The East Asian War, 1592-1598: International Relations, Violence and Memory 1138786632, 9781138786639

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
List of illustrations
List of contributors
Acknowledgments
Maps
Introduction
PART I International and domestic background
1 Japanese–Korean and Japanese–Chinese relations in the sixteenth century
2 Korea’s pre-war domestic situation and relations with Japan
3 Violence, trade, and impostors in Korean–Japanese relations, 1510–1609
PART II War
4 The Imjin Waeran: contrasting the first and the second invasions of Korea
5 Hideyoshi’s view of Chosŏn
Korea and Japan–Ming negotiations
6 Post-war domain source material on Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea: the wartime memoirs of Shimazu soldiers
7 The role of the Chosŏn navy and major naval battles during the Imjin Waeran
8 Righteous army activity in the Imjin War
9 Ming grand strategy and the intervention in Korea
10 Wanli China versus Hideyoshi’s Japan: rethinking China’s involvement in the Imjin Waeran
11 The celestial warriors: Ming military aid and abuse during the Korean War, 1592–8
12 International relations and the Imjin War
PART III Impact and memory
13 “The inestimable benevolence of saving a country on the brink of ruin”: Chosŏn–Ming and Chosŏn–Later Jin relations in the seventeenth century
14 Chosŏn Korea and Ming China after the Imjin Waeran: state rituals in the Later Chosŏn period
15 War and cultural exchange
16 The Imjin Waeran in Korean and Japanese literature
17 Fashioning womanly Confucian virtue: the virtuous woman in post-war literary discourse
Conclusion
Glossary and index

Citation preview

The East Asian War, 1592–1598

As East Asia regains its historical position as a world centre, information on the history of regional relations becomes ever more critical. Astonishingly, Northeast Asia enjoyed five centuries of international peace from 1400 to 1894, broken only by one major international war – the invasion of Korea in the 1590s by Japan’s ruler Hideyoshi. This war involved Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, Southeast Asians, and Europeans; it saw the largest overseas landing in world history up to that time and devastated Korea. It also highlighted the nature of the strategic balance in the region, presenting China’s Ming dynasty with a serious threat that perhaps foreshadowed the dynasty’s subsequent overthrow by the Manchus, played a major part in the establishment of the Tokugawa regime with its policy of peace and controlled access to seventeenthand eighteenth-century Japan, and demonstrated the importance for regional stability of the subtle relationship of Korea to both China and Japan. This book presents a comprehensive analysis of the war and its aftermath in all its aspects – military, political, social, economic, and cultural. As such it deepens understanding of East Asian international relations and provides important insights into the strategic concerns that continue to operate in the region at present. James B. Lewis is the University Lecturer in Korean History at the University of Oxford, UK.

Asian States and Empires Edited by Peter Lorge, Vanderbilt University

The importance of Asia will continue to grow in the twenty-first century, but remarkably little is available in English on the history of the polities that constitute this critical area. Most current work on Asia is hindered by the extremely limited state of knowledge of the Asian past in general and the history of Asian states and empires in particular. Asian States and Empires is a book series that will provide detailed accounts of the history of states and empires across Asia from earliest times to the present. It aims to explain and describe the formation, maintenance and collapse of Asian states and empires, and the means by which this was accomplished, making available the history of more than half the world’s population at a level of detail comparable to the history of Western polities. In so doing, it will demonstrate that Asian peoples and civilizations had their own histories apart from the West and provide the basis for understanding contemporary Asia in terms of its actual histories, rather than broad generalizations informed by Western categories of knowledge. 1.

The Third Chinese Revolutionary Civil War, 1945–49 An analysis of Communist strategy and leadership Christopher R. Lew

2.

China’s Southern Tang Dynasty, 937–976 Johannes L. Kurz

3.

War, Culture and Society in Early Modern South Asia, 1740–1849 Kaushik Roy

4.

The Military Collapse of China’s Ming Dynasty, 1618–44 Kenneth M. Swope

5.

China’s Second Capital – Nanjing under the Ming, 1368–1644 Jun Fang

6.

Rethinking the Decline of China’s Qing Dynasty Imperial activism and borderland management at the turn of the nineteenth century Daniel McMahon

7.

Civil–Military Relations in Chinese History From Ancient China to the Communist takeover Edited by Kai Filipiak

8.

Chinese and Indian Warfare – From the Classical Age to 1870 Edited by Kaushik Roy and Peter Lorge

9.

The East Asian War, 1592–1598 International relations, violence, and memory Edited by James B. Lewis

The East Asian War, 1592–1598 International relations, violence, and memory Edited by James B. Lewis

First published 2015 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2015 selection and editorial material, James B. Lewis; individual chapters, the contributors The right of James B. Lewis to be identified as author of the editorial material, and of the individual authors as authors of their contributions, has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data A catalog record for this book has been requested. ISBN: 978-1-138-78663-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-76720-8 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Out of House Publishing

Contents

List of illustrations List of contributors Acknowledgments Maps Introduction

viii ix xi xii 1

PART I

International and domestic background 1

Japanese–Korean and Japanese–Chinese relations in the sixteenth century

9

11

SAE K I K Ō J I

2

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation and relations with Japan

22

H AN MOON J ON G

3

Violence, trade, and impostors in Korean–Japanese relations, 1510–1609

42

K E N N E T H R. RO BI N SO N

PART II

War 4

The Imjin Waeran: contrasting the first and the second invasions of Korea

71

73

K I TAJ I MA MA N JI

5

Hideyoshi’s view of Chosŏn Korea and Japan–Ming negotiations SAJ I MA AK I KO

93

vi

Contents

6 Post-war domain source material on Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea: the wartime memoirs of Shimazu soldiers

108

MU RAI SH Ō SU K E

7 The role of the Chosŏn navy and major naval battles during the Imjin Waeran

120

YI MI N ’U N G

8 Righteous army activity in the Imjin War

141

N U K I I MASAY U K I

9 Ming grand strategy and the intervention in Korea

163

K E N N E T H M. SWO PE

10 Wanli China versus Hideyoshi’s Japan: rethinking China’s involvement in the Imjin Waeran

197

H ARRI E T T. ZU R N D O R FER

11 The celestial warriors: Ming military aid and abuse during the Korean War, 1592–8

236

NAM- L I N HU R

12 International relations and the Imjin War

256

JAME S B. L EWI S

PART III

Impact and memory

275

13 “The inestimable benevolence of saving a country on the brink of ruin”: Chosŏn–Ming and Chosŏn–Later Jin relations in the seventeenth century

