court in 674, in and in 675 we see that the Tang forces were sent to take back their foothold in the former Baekje territory. Tang defeated Silla at Gyeonggi, and Silla’s king, Munmu, sent a tribute mission to the Tang court, apologizing for their past behavior.
However, the Tang control could not be maintained, as they had to once again withdraw most of their troops from the peninsula to send them against the Tibetan kingdom once more. As soon as they did so, Silla once again renewed their attacks on Tang forces on the peninsula. And so, a year later, in 676, the Tang forces were back. They crossed the Yellow Sea to try and take back the Tang territories on the lower peninsula, but they were unsuccessful. Tang forces were defeated by Silla at Maeso Fortress in modern day Yeoncheon. After a bit more fighting, Silla ended up in control of all territory south of the Taedong River, which runs through Pyongyang, one of the ancient capitals of Goguryeo and the capital of modern North Korea. This meant that the Tang dynasty still held much of the territory of Goguryeo under their control.
With everything that was going on, perhaps that explains some of the apparently defensive measures that Yamato continued to take. For example, the second lunar month of 675, we know that Ohoama proceeded to Takayasu castle, likely as a kind of formal inspection. Then, in the 10th lunar month of 675 Ohoama commanded that everyone from the Princes down to the lowest rank were to provide the government with weapons. A year later, in the 9th month of 676, the Princes and Ministers sent agents to the capital and the Home Provinces and gave out weapons to each man. Similar edicts would be issued throughout the reign. So in 679 the court announced that in two years time, which is to say the year 681, there would be a review of the weapons and horses belonging to the Princes of the Blood, Ministers, and any public functionaries. And in that same year, barrier were erected for the first time on Mt. Tatsta and Mt. Afusaka, along with an outer line of fortifications at Naniwa.
While some of that no doubt also helped to control internal movements, it also would have been useful to prepare for the possibility of future invasions. And the work continued. In 683 we see a royal command to all of the various provinces to engage in military training. And in 684 it was decreed at that there would be an inspection in the 9th month of the following year—685—and they laid out the ceremonial rules, such as who would stand where, what the official clothing was to look like, etc.
Furthermore, there was also an edict that all civil and military officials should practice the use of arms and riding horses. They were expected to supply their own horses, weapons, and anything they would wear into battle. If they owned horses, they would be considered cavalry soldiers, while those who did not have their own horse would be trained as infantry. Either way, they would each receive training, and the court was determined to remove any obstacles and excuses that might arise.   Anyone who didn’t comply would be punished. Non compliance could mean refusing to train, but it could also just mean that they did not provide the proper horses or equipment, or they let their equipment fall into a state of disrepair. Punishments could range from fines to outright flogging, should they be found guilty. On the other hand, those who practiced well would have any punishments against them for other crimes reduced by two degrees, even if it was for a capital crime. This only applied to previous crimes, however—if it seemed like you were trying to take advantage of this as a loophole to be able to get away with doing your own thing than the pardon itself would be considered null and void.
A year later, the aforementioned inspection was carried out by Princes Miyatokoro, Hirose, Naniwa, Takeda, and Mino. Two months later, the court issued another edict demanding that military equipment—specifically objects such as large or small horns, drums, flutes, flags, large bows, or catapults—should be stored at the government district house and not kept in private arsenals. The “large bow” in this case may be something like a ballista, though Aston translates it to crossbow—unfortunately, it isn’t exactly clear, and we don’t necessarily have a plethora of extant examples to point to regarding what they meant. Still, these seem to be focused on things that would be used by armies—especially the banners, large bows, and catapults. The musical instruments may seem odd, though music was often an important part of Tang dynasty military maneuvers. It was used to coordinate troops, raise morale, provide a marching rhythm, and more. Granted, much of this feels like something more continental, and it is unclear if music was regularly used in the archipelago. This could be more of Yamato trying to emulate the Tang dynasty rather than something that was commonplace on the archipelago. That might also explain the reference to the Ohoyumi and the catapults, or rock throwers.
All of this language having to do with military preparations could just be more of the same as far as the Sinicization of the Yamato government is concerned; attempts to further emulate what they understood of the civilized governments on the mainland—or at least their conception of those governments based on the various written works that they had imported. Still, I think it is relevant that there was a lot of uncertainty regarding the position of various polities and the potential for conflict. Each year could bring new changes to the political dynamic that could see military intervention make its way across the straits. And of course, there was always the possibility that Yamato itself might decide to raise a force of its own.
Throughout all of this, there was continued contact with the peninsula and other lands. Of course, Silla and Goguryeo were both represented when Ohoama came to the throne—though only the Silla ambassador made it to the ceremony, apparently. In the 7th lunar month of 675, Ohotomo no Muraji no Kunimaro was sent to Silla as the Chief envoy, along with Miyake no Kishi no Irishi. They likely got a chance to witness first-hand the tensions between Silla and the Tang court. The mission would return in the second lunar month of the following year, 676. Eight months later, Mononobe no Muarji no Maro and Yamashiro no Atahe no Momotari were both sent. That embassy also returned in the 2nd lunar month of the following year.
Meanwhile, it wasn’t just Yamato traveling to Silla—there were also envoys coming the other way. For example, in the 2nd lunar month of 675 we are told that Silla sent Prince Chyungweon as an ambassador. His retinue was apparently detained on Tsukushi while the actual envoy team went on to the Yamato capital. It took them about two months to get there, and then they stayed until the 8th lunar month, so about four months in total.
At the same time, in the third month, Goguryeo and Silla both sent “tribute” to Yamato. And in the 8th month, Prince Kumaki, from Tamna, arrived at Tsukushi as well. Tamna, as you may recall, refers to nation on the island known today as Jeju. The late Alexander Vovin suggested that the name originated from a proto-Japonic cognate with “Tanimura”, and many of the names seem to also bear out a possible Japonic influence on the island nation. Although they only somewhat recently show up in the Chronicles from our perspective, archaeological evidence suggests that they had trade with Yayoi Japan and Baekje since at least the first century. With the fall of Baekje, and the expansion of Yamato authority to more of the archipelago, we’ve seen a notable uptick in the communication between Tamna and Yamato noted in the record. A month after the arrival of Prince Kumaki in Tsukushi, aka Kyushu, it is noted that a Prince Koyo of Tamna arrived at Naniwa. The Tamna guests would stick around for almost a year, during which time they were presented with a ship and eventually returned in the 7th lunar month of the following year, 676.   Tamna envoys, who had also shown up in 673, continued to be an annual presence at the Yamato court through the year 679, after which there is an apparent break in contact, picking back up in 684 and 685.
676 also saw a continuation of Silla representatives coming to the Yamato court, arriving in the 11th lunar month. That means they probably passed by the Yamato envoys heading the other way. Silla, under King Mumnu, now had complete control of the Korean peninsula south of the Taedong river. In the same month we also see another mission from Goguryeo, but the Chronicle also points out that the Goguryeo envoys had a Silla escort, indicating the alliance between Silla and those attempting to restore Goguryeo—or at least the area of Goguryeo under Tang control. The Tang, for their part, had pulled back their commandary to Liaodong, just west of the modern border between China and North Korea, today. Goguryeo would not go quietly, and the people of that ancient kingdom—one of the oldest on the peninsula—would continue to rise up and assert their independence for years to come.
The chronicles also record envoys from the somewhat mysterious northern Mishihase, or Sushen, thought to be people of the Okhotsk Sea culture from the Sakhalin islands. There were 11 of them, and they came with the Silla envoys, possibly indicating their influence on the continent and through the Amur river region. Previously, most of the contact had been through the regions of Koshi and the Emishi in modern Tohoku and Hokkaido. This seems to be their only major envoy to the Yamato court recorded in this reign.
Speaking of outside groups, in the 2nd lunar month of 677 we are told that there was an entertainment given to men of Tanegashima under the famous Tsuki tree west of Asukadera. Many people may know Tanegashima from the role it played in the Sengoku Period, when Europeans made contact and Tanegashima became a major hub of Sengoku era firearm manufacturing. At this point, however, it seems that it was still a largely independent island in the archipelago off the southern coast of Kyushu. Even southern Kyushu appears to have retained some significant cultural differences at this time, with the “Hayato” people being referenced in regards to southern Kyushu—we’ll talk about them in a bit as they showed up at the capital in 682.
Tanegashima is actually closer to Yakushima, another island considered to be separate, culturally, from Yamato, and could be considered the start of the chain of islands leading south to Amami Ohoshima and the other Ryukyuan islands. That said, Tanegashima and Yakushima are much closer to the main islands of the archipelago and show considerable influence, including Yayoi and Kofun cultural artifacts, connecting them more closely to those cultures, even if Yamato initially saw them as distinct in some way.
A formal Yamato envoy would head down to Tanegashima two years later, in the 11th lunar month of 679. It was headed up by Yamato no Umakahibe no Miyatsuko no Tsura and Kami no Sukuri no Koukan. The next reference to the mission comes in 681, when the envoys returned and presented a map of the island. They claimed that it was in the middle of the ocean, and that rice was always abundant. With a single sowing of rice it was said that they could get two harvests. Other products specifically mentioned were cape jasmine and bulrushes, though they then note that there were also many other products that they didn’t bother to list. This must have been considered quite the success, as the Yamato envoys were each awarded a grade of rank for their efforts.   They also appear to have returned with some of the locals, as they were entertained again in Asuka—this time on the riverbank west of Asukadera, where various kinds of music were performed for them.
Tanegashima and Yakushima would be brought formally under Yamato hegemony in 702 with the creation of Tane province, but for now it was still considered separate. This was probably just the first part of the efforts to bring them into Yamato, proper.
Getting back to the Silla envoys who had arrived in 676, they appear to have remained for several months. In the third lunar month of 677 we are told that they, along with guests of lower rank—thirteen persons all told—were invited to the capital. Meanwhile, the escort envoys and others who had not been invited to the capital were entertained in Tsukushi and returned from there.
While this was going on, weather out in the straits drove a Silla boat to the island of Chikashima. Aboard was a Silla man accompanined by three attendants and three Buddhist priests. We aren’t told where they were going, but they were given shelter and when the Silla envoy, Kim Chyeonpyeong, returned home he left with those who had been driven ashore, as well.
The following year, 678, was not a great one for the Silla envoys. Garyang Jyeongsan and Gim Hongsye arrived at Tsukushi, but they were just the escorts. The actual envoys had been separated by a storm at sea and never arrived. In their place, the escort envoys were sent to the capital, probably to at least carry through with the rituals of diplomacy. This was in the first month of the following year, 679, and given when envoys had previously arrived, it suggests to me that they waited a few months, probably to see if the envoys’ ship eventually appeared and to give the court time to figure out what to do. A month later, the Goguryeo envoys arrived, still being accompanied by Silla escorts, also arrived.
Fortunately the Yamato envoys to Silla and elsewhere fared better. That year, 679, the envoys returned successfully from Silla, Goguryeo, and Tamna. Overall, though, I think it demonstrates that this wasn’t just a pleasure cruise. There was a very real possibility that one could get lost at sea. At the same time, one needed people of sufficient status to be able to carry diplomatic messages and appropriately represent the court in foreign lands. We often seen envoys later taking on greater positions of responsibility in the court, and so you didn’t have to go far to find those willing to take the risk for later rewards.
That same year, another tribute mission from Silla did manage to make the crossing successfully. And in this mission we are given more details, for they brought gold, silver, iron, sacrificial cauldrons with three feet, brocade, cloth, hides, horses, dogs, mules, and camels. And those were just the official gifts to the court. Silla also sent distinct presents for the sovereign, the queen, and the crown prince, namely gold, silver, swords, flags, and things of that nature.
This appears to demonstrate increasingly close ties between Silla and Yamato. All of that arrived in the 10th lunar month of 679, and they stayed through the 6th lunar month of 680—about 7 to 9 months all told, depending on if there were any intercalary months that year. In addition to entertaining the Silla envoys in Tsukushi—it is not mentioned if they made it to the capital—we are also told that in the 2nd lunar month, halfway through the envoys’ visit, eight labourers from Silla were sent back to their own country with gifts appropriate to their station.
Here I have to pause and wonder what exactly is meant by this. “Labourer” seems somewhat innocuous. I suspect that their presence in Yamato may have been less than voluntary, and I wonder if these were captured prisoners of war who could have been in Yamato now for over a decade. If so, this could have been a gesture indicating that the two sides were putting all of that nastiness with Baekje behind them, and Yamato was accepting Silla’s new role on the peninsula. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it, but it does seem to imply that Silla and Yamato were growing closer, something that Yamato would need if it wanted to have easy access, again, to the wider world.
Speaking of returning people, that seems to have been something of a common thread for this year, 680, as another mission from Goguryeo saw 19 Goguryeo men also returned to their country. These were condolence envoys who had come to mourn the death of Takara Hime—aka Saimei Tennou. They must have arrived in the midst of all that was happening peninsula, and as such they were detained. Their detention is somewhat interesting, when you think about it, since technically Baekje and Goguryeo—and thus Yamato—would have been on the same side against the Silla-Tang alliance. But perhaps it was just considered too dangerous to send them home, initially, and then the Tang had taken control of their home. It is unclear to me how much they were being held by Yamato and how much they were just men without a country for a time. This may reflect how things on the mainland were stabilizing again, at least from Yamato’s perspective. However, as we’ll discuss a bit later, it may have also been another attempt at restoring the Goguryeo kingdom by bringing back refugees, especially if they had connections with the old court. The Goguryeo envoys—both the recent mission and those who had been detained—would remain until the 5th lunar month of 681, when they finally took their leave. That year, there were numerous mission both from and to Silla and Goguryeo, and in the latter part of the year, Gim Chyungpyeong came once again, once more bearing gives of gold, silver, copper, iron, brocade, thin silk, deerskins, and fine cloth. They also brought gold, silver, flags of a rosy-colored brocade and skins for the sovereign, his queen, and the crown prince.
That said, the 681 envoys also brought grave news: King Munmu of Silla was dead. Munmu had reigned since 661, so he had overseen the conquest of Silla and Goguryeo. His regnal name in Japanese might be read as Monmu, or even “Bunbu”, referencing the blending of literary and cultural achievements seen as the pinnacle of noble attainment. He is known as Munmu the Great for unifying the peninsula under a single ruler—though much of the Goguryeo territory was still out of reach. Indeed he saw warfare and the betterment of his people, and it is no doubt significant that his death is recorded in the official records of the archipelago. He was succeeded by his son, who would reign as King Sinmun, though the succession wasn’t exactly smooth.
We are told that Munmu, knowing his time was short, requested that his son, the Crown Prince, be named king before they attended to Munmu’s own funerary arrangements, claiming that the throne should not sit vacant. This may have been prescient, as the same year Munmu died and Sinmun ascended to the throne there was a revolt, led by none other than Sinmun’s own father-in-law, Kim Heumdol. Heumdol may, himselve, have been more of a figurehead for other political factions in the court and military. Nonetheless, the attempted coup of 681 was quickly put down—the envoys in Yamato would likely only learn about everything after the dust had settled upon their return.
The following year, 682, we see another interesting note about kings, this time in regards to the Goguryeo envoys, whom we are told were sent by the King of Goguryeo. Ever since moving the commandery to Liaodong, the Tang empire had claimed dominion over the lands of Goguryeo north of the Taedong river. Originally they had administered it militarily, but in 677 they crowned a local, Bojang as the “King of Joseon”, using the old name for the region, and put him in charge of the Liaodong commandery. However, he was removed in 681, and sent into exile in Sichuan, because rather than suppressing revolt, he had actually encouraged restoration attempts, inviting back Goguryeo refugees, like those who had been detained in Yamato. Although Bojang himself was sent into exile, his descendants continued to claim sovereignty, so it may have been one of them that was making the claim to the “King of Goguryeo”, possibly with Silla’s blessing.
Later that year, 682, we see Hayato from Ohosumi and Ata—possibly meaning Satsuma—the southernmost point of Kyushu coming to the court in 682. They brought tribute and representatives of Ohosumi and Ata wrestled, with the Ohosumi wrestler emerging victorious. They were entertained west of Asukadera, and various kinds of music was performed and gifts were given. They were apparently quite the sight, as Buddhist priests and laiety all came out to watch.
Little is known for certain about the Hayato. We have shields that are attributed to them, but their association may have more to do with the fact that they were employed as ceremonial guards for a time at the palace. We do know that Southern Kyushu had various groups that were seen as culturally distinct from Yamato, although there is a lot of overlap in material culture. We also see early reports of the Kumaso, possibly two different groups, the Kuma and So, in earlier records, and the relationship between the Kumaso and the Hayato is not clearly defined.