277

H AN MYU NG - G I

14 Chosŏn Korea and Ming China after the Imjin Waeran: state rituals in the Later Chosŏn period

294

K U WAN O E I JI

15 War and cultural exchange

323

H A WOO B O N G

16 The Imjin Waeran in Korean and Japanese literature C H OI G WAN

340

Contents 17 Fashioning womanly Confucian virtue: the virtuous woman in post-war literary discourse

vii 357

MI C H AE L J. P E TTI D

Conclusion

378

Glossary and index

380

Illustrations

Maps 1 2 3 4 5

East Asia c.1592 First invasion Naval war Guerrilla war Second invasion

xii xiii xiv xv xvi

Tables 2.1 2.2 4.1 7.1

Korean and Japanese embassies Embassies from the king of Japan to Chosŏn (1510–92) Province, production level, and daikan assignments Sea battles of 1592

27 29 77 124

Figures 17.1 17.2 17.3

Maiden Ch’oe Two wives Kŭnshim

362 363 364

Contributors

Choi Gwan (崔 官), Professor of Japanese Studies, Korea University, South Korea. Ha Woo Bong (河宇鳳), Professor of History, Chŏnbuk National University South Korea. Han Moon Jong (韓文鍾), Associate Professor of History, Chŏnbuk National University South Korea. Han Myung-gi (䞲ⳛ₆), Professor of History, Department of History, Myongji University, South Korea. Nam-lin Hur, Professor of Asian Studies, University of British Columbia, Canada. Kitajima Manji (北島万次), Professor of International Studies, Faculty of International Studies, Kyōritsu Women’s University, Japan. Kuwano Eiji (桑野栄治), Professor of History, Department of Intercultural Studies, Kurume University, Japan. James B. Lewis, University Lecturer in Korean History, University of Oxford. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介), Professor of Japanese History, Graduate School of Humanities and Sociology, Faculty of Letters, University of Tōkyō, Japan. Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之), Lecturer, Nagoya University of Foreign Studies and Nihon Fukushi University, Japan. Michael J. Pettid, Professor of Premodern Korean Studies, Binghamton University (SUNY), USA. Kenneth R. Robinson, Research Fellow, Institute of Asian Cultural Studies, International Christian University, Japan. Saeki Kōji (佐伯弘次), Professor of Japanese History, Department of History, Kyūshū University, Japan.

x

List of contributors

Sajima Akiko (佐島顕子), Associate Professor of History, Fukuoka Jo Gakuin University, Japan. Kenneth M. Swope, Professor of History, University of Southern Mississippi, USA. Yi Min’ung (蝗敏雄), Professor of History, Republic of Korea Naval Academy, South Korea. Harriet T. Zurndorfer, Faculty of Humanities, Leiden University, The Netherlands.

Acknowledgments

The origin of the present volume goes back to an international conference held in Oxford in 2001. Those first papers were translated, revised, and re-translated. Some papers came later from participants and additional papers were solicited to fill out the original scheme. Commentary at the 2001 conference was provided by invited discussants from Europe and the United States. Those who did not contribute papers but who came all the way to England to offer their wise counsel include: Willem J. Boot from the University of Leiden, Ronald P. Toby from the University of Urbana-Champaign, Hugh Kang from the University of Hawai’i, and JaHyun Kim Haboush from Columbia University. Thomas Nelson, then of Wadham College, drove in from the outer reaches of Oxfordshire. Translations were initially done by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne of Pembroke College, Oxford; Grace Koh of Wadham College, Oxford, and Chi Young-hae of St Antony’s College, Oxford. Any remaining translation errors must be laid at my feet and not theirs. Nakajima Sanae and Grace Koh also supplied interpretation at the conference. Financial support was provided by The Korea Foundation, The Oriental Institute of the University of Oxford, The Great Britain Sasakawa Foundation, The Japan Foundation, The Northeast Area Council of the Association for Asian Studies (USA), The British Academy, The Daiwa Anglo-Japanese Foundation, The International Institute for Asian Studies (the Netherlands), and Wolfson College (Oxford). The conference was organized under the auspices of the British Association for Korean Studies and held at Wolfson College. Final production of the volume was possible only because of sabbatical support from the Kyujanggak Institute for Korean Studies and the dedicated perseverance and constructive criticism offered by three doctoral students all working on aspects of the Imjin War: Mr Thomas Quartermain (Wolfson College) prepared the maps; Ms Eunjin Jeong-Spencer (Wolfson College) edited the bibliography; and Mr Marshall Craig (Pembroke College) edited the glossary and index. Ms Wei Xin, another doctoral student, offered assistance with the final compilation of the index at a critical moment. I would like to thank Peter Sowden of Routledge who took an interest in a volume of papers on an obscure East Asian war, and Helena Hurd of Routledge and David Campbell of Out of House Publishing who have shepherded the volume through production. Finally, I would like to thank Kenneth R. Robinson for his tireless patience and sound advice at all stages of the project. James B. Lewis Wolfson College, Oxford

Map 1 East Asia c. 1592

Maps

Map 2 First invasion

Map 3 Naval war

Map 4 Guerrilla war

Map 5 Second invasion

Introduction James B. Lewis

The Imjin War1 has received little attention in Western scholarship, despite its scale, impact, and reverberating significance. The Japanese invading forces completed the largest overseas landing in world history to that time, and the number of combatants may have reached 500,000.2 The war involved Koreans, Japanese, Chinese, Southeast Asians, and Europeans, giving it the dubious distinction of being an extensive, international war. It played a major part in the establishment of the Japanese pax Tokugawa in the early seventeenth century. It was a serious concern for Ming China, and it severely tested relations between China and Korea, the most important tributary relationship in East Asia. Although the war devastated Korea, it changed, but did not shatter, Korean society, governance, and economy. The war was one of the most important international events for East Asia over the period from the establishment of the Ming in 1368 to the arrival of Euro-American gunboat diplomacy in the nineteenth century. Memories of the invasion are continuously nurtured and kept fresh on the Korean peninsula, while the strategic concerns highlighted by the invasion for both Japan and China reappeared in the Korean War of the 1950s and are still relevant today. Until 2002, the only published monograph in English that surveyed the war was produced in 1907 by William George Aston and was based on his articles in the Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan (“Hideyoshi’s Invasion of Korea”) from the 1870s and 1880s. From 1907 to 2001, we received only a few articles.3 Since 2001 we have seen a slight expansion of interest and the appearance of a few detailed studies,4 as well as the appearance of translations of primary sources.5 The first monograph on the war since Aston was Stephen Turnbull’s Samurai Invasion, which appeared in 2002.6 Turnbull surveys the entire war and focuses on Japanese military history. The book relies on primary and secondary Japanese-language sources. Just three years later, in 2005, Samuel Hawley published The Imjin War.7 Hawley’s book is a survey of the entire war as well, and uses secondary Korean literature. In 2009, Kenneth M. Swope published A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail, which works from primary Chinese records and secondary Japanese research.8 Because of their sources, the three books are written from the perspectives of the three main