What we do know is that southern Kyushu, for all that it shared with Yamato certain aspects of culture through the kofun period, for example, they also had their own traditions. For example, there is a particular burial tradition of underground kofun that is distinct to southern Kyushu. A great example of this can be found at the Saitobaru Kofun cluster in Miyazaki, which contains these unique southern Kyushu style burials along with more Yamato style keyhole shaped and circular type kofun. Miyazaki sits just north of the Ohosumi peninsula, in what was formerly the land of Hyuga, aka Himuka. This is also where a lot of the founding stories of the Heavenly grandchild were placed, and even today there is a shrine there to the Heavenly Rock Cave. In other words there are a lot of connections with Southern Kyushu, and given that the Chronicles were being written in the later 7th and early 8th centuries, it is an area of intense interest when trying to understand the origins of Yamato and Japanese history.
Unfortunately, nothing clearly tells us exactly how the Hayato were separate, but in the coming century they would both come under Yamato hegemony and rebel against it, time and again. This isn’t the first time they are mentioned, but it may be the first time that we see them as an actual people, in a factual entry as earlier references in the Chronicles are suspect.
Continuing on with our look at diplomacy during this period, the year 683 we see a continuation of the same patterns, with nothing too out of the ordinary. Same with most of 684 until the 12th lunar month. It is then that we see a Silla ship arrive with Hashi no Sukune no Wohi and Shirawi no Fubito no Hozen. They had both, previously been to the Tang empire to study, though we don’t have a record of them leaving for that or any other purpose. They are accompanied by Witsukahi no Muraji no Kobito and Tsukushi no Miyake no Muraji no Tokuko, both of whom had apparently been captured and taken by the Tang dynasty during the Baekje campaign. Apparently they had all traveled back from the Tang empire together to Silla, who then provided them passage to Yamato.
The timing of this suggests it may have had something to do with the changes going on in the Tang empire—changes that I desperately want to get into, but given that we are already a good ways into this current episode, I think I will leave it for later. But I will note this: Emperor Gaozong had passed away and his wife, Empress Wu Zetian, was now ruling as regent for her sons. Wu Zetian is probably the most famous empress in all of Chinese history, and while she held de facto power as a co-regent during her husband’s reign and as a regent during her sons’ reigns, she would actually ascend the throne herself in 690. Her reign as a woman during a time of heightened patriarchal tradition is particularly of note, and it leads us to wonder about the vilification that she received by the men who followed her rule. And I really want to get into all of that but, thematically, I think it better to wait. Those of you reading ahead in the syllabus—which is to say the Chronicles—probably know why. So let us just leave it there and say that the Tang was going through a few things, and that may explain why students were returning back in the company of former war captives.
A few months later, the Silla escort, Gim Mulyu, was sent home along with 7 people from Silla who had been washed ashore—presumably during a storm or other such event, again illustrating the dangers of taking to the ocean at this time. Perhaps related to that theme is the entry only a month later, which merely stated that Gim Jusan of Silla returned home. Gim Jusan was an envoy sent to Yamato in the 11th lunar month of 683. He was entertained in Tsukushi, and we are told that he returned to his own country on the 3rd month of 684. Now we are seeing an entry in the 4th month of 685 that this same person apparently returned home.
It is possible that something got mixed up, and that the Chroniclers were dealing with a typo in the records that made it seem like this took place a year later than it did. This was certainly an issue at this time, given all the math one had to do just to figure out what day it was. There is also the possibility that he returned on another embassy, but just wasn’t mentioned for some reason. The last possible explanation is that he somehow got lost and it took him a year to find his way back. Not entirely impossible back then, though I am a bit skeptical. Among other things, why would that note have found its way into the Chronicles in Yamato? While they were certainly using some continental sources, this seems like something they were talking about as far as him leaving the archipelago, rather than discussion of something happening elsewhere.
Speaking of happening elsewhere, I’m wondering about another event that happened around this time as well. In fact, it was while Gim Mulyu was still in the archipelago. For some reason the Yamato court granted rank to 147 individuals from Tang, Baekje, and Goguryeo. Interestingly, they don’t mention Silla. Furthermore, there is no real mention of any Tang envoys during this reign. In fact, there is hardly mention of the Tang dynasty at all. There is a mention of some 30 Tang men—captives, presumably—being sent to the Yamato court from Tsukushi. Those men were settled in Toutoumi, so there were men of Tang in the archipelago. But beyond that, there are only three other mentions of the Tang dynasty. One was when the students and war captives came back. Another was this note about giving rank to 147 individuals. Finally there is a similar record in 686, at the very end of the reign, where it is 34 persons who were given rank. This time it was to carpenters, diviners, physicians, students from Tang—possibly those who had just come back a year or so earlier.
So if there weren’t envoys from Tang, Goguryeo, and Baekje, who were these people and why were they being granted Yamato court rank? My assumption is that it was foreigners living in the archipelago, and being incorporated into the Yamato court system. Still, it is interesting that after the overtures by the Tang in the previous reign we have heard virtually nothing since then. Again, that is likely largely due to the conflicts between Tang and Silla, though now, things seem to be changing. The conflicts have settled down, and new rulers are in place, so we’ll see how things go.
Speaking of which, let’s finish up with the diplomatic exchanges in this reign. I’m only hitting some of the highlights here. First is the return from Silla, in the 5th month of 685, of Takamuku no Asomi no Maro and Tsuno no Asomi no Ushikahi. They had traveled to Silla in 684, and they did not come back emptyhanded. The new King of Silla presented them with gifts, including 2 horses, 3 dogs, 2 parrots, and 2 magpies. They also brought back the novice monks Kanjou and Ryoukan. Not bad, overall.
Then, 6 months later, another tribute mission came, but this one has an interesting—if somewhat questionable—note attached to it. It is said that the envoys Gim Jisyang and Gim Geonhun were sent to request “governance” and to bring tribute. This certainly go the court’s attention. They didn’t bring the envoys all the way to the capital, but they did send to them, in Tsukushi, Prince Kawachi, Ohotomo no Sukune no Yasumaro, Fujiwara no Asomi no Ohoshima, and Hodzumi no Asomi no Mushimaro. About three months later they send the musical performers from Kawaradera to provide entertainment during a banquet for the Silla envoy, and in payment some 5,000 bundles of rice rom the private lands attached to the queen’s palace were granted to the temple in gratitude.
The Silla tribute was then brought to the capital from Tsukushi. This time it was more than 100 items, including one fine horse, one mule, two dogs, a gold container inlaid with some kind of design, gold, silver, faint brocade, silk gauze, tiger and leopard skins, and a variety of medicines. In addition, as was now common, the envoys, Gim Jisyang and Gim Geonhun, apparently had personal gifts to give in the form of gold, silver, faint brocade, silk gauze, gold containers, screens, saddle hides, silk cloth, and more medicine. There were also gifts specifically for the sovereign, the queen, the Crown Prince, and for the various princes of the blood.
The court returned this favor with gifts to the envoys, presented at a banquet just for them, before sending them on their way.
A couple of notes. First off, it is interesting that they are entertained at Tsukushi rather than being invited to the capital, and I wonder if this was because the sovereign, Ohoama, wasn’t doing so well. This was all happening in 685 and 686, and the sovereign would pass away shortly afterwards. So it is possible that Ohoama just was not up to entertaining visitors at this time. Of course, the Chronicles often don’t tell us exactly why a given decision was made, only that it was. And sometimes not even that.
The other thing that seems curious is the mention of a request for governance. That almost sounds like Silla was asking to come under Yamato hegemony, which I seriously doubt. It may be that they were asking something along the lines of an alliance, but it is also possible that the scribes recording things for Yamato heard what they wanted to hear and so wrote it down in the light most favorable to Yamato laying claim to the peninsula.
Or perhaps I’m misunderstanding exactly what they were asking for. Maybe “governance” here means something else—perhaps just some kind of better relationship.
And with that, we’ll leave it for now. There is more developing in the next reign, but I think we want to wait until we get there. There are still a lot more things to cover in this reign before we move on—we haven’t even touched on the establishment of the new capital, on the various court events, not to mention some of the laws and punishments that this period is named for. And there is the minor issue of a rebellion. All of that will be dealt with. And then, after that, we get to the final reign of the Chronicles: the reign of Jitou Tennou. From there? Who knows.
It is the winter holiday season, so I hope everyone is enjoying themselves. Next episode will be the New Year’s recap, and then we should finish with this reign probably in January or early February.
Until then, if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Episode 139: Observing the Natural World

December 1, 2025 Joshua Badgley

Sunset in the Aso caldera paints the sky the color of flame. The Aso caldera has dark sky regions and includes the Kumamoto Earthquake Memorial Museum, where you can really see the power that such disasters can bring, even today. Photo by author.

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This episode we are talking about how the new court organized “science” learning and man of the observations—some of which we understand and some of which are much less clear.

Welcome to Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan. My name is Joshua and this is episode 139: Observing the “Natural” World.
Members of the Onmyou-ryou, dressed in the official robes of their office, sat around in their observation tower, measuring the location of the stars. They kept their light to a minimum, just enough so that they could write down their observations, but not so much that it would destroy their vision. As they looked up, suddenly they saw a strange movement: a streak through the sky. They waited, and observed, and then there was another, and another after that. It was as if the stars themselves were falling from the heavens. They watched as it seemed that the constellations themselves were melting and falling apart. Quickly they scribbled down notes. Tomorrow, with the light of day, they would consult various sources to see just what it could mean. For now, their role was simply to observe and record.

Welcome back, everyone. It is the height of holiday season in the US as I record this, and in our narrative we are in the middle of the reign of Ohoama, aka Temmu Tennou, who came to power in 672 and who has been shoring up the Ritsuryo state instigated by his late brother, Naka no Oe, aka Tenji Tennou. We have talked in recent episodes about how Ohoama put a lot of the state under the control of members of the royal family, or at least those with claims to royal blood, and how he had also begun work on the Chronicles—the very works that we have been using to try and understand the history of this and earlier periods.
It seems clear that Ohoama and his cohorts were doing their best to solidify their control and, in the process, create what they felt was a modern state, leveraging the continental model, but not without their own local flavor. After all, they were also investing in the kami based rituals of state and specifically in Ise shrine, which they claimed as an ancestral shrine for their lineage.
This episode, let’s dig into another thing that was getting reported around this time. And that is… science! Or at least observations of the world and indications of how people were interacting with it.
Before going into the subject, I want to acknowledge that “science”, or “Kagaku” in modern Japanese, may not look like what we think of as “science” today. The word “Kagaku” itself appears to come about in the late Edo period, and became associated with the western idea of “Science” in the Meiji period. Today we think of it as observations, yes, but also testing via the scientific method.
I think it might be more appropriate to categorize a lot of earlier science under a term like “learning” or “study”, and it seems to have encompassed a wide range of topics of study, some of which we would include as “science” and some which we might refer to more as “arts”. There is also a very fine line with religion and philosophy as well.
From a modern perspective, I think one could fairly argue that “science”—particularly the so-called “hard” sciences—refers to something that can be empirically tested via the scientific method. So you can see something, form a hypothesis, create a test, and then that test should produce the same results no matter who conducts it, assuming you account for the variables.
And please don’t @ me about this… I know I am simplifying things. This isn’t a podcast about science unless we are talking about the social sciences of history and archaeology.
In contrast to our modern concept of science, much of what we see in the Asuka era is built around using our reasoning to arrive at the truth of something. In cases where we are dealing with clearly physical phenomena that have observable causes and effects, this can lead to remarkably reliable results. One example of this is calendrical science—it isn’t that hard to observe the passing of days and seasons. Even the rotation of the earth and the movements of stars and even something with as large a period as comets could be observed and tracked, especially if you had centuries of data to comb through. In fact, they often would predict things that it turns out they couldn’t, themselves, see. They could predict that an eclipse would occur, for example, even when that eclipse was only visible somewhere else. And they didn’t have to calculate gravitational pull, mass, or distances between different heavenly bodies for that to occur.
Similarly, in the agricultural sphere: you had so many people who observed the seasons and would figure out new ways of doing things. It doesn’t take an understanding of chlorophyl to know that plants generally do better when exposed to sunlight.
I believe the leap happens when you get to things that go beyond purely observable means. Sickness, for example—how do you explain viruses or germs without equipment like microscopes to see what our eyes alone cannot? And if such “invisible” things could cause so much damage, then why could there not be other “invisible” elements, such as kami and boddhisatvas?
And as humans we are driven to make connections. It is one of the things that has driven our technological innovation and rise, but it is also something that can easily go awry. Like when you are sitting in a dark house, alone, and you hear a noise. Rationally, you might know that houses settle and creak, but that doesn’t necessarily stop your brain from connecting it with thoughts that someone must be in the house making that noise. Or even how we make judgments based on nothing more than how someone talks or what they look like, because our brains have made connections with those things, for good or ill.
A large part of the rationalization that was accomplished in Asian thought had to do with concepts of Yin and Yang, the negative and the positive, the dark and the light. This was thought of as a kind of energy—qi or ki—that was embedded in things. We discussed this somewhat back in episode 127, because yin yang theory, along with the five element theory, known as Wuxing or Gogyou in Japanese, became embedded in the idea of the calendar. Why was summer hot, except that it was connected with an excess of fire energy? And the cold, dark days of winter would be associated with an excess of water, naturally.
I should note that while this is one of the more comprehensive philosophical systems in use, it was not the only means by which various phenomena and effects were rationalized. After all, it had to be imposed on a framework of how the world otherwise worked, and descriptions of the world came from a variety of places. There was, for example, the Classic of Mountains and Seas, or Sanhaijing, which detailed the world as envisioned in the period before the Qin dynasty, although there were occasional updates. The Sanhaijing described regular plants and animals in the same breath as gods and monsters. There were also various buddhist sutras, which brought their own cosmological view of the universe that had to be squared with other visions, including those passed down locally describing the archipelago as the “Reed Plain” and giving particular importance to eight of the islands—though which eight depends on which variant of the creation myth you are referencing.
To categorize the study of the natural—and what we would consider the supernatural—world around them, the Ritsuryou set up specific bureaus. One of these was the Onmyou-ryou, the Bureau of Yin-yang, also known as the Onyo no Tsukasa. This Bureau oversaw divination, astronomy, time, and calendars. At its head was the Onmyou-no-kami. Below them were the various scholars studying the core subjects, as well as technical practitioners to carry out the rites and divination.
On the continent, priority was generally given to astronomical and calendrical studies, and many of the more magical practices or rituals would fade away, likely because there were local Taoist institutions who could take up much of that work. In Japan, however, it seems that the calendrical studies tended to ossify, instead, while onmyoji came to fill a role not just for the state but also among the population for divination and other such practices. Even into the Edo period one could find private onmyoji, and the Bureau itself lasted until the very beginning of the Meiji period.
Another important institution of the Ritsuryo government for learning was the Daigakuryou, the Bureau of Great Learning. Students of Japanese may recognize the term “Daigaku” referring, today, to universities.
The original concept for the Daigaku-ryou, or Daigaku no Tsukasa, was focused on the study of those things that were considered perhaps a bit more practical and necessary to anyone who might want a political career. Since this was founded on concepts of Confucian government, it is little wonder that it was originally designed to focus on Confucian studies, among other things. This fits into the idea of a supposed meritocracy, where one’s education was part of the examination. You may recall from Episode 115 we talked about the National University in Chang’an, which is likely something that the Daigaku Ryou could only ever dream of becoming.
Early arts taught at the Daigaku Ryou included the Confucian classics, mathematics, writing, and Chinese pronunciation. These were all things that you would need to know to become a part of the bureaucracy
The idea of a school may have been born along with the early institution of the government, with mention as early as 671, in the last year of Naka no Oe’s reign, but we don’t have it clearly established in the code until later. Full operations may have been somewhat delayed due to the tumultuous events of Ohoama’s accession to power in 672, but we do see it explicitly mentioned in the year 675. On the first day of the year we are told that Students from the Daigaku Ryou, along with students from the Onmyou-Ryou and from the Gaiyaku Ryou, the Bureau of External Medicine; along with the Woman of S’ravasti, the Woman of Tara, Prince Syeonkwang of Baekje, and Silla labourers offered presents of drugs and various rarities.
We talked about the first two, the Daigaku-ryou and the Onmyou-ryou, but the Gaiyaku Ryou doesn’t seem to have a lot of information out there beyond this mention. Later there would a “Ten’yaku Ryou”, or Bureau of Medicine, established in the code. Since we don’t have any extant codes from this period beyond what was written down in the Nihon Shoki, we don’t know for certain what the Gaiyaku-ryou was , and it is possible that the Gaiyaku-Ryou was a precursor to the Ten’yaku Ryou. “GAI” means “outside” or “external”, leading me to wonder if this referred to external medicine in contrast to internal medicine, or if it meant medicine or drugs from outside teh archipeloago.
I would point out that these students are found with the Woman of S’ravasti, or Shae; the Woman of Tara; a Baekje prince and Silla labourers. In other words, they were all people from outside of the archipelago. This is not entirely surprising as it was from outside that much of the learning was coming into the country.