2

Introduction

belligerents. They offer broad and useful narratives on the war, but the scale of the conflict can be overwhelming for any single author. We should move on to more specific and analytical research, which is the driving vision behind this collection. We still lack a body of monographs that exhaust primary materials to examine individual questions. We lack discussions of the international East Asian situation over the century preceding the war. We do not know much about why the Japanese initiated the war; why the Korean defense collapsed so spectacularly; why the Chinese came to the rescue; what strategic necessities dominated the war; how the Japanese thought they would govern Korea; how the Koreans resisted; what the Koreans thought about their Chinese saviors; the extent of the war’s impact on Japanese cultural development; how the war affected Korea’s environmental, economic, or demographic and social history; how Japanese and Koreans remembered the war in ritual and literature; or how the war might enlighten contemporary international relations theory. This collection attempts to open windows onto these questions. To address the major gap in English-language scholarship, leading scholars in South Korea, Japan, and the West were invited to prepare papers on the Imjin War. In the following pages, they address the background, the prosecution, and the lasting significance of the war. The chapters look to material, ideological, cultural, and institutional factors. Some authors show how diplomacy and trade finally failed to maintain the peace and may have contributed to the outbreak of war. Some authors dwell on the various motives and objectives of the belligerents and discuss strategic, tactical, and personal perspectives. Others explain naval operations, guerrilla activities, Korean support for the Chinese, and Japanese attempts at governance. With its deep well of heroism, cowardice, and titanic clashes, the war lent itself easily to the construction of memory through literature, drama, and didactic publications. Memories produced ritual activity and nuanced foreign policy, and the following two centuries saw a long international peace, a phenomenal record among major powers in world history. The chapters are organized along three themes. The first theme examines the international relations among Japan, Korea, and China over the sixteenth century before 1592. Japanese relations with Korea and China become attenuated as the century progressed, and Saeki Kōji argues that the sixteenth century was a “piratical time” in the region. Japanese internal disunity spilled onto the streets of Ningbo in 1523 and eventually the Japanese lost their tally trade or their access to China. Even earlier, a serious problem was developing within Korean–Japanese relations. Over the fifteenth century, Tsushima established its primacy in the Korea trade and “Japan towns” appeared in the Korean open ports. Chosŏn state attempts to impose controls on the “Japan towns” triggered violent outbursts in 1510. When relations were re-established in 1512, controls were accepted but because trade had been curtailed, the Japanese traders turned to manufacturing impostor envoys as a way to re-acquire more access. Han Moon Jong

Introduction

3

outlines the general position of the impostor envoys within the full range of Japanese–Korean diplomatic relations, and Kenneth R. Robinson uncovers three dynamic cycles in Korean–Japanese relations: Japanese violence, followed by Korean termination of trade, followed by negotiations, and finally the re-establishment of trade. These cyclical patterns resulted in an expansion of the numbers of Japanese impostor envoys. The significance of the fraud perpetrated by agents in Tsushima, Hakata, and western Japan became clear when Korean envoys in 1590 were startled to learn that some of the Chosŏn state’s supposed Japanese contacts had long ago disappeared from the Japanese political scene and that Korean intelligence on Japan was nearly worthless. The first theme also looks to the domestic situations of Japan and Korea. Han surveys socio-economic changes in Chosŏn Korea over the sixteenth century and explains the breakdown of Chosŏn military institutions and the resultant lack of Korean military preparedness. He concludes with a discussion of the various reasons that have been proffered for Korean military defeat. Robinson argues that the Korean state saw tolerance of Japanese impostors as less demanding than addressing real military needs, and he points out that the proliferation of impostor envoys meant that the centralizing Japanese powers in the Kinai region were just as removed from good intelligence on continental and peninsular affairs as the Koreans were becoming about Japan. These chapters set the stage for the war, but they do not explain why war broke out. The second theme turns to the war itself – why it was launched, how it was conducted, how it was resisted, what were the reasons for and the results of Chinese involvement, and what are some questions for international relations raised by the war. Kitajima Manji examines Hideyoshi’s self-image and his objectives in setting out to conquer China, and offers specifics on how the Japanese intended to rule the conquered territories. Kitajima explains that, as the war did not go smoothly, Hideyoshi became frustrated and reduced his goals to the permanent seizure of Korean land. The second invasion discarded all pretence of being benign to the Korean people and descended to atrocities. Kitajima argues that, without Korean lands to dispense, the feudal lords had to fall back on war tales of their derring-do to maintain the facade of their social status and to claim the slimmest shred of “victory.” Sajima Akiko goes further into Hideyoshi’s worldview and analyzes Japanese–Chinese negotiations to reveal Hideyoshi’s views on Korea as he coped with a collapse of his original vision. She explains Hideyoshi’s motivations and why atrocities became commonplace by arguing that, even before the invasion, Hideyoshi already viewed Korea as Japanese territory in “revolt.” To maintain legitimacy, Hideyoshi could not hesitate to punish the “rebels,” and that punishment led to the invasions and the massacres symbolized by the “Mound of Ears” still preserved in Kyoto. Murai Shōsuke picks up the question of Japanese war tales, and argues that these provided the chief source of Japanese memory on the war in succeeding centuries. He brings us the earliest instance of the