“Yaku” or “Kusuri”, which can be translated as either “Drugs” or “medicine”, could refer to a number of things. How effective they were is somewhat questionable. Almost certainly some of them had confirmed medicinal efficacy, but others may have been thought to have been effective due to things like their connection to the five elements, or wuxing, theory. For example, something red might be assumed to have a warming effect because of the presumed presence of the fire element. And the power of the placebo effect no doubt made them seem at least partially effective. Consider, for example, how many people will swear by certain remedies for the common cold when all it really does is distract you, or perhaps make you a bit more comfortable, until the symptoms pass on their own.
A more certain science was probably that of Astronomy, which we’ve mentioned a few times. The passage of the stars through the sky was something that could be easily observed. There is a theory that some of the first lines in the Yijing, or book of changes, may actually be a description of the changing of seasons as different aspects of a given constellation rise over the horizon, and the placement of certain stars would help in the adjustment of the lunar calendar, since the moon’s orbit does not match up exactly with the solar year, and year the solar year was quite important to things like agriculture and even sailing to the mainland.
This all makes 675 a seemingly banner year for science, as four days after the presentation of medicine to the throne, the government erected a platform by which to observe the stars. This wouldn’t need to be much—it could have been an earthen mound, or just a tower, from which one could get above the ground, presumably see over any buildings, to the horizon. Granted, Asuka might not be the best place for such observations, with the nearby mountains meaning that the true horizon is often obstructed. Nonetheless, it may have been enough to make calculations.
Astronomy platforms, or Tenmondai, would continue to be used up until at least the Meiji period. Without a telescope, observations were somewhat limited—though they also didn’t have the same level of light pollution that we have today. Remember, many woke just before dawn and went to sleep not too long after the sun went down, which only makes sense when you are living in a place where creating light, while doable, also ran the risk of burning your entire house to the ground.
It is worth noting that the sky for the ancient Japanese was likely quite different than what most of us see when we look up, unless you are fortunate enough to live in a place with very little light pollution. For many of those living today in the cities and suburban landscape, go outside at night and you might see the moon and some of the brightest stars, but for most of the ancient Japanese, they would look up and see the heavenly river, the Amakawa, or Milky Way. They would have looked up at a sky glittering with myriad dots of light, as well as planets and more. It was both familiar and strange—something one saw regularly and yet something that was also extremely inaccessible.
Astronomical observations would have been important for several reasons, as I’ve mentioned. They would have been used to keep the calendar in check, but they would also have likely been used to help calibrate the water clock, which helped to tell time. Of course, going back to the five elements and yin yang theory, it is also believed that the energy, the qi or ki, changed with the seasons and the movements of the stars and planets—planets were not known as such, of course, but their seemingly erratic movements compared to bright lights in the sky meant they were noticed and assigned values within the elemental system.
One of the things that came with the changing seasons, the heavenly movements, and the flow of ki was a concept of “kata-imi”, literally directional taboos. There were times when certain directions might be considered favorable or unfavorable for various actions. This could be something as simple as traveling in a given direction. In the centuries to come this would spawn an entire practice of kata-tagae, or changing direction. Is the north blocked, but you need to travel there, anyway? Well just go northwest to say hello to a friend or visit your local sake brewery, and then travel due east. Ta-da! You avoided going directly north! There were also mantra-like incantations that one might say if they had to travel in an inauspicious direction to counteract the concept of bad influences.
This also influenced various other things, and even today you will often see dates where a year and month might be followed by simply the character for “auspicious day” rather than an actual day of the month.
So observing the heavens was important, and it was also important that they tostudy the works of those on the continent, whose records could help predict various astronomical phenomena. Except that there was one tiny problem: I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Japan and China are in two different locations. Not all astronomical phenomena can be observed from all points of the globe. The Northern Lights, for example, are rarely seen in more southerly latitudes, and while eclipses are not too rare, a total eclipse only impacts certain areas of the earth, along relatively narrow paths.
I mention this because it isn’t always clear if the records we get in the Nihon Shoki are about phenomena they directly observed or if they are taking reports from elsewhere and incorporating them into the narrative. One such event is the comet of 676.
The entry in the Nihon Shoki tells us that in the 7th lunar month of the 5th year of Temmu Tennou, aka 676 CE, a star appeared in the east that was 7 or 8 shaku in length. It disappeared two months later.
We’ve mentioned some of this before, but the sky was divided up into “shaku”, or “feet”, though how exactly it was measured I’m not entirely sure. It appears to be that one foot was roughly 1.5 degrees of the sky, give or take about a quarter of a degree, with 180 degrees from horizon to horizon. So it would have been about 10 to 12 degrees in the sky. Another way to picture it is if you hold out your arm towards the object, and spread your index and little finger, it would probably fit between those two points.
This comet hung around for some time, and a great part about a comet like this is that it was viewable from multiple locations. After all, as the earth turned, different areas were exposed to the comet as it passed through our part of the solar system. Thus we have records of it from not just the Nihon Shoki: We also find it in the Anglo-Saxon chronicles, where it was thought to have foretold the end of Bishop Wilfred’s control of Northumbria. We also see it in Tang, Silla, and Syrian sources.
These sources aren’t always in complete agreement. For one thing, they noted when they first saw it, which might have been impacted by local conditions. And then conversion between lunar and solar calendars can also sometimes get in the way. Roughtly speaking, we have the Nihon Shoki providing dates of somewhere from about August or September of 676, on the Western calendar, to October or November. Tang sources put it from 4 September to 1 November. Silla Chronicles claim that it first appeared in the 7th lunar month, so between August and September. A Syrian Chronicle notes a comet from about 28 August to 26 October in the following year, 677, but this is thought to have been a mistake. European sources generally seem to claim it was seen in August and lasted for three months. All of these sightings put it at roughly the same time.
Working with that and with known comets, we think we actually know which comet this is: The Comet de Cheseaux also known as the Comet Klinkenberg-Cheseaux. And I should mention this is all thanks to a research paper by M. Meyer and G. W. Kronk. In that paper they propose that this is the comet with the designation of C/1743 X1, or the common names I just mentioned. If so, based on its trajectory, this comet would have been visible in 336, 676, 1032, 1402, 1744, and is next predicted to show up in 2097. And no, those aren’t all exactly the same amount of time. It is roughly every 350 years or so, but with the movements of the solar system, the planets, and various gravitational forces that likely slow or speed up its movement, it doesn’t show up on exactly regular intervals. Still, it is pretty incredible to think that we have a record of a comet that was seen the world over at this time, by people looking up from some very different places.
Comets were something interesting for early astronomers. They may have originally been seen as particularly ominous—after all, in the early eras, they were hardly predictable, and it would take years to get enough data to see that they were actually a somewhat regular occurrence. In fact, it is likely that early astronomers were able to figure out eclipse schedules before comets. Still, they seem to have come to the realization that comets were in fact another type of natural and reoccurring phenomenon. That isn’t to say that they didn’t have any oracular meaning, but it did mean they were less of an obvious disturbance of the heavenly order.
We have another comet mentioned in the 10th lunar month of 681, but that one seems to have had less attention focused on it, and we don’t have the same details. Then in the 8th lunar month of 682 we have an entry about a Great Star passing from East to West—which was probably a shooting star, rather than a comet. Comets, for all that they appear to be streaking across the sky thanks to their long tails, are often relatively stable from an earthbound perspective, taking months to appear and then disappear again.
Then, on the 23rd day of the 7th month of 684 we get another comet in the northwest. This one was more than 10 shaku in length—about 15 degrees, total, give or take. Given the date, we can be fairly confident about this one, as well: it was the famous Halley’s comet.
Halley’s comet is fascinating for several reasons. For one, it has a relatively short period of about 72 to 80 years, though mostly closer to 75 to 77 years in between sightings. The last time it visited the earth was in 1986, and it is expected back in 2061. Halley’s comet has been recorded since the 3rd century BCE, and, likely because of its short period, it was the first periodic comet to be recognized as such. There are other periodic comets with short periods, but many of them are not visible with the naked eye.
Halley’s comet is perhaps the most studied comet, given its regular and relatively short periodicity. It is also connected to the famous writer, humorist, and essayist, Samuel Langhorne Clemens, aka Mark Twain. He was born only a few days after the comet reached perihelion in 1835 and died a day after it reached the same point again in 1910, and while he may not have visited Japan in his lifetime, it was a period of great change both in his home country of America and in Japan. America, of course, would undergo a Civil War over the issue of slavery in the early 1860s, and shortly after that Japan would have its own civil war in the form of the Meiji Revolution. And while he never visited—and translation could only do so much to capture the art of his prose—Mark Twain’s works were apparently quite influential in Japan in the early 20th century.
Of course, comets were just one of the celestial phenomena to be observed. The astronomers were interested in just about anything happening in the sky. We have accounts of both solar and lunar eclipses, and not necessarily full eclipses either. We even have notice of the movement of some planets, such as in 681, when they noted that the planet mars “entered” the moon.
Obviously the astronomers weren’t recording every raincloud that came through—at least not in the main chronicles—but they did capture a fair number of events. They did record particularly memorable storms. For instances, in the 8th lunar month of 675 there was a storm that is said to have caused sand to fly and which then damaged houses. This sounds like a wind storm without rain—after all, if there was rain, you would expect that the sand would have been wet and tamped down.
It is possible to have hurricane level winds without the rain. While typhoons typically bring rain, especially as they usually build up their strength at sea, it is possible to have the winds alone, as I’ve experienced, myself, in Tokyo. This most likely happens in an isolated area—there is water and rain somewhere, but the typhoon can be large, so parts of it may only get the wind and little or no rain. I wonder if something like that happened in this instance. It is also possible that this record refers to actual sand being brought across from the continent. In some instances, sand can be lifted up from as far away as Mongolia and carried all the way to Japan, though it is pretty rare.
And it wasn’t just wind and sand. We get accounts of hail coming down as large as peaches, torrential rainstorms, and even ash, likely from a volcanic eruption that was otherwise unrecorded. There are also accounts of snow, though typically recorded in times where you wouldn’t expect to see it, such as the third lunar month, which would mean snow in late April or early May.
Mostly these storms are mentioned in terms of how they affected the immediate fortunes of the living, but sometimes storms did even more damage. In 682, for example, a hoar-frost was reported in both Shinano and Kibi in the 7th lunar month. On its own, this probably wouldn’t have been worth mentioning, but the chroniclers add that because of storms the “five grains had not formed”. So storms had diminished the crops and the hoar-frost was apparently the killing blow. The harvest that year would be lean, and it would not be a happy time for many that winter.
And then, just as important as what was happening was what was not. There are several mentions of droughts, particularly towards the end of Spring, early Summer. This is traditionally a drier period, and if it is too dry it could harm the harvest. And so the government was expected to find a way to bring the rain—a tall order, the general resolution to which seems to be prayers and rituals designed to bring rain. In a place like Japan, I suspect that it was usually just a matter of time before the prayers were “successful”, thus reinforcing their presumed efficacy.
Some of the things that they recorded were a bit more mysterious. For example, in the second lunar month of 680 we are told that a sound like drums was heard from the East. There are many things this could theoretically be, from rumbles of thunder to some other phenomenon, though the following year we have a note about thunder in the West, so theoretically they knew the difference between thunder and drums. Later that same year, 680, we are told that there was a “brightness” in the East from the hour of the dog to the hour of the rat—about 8pm to midnight. Was this some kind of aurora? But wouldn’t that have been in the north, rather than the east?    Could it have been some kind of lightning? But that is a long time for a lightning storm to hang around.
And there are other strange things, some of which seem impossible and we have to doubt. For example, in 684 they said that, at dusk, the seven stars of the Big Dipper drifted together to the northeast and sank. Unless they are just recording the natural setting of the stars of the big dipper. Certainly, over time the constellation appears to rotate around the north star, and it dips down to or below the horizon in the autumn months. So were they just talking about the natural, yearly setting of the stars, or something else?
There may be some clues in that the 11th lunar month, when that was recorded, we see several other heavenly phenomena recorded. Two days after the Big Dipper set, at sunset, a star fell in the eastern quarter of the sky that we are told was as large as a jar. Later, the constellations were wholly disordered and stars fell like rain. That same month, a star shot up in the zenith and proceeded along with the Pleiades until the end of the month.
While this sounds like shooting stars and a possible meteor shower, a later commenter suggested that this was all a heavenly omen for the state of the court, showing the “disordered” state of the nobility at this time. Of course, this was also a year and change before the sovereign’s eventual passing, so there is also the possibility that the Chroniclers were looking at events later and ascribing meaning and importance after the fact.
In another account of something seemingly wonderous: in 682 we are told that something shaped like a Buddhist flag, colored like flame, was seen by all of the provinces and then sank into the Japan sea north of Koshi. A white mist is also said to have risen up from the Eastern mountains.
There are various things that could be going on here. It strikes me that the white mist could be a cloud, but could also be something volcanic. And the flame colored prayer flag makes me think about how a high cloud can catch the light of the rising or setting sun. That could look like a flag, and can seem extremely odd depending on the other conditions in the sky.
Or maybe it was aliens.
Okay, it is unlikely that it was aliens, but I think that these do give an idea of the kinds of records that were being made about the observed phenomena. Obviously the Nihon Shoki is recording those things that were considered particularly significant for whatever reason. This could just be because it was something odd and unexplained, or perhaps it was more well known but rare. It may have even had religious connotations based on some aspect, like evoking the image of Buddhist flags. And it is possible that it was thought to have had significant impact on events—perhaps even an impact that isn’t clear to us today, many centuries removed from the events.
Some things were clear, however. Lightning strikes are often mentioned specifically when they strike something of note. In 678, we are told that a pillar of the Western Hall of the New Palace was struck by lightning, though apparently the building itself survived. Then, in 686, Lighting appeared in the southern sky with a large roar of thunder. A fire broke out and caught the tax cloth storehouse of the Ministry of Popular affairs, which immediately exploded in flames. After all, a thatched roofed, wooden building filled with kindling in the form of cloth—and likely a fair amount of paper and writing supplies to keep track of it all—sounds like a bonfire waiting to happen. There were reports that the fire had actually started in Prince Osakabe’s palace and then spread to the Ministry of Popular Affairs from there.
It is also worth noting that recording of such events was still somewhat new to the archipelago as a whole. They were learning from the continent, but also defining their own traditions.
Observations of natural phenomena weren’t just relegated to celestial occurrences or weather. After all, there was something else that one could observe in the sky: birds. Now this wasn’t your average bird-watching—though I’m not saying that there weren’t casual birders in ancient Japan, and if we ever find someone’s birding diary from that era I think that would be so cool. But there were some things that were significant enough to be mentioned.
For example, in 678 we get a report of “atori”, or bramblings. Bramblings are small songbirds which are found across Eurasia. Notably they are migratory, and are known to migrate in huge flocks especially in the winter time, and sure enough on the 27th day of the 12th month we are told that the bramblings flew from the southwest to the northeast, covering the entire sky. This makes me think about some of the other mass migrations that used to occur that have largely been reduced significantly due to habitat loss, disruption to traditional migratory routes, and other population pressures on various bird species. Still, having so many birds that it blocked out the sky certainly seems a significant event to report on. We later see a similar account in 680, with the flock moving from southeast to northwest. Given the location of Asuka it sounds like they were flocking in the mountains and heading out over the Nara Basin, perhaps seeking food in another mountainous area.
In 682, the birders were at it again. This time, around midday on the 11th day of the 9th lunar month, several hundreds of cranes appeared around the Palace and soared up into the sky. They were there for about two hours before they dispersed. Once again, cranes are migratory and known to flock. Cranes are also known as a symbol of long life and joy—and I can understand it. Have you ever seen a flock of cranes? They are not small birds, and they can be really an incredible sight. Flocks of cranes themselves were probably not that rare, and it was no doubt more about so many gathering around the palace which made it particularly special.
It wasn’t just birds in the sky that were considered important symbols, though. Birds often are noted as auspicious omens. Usually strange birds, plants, or other such things are found in various provinces and presented to the throne.    So in 675, Yamato presented auspicious “barn-door fowl”, likely meaning a fancy chicken. Meanwhile, the Eastern provinces presented a white falcon and the province of Afumi presented a white kite. Chickens are associated with the sun and thus with the sun goddess, Amaterasu, and albino versions of animals were always considered auspicious, often being mentioned in Buddhist sources. Later, in 680, we see a small songbird, a “Shitodo”, also described as white, and probably albino, sent to the court from nearby Settsu.
Then, in 681 there is mention of a red sparrow. Red coloration is not quite the same as albinism, though it is something that does occur at times, when the brownish coloration comes out more red than brown, and I suspect this is what we are talking about. This is most likely just a recessed gene or genetic mutation, similar to causes for albinism, but just in a different place in the DNA. As for why it was important: I’d first and foremost note that anything out of the ordinary (and even some ordinary things) could be considered a sign.   Red was also seen as an auspicious color, so that may have had something to do with it as well. And then there is the concept of Suzaku, the red bird of the south. Suzaku is usually depicted as an exotic bird species of some kind, like how we might depict a phoenix. But it was also just a “red bird”, so there is that, and perhaps that was enough. Not that this red sparrow was “Suzaku”, but evoked the idea of the southern guardian animal. A year prior, in 680, a red bird—we aren’t told what kind—had perched on a southern gate, which even more clearly screams of the Suzaku aesthetic.