4

Introduction

great tiger hunt (toragari no ki), which became the leading icon of samurai “heroism” in Korea, and he relates Japanese reports on the administration of conquered territory. From Japanese motivations for war, we turn to Korean responses. Yi Min’ung analyzes the naval strategies of the combatants and tracks the progress of the naval war from its beginning to end, focusing on the Korean navy. He discusses the strategic victory in stopping the Japanese at sea and credits this to superior ship design and superior logistical and tactical talents embodied in Admiral Yi Sunshin. By detailing the obstacles that the navy faced, Yi strips away the romantic imagery that clouds our view of the famous admiral and better reveals his real accomplishments. Nukii Masayuki turns to Korean resistance on land and examines Korean guerrilla forces, particularly in their heyday during the first year of the war. While comparing and contrasting regional responses across Korea, he addresses questions of submission and resistance to the Japanese, the organization and composition of the guerrillas, their motivations, and their relations with the court, the regular army, and the general populace. Such extra-governmental forces eventually posed an existential threat to the Korean government, making the co-optation of the guerrillas and the resuscitation of regular forces a paramount concern to the state. The next four chapters discuss Chinese motivations and actions and the war as useful to study international relations in East Asia. Kenneth M. Swope makes a case for Ming China having an over-arching strategic vision, identifies the key security problems, emphasizes the importance of violence within Ming foreign and domestic affairs, and proposes a periodization that discusses the application of grand strategy over the life of the dynasty. In short, Ming policy was designed to “manifest awe,” and we can see this prerogative in action in Korea in the 1590s. Harriet Zurndorfer draws a sharper focus on Ming involvement in Korea. She dispels the image of a weak Wanli emperor and puts into perspective the position of the war in China’s overall military concerns and examines the impact of the war on imperial finances. She concludes that the war did not cause the collapse of Ming China, and that the Korea campaign did not bankrupt the treasury. Nam-lin Hur brings us back to the reality of Chinese troops entering Korea. He looks at Korea within Chinese realpolitik and points to the heavy burdens of hosting Chinese forces. He argues that there was no altruism in the Chinese response, and that Chinese expectations of logistical support could not possibly be satisfied by the Koreans. The result was that Koreans often could not distinguish between the depredations of Ming and Japanese soldiers. Carrying on the theme of grand strategy across the region, James B. Lewis reaches out to the field of international relations with a historian’s view on what sort of lessons the war offers for international relations scholars. He argues that the history of East Asian relations is still largely unknown and that is why scholars are not using this history to augment and correct European-derived theories; he promotes a constructivist or cultural approach; and he suggests a few questions that

Introduction

5

might be profitably explored: just war, the nature of hierarchy, and the geopolitics of war in Korea. The third and final theme focuses on the impact and memory of the war exhibited in policies, institutions, material culture, and literature. Han Myung-gi points out that the war and the Chinese response transformed Korea–China relations. Although the gratitude felt by the Korean ruling elite towards Ming China had to be balanced against the deprivations visited on the Korean populace in supporting the Chinese troops, elite sentiments heavily influenced Chosŏn policies towards the changing Chinese situation in the decades following the war. Pro-Ming versus Qing-accommodationist struggles at the Korean court see-sawed Chosŏn politics in the decades following the invasion and reached even to the dethronement of one king and to two Manchu invasions (1627 and 1636). Eventually a modus vivendi was established between Chosŏn Korea and the rising Manchu power, but that was tempered by the memory of Ming aid. Kuwano Eiji questions the strength of Korean sentiment surrounding Ming China by detailing the establishment of Chosŏn state rituals celebrating a Chinese god of war, living Chinese generals, and deceased Ming soldiers. Using state rituals as a proxy for attitudes towards Ming and Qing in the post-invasion context, Kuwano traces attitudes in Korea towards China over much of the seventeenth century. He argues that by the 1660s the revival of rites for dead Ming soldiers had more to do with mitigating a famine than with any resuscitation of admiration for the Ming. Ha Woo Bong takes a broad view of cultural exchanges between Korea and Japan during and after the war. He outlines far-reaching impacts on intellectual and material cultures in both Japan and Korea. Japanese soldiers brought back Neo-Confucian cognoscenti to instruct Japanese warlords in the fineries of Confucian statecraft. Looted metal type helped launch a publishing revolution in Tokugawa-era Japan. Stolen books formed the core of many major Japanese libraries, and kidnapped potters transmitted technical knowledge and founded many of the major Japanese kilns. To Korea went arquebuses, Catholicism, tobacco, and chili peppers, which changed Korean society, economy, food, and its intellectual world. The last two chapters introduce us to the specifics of memory as preserved in post-war writings of various kinds. Choi Gwan surveys Korean non-fiction, fictional dream novels, novels related to captives, verse, and that popular, agglutinative omnibus of tales on the war, the Imjinnok. Choi also traces the inscription of the Imjin Waeran in Japanese war tales and fictional accounts, some of which were transposed to the kabuki and ningyō jōruri stages, even acquiring fantastic aspects. He argues that the Korean accounts depict horror and devastation while the Japanese accounts created long-lived chauvinist attitudes in Japan that carried into the Meiji era. Michael Pettid takes us back to a little-known aspect of the war’s impact on Korean society. He analyzes post-war Korean didactic texts to explain the construction of early-modern Korean female virtue. Through vignettes of women caught in war the state and a male-dominated ruling class molded a hegemonic discourse that largely

6

Introduction

defined womanhood in post-war Korean society. While Kitajima and Murai explain that the Japanese ruling elite used war tales to salvage some measure of respect following the abject failure of the invasion, Pettid argues that the Chosŏn ruling elite promoted stories of virtuous female resistance to suppress the fact that many women of the upper classes had been raped. The tainting of illustrious lineages had to be denied to resurrect social status and solicit the lower-class deference that allowed rule. Our collection is a sustained argument that the Imjin War was very significant to Northeast Asia and offers comparisons with the great international wars of Europe and continental Asia. Scholars in Korea and Japan continue to examine the war for its lessons regarding early-modern Chinese, Korean, and Japanese relations. The signboards of nearly every palace and temple in South Korea detail the destruction of the war, and every Japanese schoolchild is familiar with Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The Chinese cannot help considering the war and similar wars when they think about Korea and the northeast in general. If we in the West wish to understand East Asian international relations, the Imjin War is an excellent starting point. All East Asian names are rendered as surname and given name. Korean is romanized according to the McCune-Reischauer system; Japanese according to Hepburn; and Chinese according to Pinyin. Each chapter retains its own notes and bibliography to better aid the reader in consulting references. All individual glossaries have been unified at the end and are combined with the index.