It is probably worth noting here that in 686, towards the end of the reign, not that anyone knew it at the time, Ohoama decided to institute a new nengo, or regnal period. It was called Shuuchou—red or vermillion bird—and it likely referred to Suzaku. This nengo was cut short, however, with Ohoama’s death that same year. Nengo were often chosen with auspicious names as a kind of hope for the nation, so clearly “red bird” was considered a good thing.
A month after the red sparrow, Ise sent a white owl, and then a month after that, the province of Suwou sent a red turtle, which they let loose in the pond at the Shima palace. Again, these were probably just examples of animals seen as auspicious, though they would have likely been recorded by the Onmyou-ryou, who would have likely combed through various sources and precedents to determine what kind of meaning might be attached to them.
Color wasn’t the only thing that was important. In 682, the Viceroy of Tsukushi reported that they had found a sparrow with three legs. There are numerous reasons why this could be, but there is particular significance in Japan and Asia more generally. A three legged bird is often associated with the sun Andusually depicted as a black outline of a three legged bird inside of a red sun. In Japan this was often conflated with the Yata-garasu, the Great Crow, which is said to have led the first mythical sovereign, Iware Biko, to victory in his conquest of Yamato. Thus we often see a three legged crow depicted in the sun, which was an object of particular veneration for the Wa people from centuries before. And I suspect that the little three-legged sparrow from Tsukushi I suspect that this had particular significance because of that image.
Animals were not the only auspicious things presented to the throne. In 678, Oshinomi no Miyatsuko no Yoshimaro presented the sovereign with five auspicious stalks of rice. Each stalk, itself, had other branches. Rice, of course, was extremely important in Japan, both from a ritual and economic sense, so presenting rice seems appropriate. Five stalks recalls things like the five elemental theory—and in general five was consider a good number. Three and five are both good, prime numbers, while four, pronounced “Shi”, sounds like death and is considered inauspicious. Three, or “San” is sometimes associated with life, and five is associated with the five elements, but also just the fact that it is half of ten, and we have five fingers on one hand and in so many other ways, five is regarded as a good number in much of Asia.
That the stalks had multiple branches likely referred to them bearing more than the usual amount of rice on them, which seems particularly hopeful. Certainly the court thought so. In light of the auspicious gift, all sentences of penal servitude and lower were remitted. In 680, Officials of the Department of Law gave tribute of auspicious stalks of grain, themselves. I’m not sure, in this case, that it was all that they hoped, however, as that began three days straight of rain and flooding.
A year earlier, in 679, we are told that the district of Ito, in Kii, immediately south of Yamato, sent as tribute the “herb of long life”. We are told that it “resembled” a mushroom—probably meaning it was a mushroom, or maybe something formed into a mushroom shape. But the stem was about a foot long and the crown was two spans, about 6 feet in diameter. This is pretty incredible, and I have to wonder if there is a bit of exaggeration going on here.
Another tribute was a horn found on Mt. Katsuraki. It branched into two at the base, was united at the end, and had some flesh and hair still attached, about an inch in length. They claimed it must be horn or a Lin, or Kirin, sometimes referred to as an Asian unicorn—a mythical creature considered to be quite auspicious and benevolent. This was on the 26th day in the 2nd lunar month of the year 680, probably around March or April. I highly suspect that what they found was an oddly shaped bit of antler from a buck whose antlers had begun to come in and which might have been taken out by wolves or bears or something else altogether. The fact that the ends were said to be fused together could just be referring to some kind of malformation of the antlers. The fur and flesh could mean that the antlers were still growing—antlers would probably just be coming in around early spring time. Still, there is no telling how long it was there, so it could have been from the previous year as well. Attributing it to a kirin seems a bit of a stretch, but it was clearly something unusual.
Animals and plants were recorded in tribute, but also when something odd happened. Fruiting out of season was one such occurrence, which we’ve seen elsewhere in the chronicles as well. There was even a record when the famous Tsuki tree outside of Asukadera had a branch fall down. Presumably it was a large and noticeable branch, and by now this appears to have been a tree with a bit of age to it that had seen a lot, so it makes sense it got a mention.
Finally, we go from the heavens to the earth.    Perhaps the most numerous observations in the Chronicles were the earthquakes. We’ve noted in the past that Japan is extremely active, volcanically speaking, so it makes sense that there are multiple accounts of earthquakes each year, especially if they were compiling reports from around the country. Most of these are little more than just a note that there was an earthquake, but a few stand out.
The first is the 12th lunar month of 678. We are told that there was a large earthquake in Tsukushi—modern Kyushu. The ground split open to the width of about 20 feet for more than 30,000 feet. Many of the commoners’ houses in the area were torn down. In one place there was a house atop a hill, and though the hill crumbled down the house somehow remained intact. The inhabitants had apparently been home and must have been oblivious, as they didn’t realize anything had happened until they woke up the next morning.
Again, probably a bit of hyperbole in here, but if we think back to things like the 2016 Kumamoto earthquake, where large areas of land shifted noticeably along the fault lines, it is likely that this was a similar or even more catastrophic event. And here I’ll give a quick plug for Kumamoto, which is still working to rebuild from the earthquake, and if you ever get a chance, I recommend a visit to the Kumamoto Earthquake Memorial Museum or Kioku, where you can see for yourself just how powerful mother nature can be.
Another powerful earthquake was mentioned in the 10th lunar month of 684. If the earthquake in Tsukushi had hit mostly agricultural areas, based on the description, this seems to have hit more populated regions. We are told that it started in the dark of night, the hour of the boar, so about 10pm, give or take an hour. The shaking was so bad that throughout the country men and women cried out and were disoriented—they could not tell east from west, a condition no doubt further hindered by the dark night sky. There were mountain slides and rivers changed course, breaking their banks and flooding nearby areas. Official buildings of the provinces and districts, the barns and houses of the common people, and the temples, pagodas, and shrines were all destroyed in huge numbers. Many people and domestic animals were killed or injured. The hot springs of Iyo were dried up and ceased to flow. In the province of Tosa, more than 500,000 shiro of cultivated land sank below sea level. Old men said that they had never seen such an earthquake. On that night there was a rumbling noise like that of drums heard in the east—possibly similar to what we had mentioned earlier. Some say that the island of Idzu, aka Vries Island, the volcanic island at the entrance of Edo Bay, increased on the north side by more than 3,000 feet and that a new island had been formed. The noise of the drums was attributed to the gods creating that island.
So here we have a catastrophic quake that impacted from Iyo, on the western end of Shikoku, all the way to the head of Edo Bay, modern Tokyo. This appears to be what seismologists have labelled a “Nankai Trough Megathrust Earthquake”. Similar quakes have occurred and are predicted to occur in the future., along a region of Japan from the east coast of Kyushu, through the Seto Inland Sea, including Shikoku, through the Kii peninsula and all the way to Mt. Fuji. The Nankai Trough, or Southern Sea Trough, is the area where the continental shelf drops down, and where the Philippine tectonic plate slips underneath the Eurasian—or more specifically the Amuric—plate. As these plates move it can cause multiple events all along the trough at the same time. Since being regularly recorded, these quakes have been noted every 100 to 150 years, with the last one being the Showa Nankai quakes of 1944 and 1946.
For all of the destruction that it brought, however, apparently it didn’t stop the court. Two days after this devastating quake we are told that Presents were made to the Princes and Ministers. Either they weren’t so affected in the capital, or perhaps the date given for one of the two records is not quite reliable. Personally, I find it hard to believe that there would be presents given out two days later unless they were some form of financial aid. But what do I know? It is possible that the court itself was not as affected as other areas, and they may not have fully even grasped the epic scale of the destruction that would later be described in the Chronicles, given the length of time it took to communicate messages across the country.
Which brings us back to the “science” of the time, or at least the observation, hoping to learn from precedence or piece out what messages the world might have for the sovereign and those who could read the signs. While many of the court’s and Chronicler’s conclusions may give us pause, today, we should nonetheless be thankful that they at least decided to keep notes and jot down their observations. That record keeping means that we don’t have to only rely on modern records to see patterns that could take centuries to reveal themselves.
Sure, at this time, those records were still a bit spotty, but it was the start of something that would be remarkably important, and even though these Chronicles may have been focused on propaganda, the fact that they include so many other references are an incalculable boon to us, today, if we can just see to make the connections.
And with that, I think I’ve rambled enough for this episode. We still have a couple more to fully cover this period.
Until then, if you like what we are doing, please tell your friends and feel free to rate us wherever you listen to podcasts. If you feel the need to do more, and want to help us keep this going, we have information about how you can donate on Patreon or through our KoFi site, ko-fi.com/sengokudaimyo, or find the links over at our main website, SengokuDaimyo.com/Podcast, where we will have some more discussion on topics from this episode.
Also, feel free to reach out to our Sengoku Daimyo Facebook page. You can also email us at the.sengoku.daimyo@gmail.com.
Thank you, also, to Ellen for their work editing the podcast.
And that’s all for now. Thank you again, and I’ll see you next episode on Sengoku Daimyo’s Chronicles of Japan.