Notes 1 This Introduction and the chapters in the volume will refer to the Japanese invasion of Korea from 1592 to 1598 in various ways. The appellations have no particular intent behind them, and some may use the reign names or the sexagenary terms or simply refer to the war as “Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea.” For example, the common designator in modern Japan is the “War of Bunroku-Keichō” (Bunroku-Keichō no eki) for the Bunroku period (1592–5) and the Keichō period (1596–1614). The common designator in modern South Korea is the “Japanese disturbance of the Imjin year” (Imjin Waeran), which refers to the sexagenary term imjin (year 1592). 2 Absolute numbers are difficult to determine. Japanese combatants ranged from 200,000 to 300,000, depending on whether reserves are included; Koreans are unknown but could be estimated at tens of thousands, even up to 100,000, if we consider all irregular troop activity; the Chinese fielded about 120,000. Swope, 2009, p. 186. 3 William George Aston, “Hideyoshi’s Invasion of Korea,” 1881 and 1883. These essays were brought together into W.G. Aston, Hideyoshi’s Invasion of Korea, 1907. Broader studies have mentioned the invasion. For example, there is a general treatment of Yi Sunshin and the naval war in G.A. Ballard’s The Influence of the Sea on the Political History of Japan, 1921, and an overview in Yoshi S. Kuno’s Japan’s Expansion on the Asiatic Continent, 1940, as well as Mary Elizabeth Berry’s Hideyoshi, 1982. There are book chapters and articles: Gari Ledyard, “Confucianism and War,” 1988–9, examines the Chinese debate at the end of the invasion in 1598 over the conduct of the Korean king and court and highlights the rhetoric deployed as an aspect of Confucian state ideology; Jurgis Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,”

Introduction

4

5

6

7 8

7

1991, outlines the event as an aspect of Japan’s engagement with East Asia in the late sixteenth century; Donald Clark, “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998, considers the invasion within Korean tributary relations with the Ming Empire. JaHyun Kim Haboush introduced literary views on the war: “Dead Bodies in the Postwar Discourse of Identity in Seventeenth-Century Korea,” 2003. Michael Finch introduced an important diary from the war: “Civilian life in Chosŏn during the Japanese Invasion of 1592,” 2009. Multinational projects also exist, although results have not been published in English. In 2007, a collection of conference papers from Korean, Japanese, European, and American scholars was published in Korean and Japanese: Chŏng Tu-hŭi and Yi Kyŏng-sun, eds., Imjin Waeran tong Asia samguk chŏnjaeng (A Transnational history of the Imjin Waeran 1592–1598, in Korean), 2007, and Chŏng Tu-hŭi and Yi Kyŏng-sun, eds., Kim Mun-ja and Obata Michihiro, trans., Jinshin sensō, 2008. Military historians have not ignored the war. Peter Lorge has discussed the war in the context of the development of the use of gunpowder in East Asia in The Asian Military Revolution, 2008. As early as 1977, we were given the Nanjung ilgi: War Diary of Admiral Yi Sun-sin, translated by Ha Tae-hung and edited by Sohn Pow-key, 1977. Ha Tae-hung translated Yi Sunshin’s memorials and published them as the Imjin Changch’o in 1981. In 2001, Jurgis S.A. Elisonas included a translation of Hideyoshi’s letter to King Sŏnjo (1590) and a few translated passages from Keinen’s Chōsen Hinikki (朝鮮日日記) in the second edition of the Sources of Japanese Tradition. A translation by Choi Byonghyon of Yu Sŏngnyong’s Chingbinok appeared in 2002 as The Book of Corrections. A translation of one of the more popular versions of the Imjinnok (壬辰錄) appeared in 2000 from Peter H. Lee as The Record of the Black Dragon Year. In 2013, JaHyun Kim Haboush and Kenneth R. Robinson gave us a translation of Kang Hang’s Kanyangnok as A Korean War Captive in Japan, 1597–1600: The Writings of Kang Hang. Stephen Turnbull, Samurai Invasion, 2002. Earlier monographs appeared in the 1970s in the Park Chunghee era but these focused almost entirely on Yi Sunshin and extolled his martial valor, brilliant tactics, and self-sacrifice: Jho Sung-do, Yi Sun-shin: A national hero of Korea, 1970, and Yune-Hee Park, Admiral Yi Sun-Shin and His Turtleboat Armada, 1978. Samuel Hawley, The Imjin War, 2005. Kenneth M. Swope, A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail, 2009.

References Aston, W.G. “Hideyoshi’s Invasion of Korea,” Transactions of the Asiatic Society of Japan 6 (1878): 227–45; 9 (1881): 87–93, 213–22; 11 (1883): 117–25. Aston, W.G. Hideyoshi’s Invasion of Korea, With Japanese Translation by T. Masuda. Tokyo: Ryubun-kwan, 1907. Ballard, G.A. The Influence of the Sea on the Political History of Japan. London: John Murray, 1921. Berry, Mary Elizabeth. Hideyoshi. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982. Chŏng Tuhŭi (㩫⚦䧂、鄭杜熙) and Yi Kyŏngsun (㧊ἓ㑲, 蝗璟珣), eds. Imjin Waeran tong Asia samguk chŏnjaeng (G㧚㰚㢲⧖ ☯㞚㔲㞚 ㌒ῃ㩚㨗, A Transnational History of the Imjin Waeran 1592–1598: The East Asian Dimension). Seoul: Hyumŏnisŭt’ŭ, 2007. (Korean) Chŏng Tu-hŭi (㩫⚦䧂、鄭杜熙) and Yi Kyŏngsun (㧊ἓ㑲, 蝗璟珣), eds., Kim Munja (ₖⶎ㧦, 金文子) and Obata Michihiro (小幡倫裕), trans. Jinshin sensō: 16 seiki NitChō-Chū no Kokusai sensō (壬辰戦争: 16世紀日 ዘ朝 ዘ中の国際戦争). Tokyo: Akashi shoten, 2008. (Japanese)

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Clark, Donald. “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” in Denis Twitchett and Frederick W. Mote, eds., Cambridge History of China, Vol. 8: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part II. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp. 272–300. Elisonas, Jurgis. “The Inseparable Trinity: Japan’s Relations with China and Korea,” in John Whitney Hall, ed. Cambridge History of Japan, Vol. 4: Early Modern Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, pp. 235–300. Elisonas, Jurgis S.A., trans. Excerpts from from Keinen’s Chōsen Hinikki (朝鮮日日 記), in W. Theodore de Bary et al., compilers, Sources of Japanese Tradition from Earliest Times to 1600, Vol. 1, 2nd edn. New York: Columbia University Press, 2001, pp. 465–9. Finch, Michael. “Civilian Life in Chosŏn during the Japanese Invasion of 1592: The ‘Namhaeng illok’ and ‘Imjin illok’ in Swaemirok by O Hŭimun,” Acta Koreana 12:2 (December 2009): 55–77. Ha Tae-hung, trans., Sohn Pow-key, ed. Nanjung ilgi: War Diary of Admiral Yi Sunsin. Seoul: Yonsei University Press, 1977. Ha Tae-hung, trans., Lee Chong-young, ed. Imjin Changch’o: Admiral Yi Sun-sin’s Memorials to Court. Seoul: Yonsei University Press, 1981. Haboush, JaHyun Kim. “Dead Bodies in the Postwar Discourse of Identity in Seventeenth-Century Korea: Subversion and Literary Production in the Private Sector,” The Journal of Asian Studies 62:2 (May 2003): 415–42. Hawley, Samuel. The Imjin War: Japan’s Sixteenth-Century Invasion of Korea and Attempt to Conquer China. Seoul: Royal Asiatic Society, Korea Branch; Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2005. Jho Sung-do, Yi Sun-shin: A National Hero of Korea. Chinhae: Choongmoo-kong Society, Naval Academy, 1970. Kang Hang (姜沆), JaHyun Kim Haboush and Kenneth R. Robinson, trans. A Korean War Captive in Japan, 1597–1600: The Writings of Kang Hang [Kanyangnok (看羊 錄)]. New York: Columbia University Press, 2013. Kuno, Yoshi S. Japan’s Expansion on the Asiatic Continent. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1940. Ledyard, Gari. “Confucianism and War: The Korean Security Crisis of 1598,” Journal of Korean Studies 6 (1988–9): 81–119. Lee, Peter H. The Record of the Black Dragon Year [Imjinnok (壬辰錄)]. Seoul: Institute of Korean Culture, Korea University, 2000. Lorge, Peter A. The Asian Military Revolution: From Gunpowder to the Bomb. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Park, Yune-Hee. Admiral Yi Sun-Shin and His Turtleboat Armada, rev. edn. Seoul: Hanjin Publishing Company, 1978. Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Turnbull, Stephen. Samurai Invasion: Japan’s Korean War, 1592–98. London: Cassell & Co., 2002. Yu Sŏngnyong (柳成龍), Choi Byonghyon, trans. The Book of Corrections: Reflections on the National Crisis during the Japanese Invasion of Korea, 1592–1598 [Chingbinok (懲毖錄)]. Berkeley, CA: Institute of East Asian Studies, 2002.

Part I

International and domestic background

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1

Japanese–Korean and Japanese– Chinese relations in the sixteenth century Saeki Kōji (佐伯弘次)

Introduction This chapter surveys the diplomatic relations among Japan, Chosŏn Korea, and Ming China in the sixteenth century; it probes the characteristics of that interaction and provides a context for the sixteenth century that lay behind the Imjin Waeran. The sixteenth-century East Asian maritime region saw a number of phenomena and changes: Tsushima’s monopolistic control of trade with Korea in Japan–Chosŏn relations; conflict and severance of relations in Japan–China relations; the revival of activities by Japanese pirates; and the arrival of the Europeans. The developments held a certain degree of commonality to the extent that the period can be called a “Wakōlike or piratical time.” The first part below begins with the incident of 1510, the main watershed in Japanese–Korean relations of the sixteenth century. It then examines the way in which Tsushima came to monopolize trade with Chosŏn by initiating a system of impostor envoys following the establishment of the 1512 agreement (K. Imshin yakcho, J. Jinshin yakujō). The second part considers the Ningbo disturbance of 1523 and its impact on Japan–Ming relations, as well as the after-effects across East Asia as a whole. The chapter concludes with a survey of the booming maritime trade.

The riot of the three ports and Japan–Chosŏn relations Since the early fifteenth century, the three ports of Che-p’o, Pusan-p’o, and Yŏm-p’o off the southern coast of the Korean peninsula had been designated as ports where Japanese ships could moor, and many Japanese arrived in the ports. Among the Japanese who came to Chosŏn in this way, some, particularly those who came from Tsushima, stayed on to live in the three coastal areas. In Chosŏn, the Japanese living in Korea were called “resident Japanese” (K. hanggŏ Waein). The population of resident Japanese increased as the years progressed, totaling more than 3,000 people at its peak. More than ten Japanese Buddhist temples were constructed for their religious needs. The three coastal towns inhabited by resident Japanese took on the appearance of “Japan towns.” Most of the resident Japanese made their living as merchants

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or fishermen, but there were some who engaged in smuggling and illegal fishing. These, together with occasional bouts of aggression towards Koreans, became a source of worry for the Chosŏn government.1 During the reign of King Chungjong (r. 1506–44), the effects of political reform reached as far as the three ports and the officials in these coastal towns extended stricter controls over the Japanese living there. Despite the control efforts, some Japanese continued to behave belligerently. Reacting against suppressive measures by the Korean government, the Japanese residents of the three ports allied with the Sō family of Tsushima and staged an uprising that began on the fourth day of the fourth month of 1510. The uprising is known as the Riot of the Three Ports (K. Samp’o Waeran, J. Sanpo no ran).2 The allied army consisting of resident Japanese and Tsushima soldiers attacked the Pusan garrison and the Che-p’o garrison, either killing port officials or taking them hostage. The Korean government, however, easily suppressed this rebellion, and the resident Japanese escaped to Tsushima. At the end of the sixth month, the reunited allied army of resident Japanese and Tsushima soldiers mounted another attack on the Koreans at the port of Angol-p’o, east of Che-p’o, but this attack also ended in failure. The defeat at Angolp’o marked the end of the disturbance, and with it ended relations between Tsushima and Chosŏn. The problem was that the survival of Tsushima and the Sō family depended on relations with Chosŏn. The governor (J. shugo, tōshu) of Tsushima, for example, had enormous interests tied up with Chosŏn, because he had been allowed to dispatch fifty trade ships to Chosŏn each year as “annual ships” (K. segyŏnsŏn, J. saikensen), and to receive an annual subsidy from Chosŏn of 200 Korean sŏk worth of rice and soybeans. Aside from the annual ships, the governor could also send “Specially dispatched ships” (K. tŭksongsŏn, J. tokusōsen) in extraordinary circumstances. Deprived of all the access that they had enjoyed in the past as a result of the riot, the Sō became desperate to restore their connection with Chosŏn. Sō Saemon daibu oboegaki describes this state of affairs.3 The record shows how the Sō tried to make amends with Chosŏn through negotiations. Tsushima’s attempt to restore relations with Chosŏn began around the third month of 1511, a year after the disturbance in the three ports. On the eighth day of the fourth month of 1511, the Goshomaru, the embassy ship for the “King of Japan,” took on board an envoy from the “King of Japan” and three Koreans and departed Tsushima. The envoy was an impostor created by the Sō for the purpose of restoring relations. The three Koreans being repatriated had been captured by Japanese pirates, probably at the instigation of the Sō, but they were to be used as tokens of goodwill. In 1512, ships from the Shōni in northern Kyūshū, the “King of Japan” (Ashikaga shōgun), and the Ōuchi in western Honshū and Hakata, as well as “specially dispatched” ships from the Sō, sailed one after the other for Chosŏn. The envoys from the Shōni, the “King of Japan,” and the Ōuchi were impostors created by the Sō