References

-,- (last checked 30 Nov 2025). 「南海トラフ地震について」. Japan Meteorological Agency. https://www.jma.go.jp/jma/index.html .
M. Meyer, G.W. Kronk. (2025). THE GREAT COMET C/1743 X1: POSSIBLE IDENTIFICATION IN HISTORIC RECORDS OF 1402, 1032, 676, AND 336 (J/OL). Journal of Astronomical History and Heritage, 2025, 28 (1): 29-49. 2025-04-28. 2025-12-01. https://www.sciengine.com/doi/10.3724/SP.J.140-2807.2025.01.02.
Bentley, John R. (2025). Nihon Shoki: The Chronicles of Japan. ISBN 979-8-218634-67-4 pb
Aston, W. G. (1972). Nihongi, chronicles of Japan from the earliest times to A.D. 697. London: Allen & Unwin. ISBN0-80480984-4.

Yakuchi no Ason on Otokashi (八口朝臣音橿)

Iki no Muraji no Hakatoko (壱伎連博徳)

Nakatomi no Ason no Omimaro (中臣朝臣臣麻呂)

Kose no Ason no Tayasu (巨勢朝臣多益須)

Fuse no Ason no Miushi (布勢朝臣御主人)

Ōtomo no Ason no Miyuki (大伴宿禰御行)

Rank and Court Clothing

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Silla

King Munmu of Silla

King Sinmun of Silla

King Hyoso and Queen Sinmok

Silla Rank System

Great Tang

Tang Gaozong

Tang Zhongzong

Tang Ruizong

Wu Zhao, aka Wu Zetian

Lai Junchen

Di Renjie

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Queen Uno no Sarara (鸕野讚良皇后)

Crown Prince Kusakabe (草壁皇太子)

Royal Prince Takechi (高市皇子)

Royal Prince Ōtsu (大津皇子)

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Fuhon-sen

The New Writing System

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Tsukushi Dazai (筑紫太宰)

Kibi Dazai (吉備太宰)

Settsu-shiki no Daibu (攝津職大夫)

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The Temmu-Jitō Historiographical Project

The Fujiwara Capital

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Silla

Goguryeo

Tamna

Tang Empire

Mishihase

Non-Yamato Cultures on the Archipelago

Hayato

Tanegashima and Yakushima

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