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for the purpose of restoring relations. Watching this parade of arrivals, the Chosŏn government decided to make peace with Tsushima. Having no relations with Tsushima was a disadvantage to the Koreans, for they had come to rely on Tsushima to supply necessities such as pepper and sappanwood (red dye). The 1512 agreement (K. Imshin yakcho) resulted from a mutual rapprochement between Chosŏn and Tsushima. Although the Korean government drew up the 1512 agreement in the eighth month of that year, it was not brought to Tsushima for verification until the end of the year. The governor of Tsushima, Sō Yoshimori (1476–1520), did not receive the details of the agreement from his special envoy until the first month of 1513. Yoshimori, however, cared most about reviving the 1443 agreement (K. Kyehae yakcho) with its fifty ships, subsidy, and special envoys, and it was not until the seventh month of 1514 that he finally sent an annual trade ship to Chosŏn in accordance with the 1512 agreement, thereby accepting the Korean terms. The 1512 agreement consisted of nine articles.4 The following is a brief summary of the main points. 1 2 3 4 5

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Japanese residence in the three ports to be banned; the number of annual trade ships dispatched by the governor of Tsushima to Chosŏn to be halved to twenty-five; the annual subsidies of rice and soybeans to the governor of Tsushima to be halved to 100 sŏk; the abolition of specially dispatched ships from the governor of Tsushima; the cessation of annual rice and soybean subsidies to and annual ships from the son of the governor of Tsushima, the governor’s deputy (J. daikan), nominal Korean military post appointees (J. jushokunin), and personal seal recipients (J. jutoshonin); the reduction in the number of nominal Korean military post appointees and personal seal recipients based outside Tsushima (J. shinshowa) according to an investigation of the length of their contact with Chosŏn and their meritorious services; Japanese ships to be permitted anchorage only at Che-p’o.

The conditions set in this agreement were a harsh blow to the Sō whose trading privileges were reduced to one-half of what had been granted in the 1443 agreement. Not only that, but Japanese residence would no longer be permitted in the three ports and landings would be limited to only Che-p’o. For these reasons, negotiations by the Sō to recover lost privileges continued constantly throughout the sixteenth century. In order to recover lost privileges, the Sō continually sent envoys to Chosŏn. For example, the Sō retainer Uchiyama Saemonsa, sent in the ninth month of 1514, stated that pirate activity had been terminated and that the Sō had repatriated Korean castaways. He requested, in return, that Chosŏn restore

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the annual trade ships to the original number (50) and provide the rice and soybean subsidies for the past two or three years. The Koreans refused these requests.5 In the eleventh month of 1515, the Chosŏn government acknowledged the merits of the governor of Tsushima, who saw to the return of Korean castaways and offered incense for the dead, and permitted three annual trade ships from the governor’s son, Sō Morihide, and one annual trade ship from the district chief of Toyozaki-gun, Sō Moritoshi, who gave aid to Korean castaways.6 These grants for both Morihide and Moritoshi appear to have been made in response to requests made by the governor. However, the fact that Moritoshi had died in 1503 shows that this clearly was an impostor envoy. The creation of impostor envoys immediately after the conclusion of the 1512 agreement indicates from the outset what would become the basis of negotiations with Chosŏn. From that time onwards, the Sō composed envoys from the “King of Japan” and dispatched them to Chosŏn frequently. Impostor envoys from this period included the monks Nanko (1514), Daiin (1517), Ekishū (1521), Daigen (1522), Ichigaku (1523), and Keirin (1525), to name but a few.7 Among these envoys, Daigen and Ichigaku requested that the Korean government also receive the governor of Tsushima. Because these envoys are presumed to have been impostors, many others from the “King of Japan” can be considered fraudulent as well. At the same time, the Sō were providing reports to the Chosŏn government on the activities of pirates. For example, in the fourth month of 1516, the Sō informed the Koreans that a large band of pirates had attacked Ryūkyū and Ming China, and that they were about to encroach on Chosŏn territory.8 The Korean officials, however, did not yet trust this information. On the twenty-third day of the twelfth month of 1513, Governor Sō Yoshimori handed the following document to his retainer, Sō Daizen-nosuke:9 The benefice held by [your father] Izu-no-kami of Sago-gun, Tsushimakuni, was noted in a document issued by Sō Sadakuni and is confirmed. In addition, as benefice, you will receive annually a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] for one trade ship under [the name of the governor of Tsushima], a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] under the name of Chiba of Hizen with [his] travel permit fee, and a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] under your own name, and there shall be no deviations from this. 1513.12.23 Sō Yoshimori (seal) Sō Daizen-no-suke The Daizen-no-suke document demonstrates well the relationship between the Sō and Chosŏn, as well as the relationship with retainers immediately after the Riot of the Three Ports and the 1512 agreement re-opening relations with Chosŏn. The Izu-no-kami who appears in this document is Sō Daizenno-suke’s father, Sō Izu-no-kami Kuniyuki, who originally went by the name

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Sō Daizen-no-suke Kuniyuki, and who sometimes traveled to Chosŏn as the governor’s special envoy, and sometimes of his own accord. He is also known to have been dispatched as a special envoy during the period when Tsushima and Chosŏn were re-establishing relations following the Riot of the Three Ports. He died in Che-p’o in Korea. As a direct retainer of the Sō family in Fuchū (the provincial capital of Tsushima, today called Izuhara), Sō Daizenno-suke combined the dual roles of diplomat and trader during his lifetime. What draws our attention to this document is the fact that the following three privileges were recognized for Sō Daizen-no-suke: (1) an annual letter of introduction to Chosŏn for one ship from among the governor of Tsushima’s annual trade ships; (2) an annual letter of introduction for Chiba with his travel permit fee; and (3) a letter of introduction in his own name. Let us look at each of these in turn. In point (1), the Japanese text mentions kuninami (sometimes written as kunitsugu), which refers to the annual trade ships of the governor of Tsushima. The phrase, “annually a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] for one trade ship under [the name of the governor of Tsushima]” therefore indicates the privilege to maintain and manage one annual trade ship allowed to the governor. Here, we can see that Sō Yoshimori was granting one of his annual trade ships to his vassal as a feudatory stipend (J. chigyō). From other sources we know that between 1504 and 1520, Sō Daizen-nosuke (whose family name later changed to Yoshiga) received privileges to an annual trade ship only in alternate years.10 In contrast to the privilege apparently granted by Yoshimori in 1513, actual access to trade ships decreased by one-half from 1513 to 1581. The second point – “one letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] under the name of Chiba of Hizen with [his] travel permit fee” – meant that the governor gave Sō Daizen-no-suke contact privileges with Chosŏn in the name of Chiba of Hizen. According to Haedong chegukki,11 the Chosŏn government extended permission to Chiba Mototane of Hizen Province to send one trade ship every year. The first ship was dispatched in 1459, but it is conceivable that this privilege to travel to Chosŏn was passed on to the Sō at some point, or that he held this privilege from the beginning. The envoys dispatched by Chiba Mototane, either from the beginning or from some later time, would have been impostor envoys from Tsushima. Sō Daizen Kuniyuki travelled to Chosŏn on two occasions with Chiba Mototane in 1484 and 1492,12 and so we can presume that in 1484, at the least, the contact privilege was exercised by So Daizen Kuniyuki. “[T]ravel permit fee” is the governor of Tsushima’s fee for issuing a travel permit (K. mun’in) to Chiba. The governor, therefore, waived this administrative cost when Sō Daizen-no-suke dispatched an annual ship in the name of Chiba. After the Riot of the Three Ports, the Chiba annual trade ship was suspended by the 1512 agreement. The fact that no trade missions were sent in the name of Chiba in Chōsen sōshi kunitsugu no shokei oboe suggests that contact never resumed. This confirms that in 1513, despite receiving Sō Yoshimori’s approval and confirmation, the contact privilege had become null and void.

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Point (3), “a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] under your own name,” refers to landing permission based on the contact privilege held by the house of Sō Daizen-no-suke. From 1478, Sō Kuniyuki sent envoys to Chosŏn almost every year, and from 1484 he often sent two missions per year. We may surmise from this that Chosŏn granted Kuniyuki one annual trade ship before 1478, and the number increased to a maximum of two after 1484. Because there is no evidence that Kuniyuki’s personal seal (K. tosŏ) was renewed for his son Daizen-no-suke, the “your” in the document refers to his father, Sō Kuniyuki. However, according to the 1512 agreement, contact with Chosŏn by Tsushima islanders, with the exception of the governor, was completely annulled, which would have included Kuniyuki’s privileges. In other words, “a letter [of introduction to Chosŏn] under your own name” was the Sō Daizenno-suke house privilege, which, in reality, had lost its validity. In this manner, the governor of Tsushima conferred upon his retainers various privileges to conduct diplomatic relations with Chosŏn, but the majority of these grants had become invalid under the 1512 agreement. Perhaps documents like this could be interpreted as Yoshimori making promises to negotiate for the restoration of the old privileges. On the other hand, the conferral of one ship out of the Tsushima governor’s reduced fleet of annual trade ships was probably because the Sō Daizen-no-suke house had lost all other contact privileges with Chosŏn. In short, the Riot of the Three Ports brought devastating consequences to Tsushima. To escape from this wretched plight, there were only two things that could be done – enter into negotiations with Chosŏn over the restoration of the former privileges and manufacture vast numbers of impostor envoys. Following the 1512 agreement, the governors of Tsushima concentrated their efforts on negotiating with Chosŏn to restore the trading privileges that Tsushima islanders, beginning with the Sō, enjoyed before the outbreak of the Riot of the Three Ports.13 To achieve this aim, the Sō frequently dispatched their impostor envoys, in the guise of the Shōgun’s envoys (“King of Japan”), to negotiate with Chosŏn. The result was that in 1525, the number of the governor’s annual trade ships was increased by five, to thirty ships. In 1544, however, Chosŏn was raided by Tsushima islanders in “the Saryang incident,” and the relationship between Tsushima and Chosŏn was once again severed. Negotiations were finally settled in 1547 with a new agreement. The outcome of the 1547 agreement was that the number of annual trade ships for the governor was again reduced to twenty-five. When Japanese raiders struck Tallyang in 1555 (also known in Korea as the Ŭlmyo Waebyŏn or Tallyang Waebyŏn), Chosŏn started to take the governor of Tsushima’s warnings of pirates more seriously.14 In 1557 yet another new agreement came into force, and the court added five more ships for the governor, bringing the total again to thirty. There was a long way to go before the fifty ships permitted by the 1443 agreement could be reached again, and Japanese residency in the three ports was still forbidden. It was obvious that negotiations alone to restore the

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governor’s privileges had limits. The Sō thus turned their attention to Japanese contacts living outside Tsushima and negotiated vigorously through impostor shōgunal envoys for the restoration of contact privileges. As a result, Chosŏn admitted contact for ten Japanese in 1563, and twelve in 1567.15 The contact privileges attained in this manner often resulted in being handed over as benefice privileges to the Sō’s retainers. In appearance, the situation was no different from the fifteenth century when contact with Chosŏn was made by the “King of Japan” (Ashikaga shōgun), officials of the Muromachi bakufu, and provincial elites, but, in reality, only the governor of Tsushima and his retainers dispatched envoys to Chosŏn. This tendency towards a Tsushima monopoly that used impostors started appearing in the mid fifteenth century, becoming more common after the 1512 agreement, and even more pronounced by the mid sixteenth century.

The Ningbo disturbance and East Asia In the history of Japan–Ming China relations in the sixteenth century, two incidents stand out as having had the same impact as the Riot of the Three Ports in Japan–Chosŏn relations. These were the Ningbo disturbance of 1523 and the breakdown of the tally trade in the mid sixteenth century. The Ningbo disturbance was a riot by Japanese who took part in the seventeenth tribute mission to Ming China, and it was so called because the riot broke out in the trade port of Ningbo. The cause of the riot is usually attributed to a struggle between the Hosokawa and the Ōuchi over leadership of the tally trade with Ming China.16 In the sixteenth tribute mission, ships number one and three were the Ōuchi’s, and ship number two was the Hosokawa’s. Each ship carried a Hongzhi tally, and the fleet left Japan in 1506, reaching China in 1511. Unhappy with this arrangement, the Hosokawa prepared a different ship to be captained by the Ming-born Song Suqing and dispatched it to China. This ship arrived before the official tribute ships and returned to Japan in 1510. The official tribute ships returned to Japan in 1512 with the new Zhengde tallies, but the Ōuchi decided to hold these and never presented them to the Muromachi bakufu. Such subterfuges laid the foundation for the eventual outbreak of the Ningbo rebellion. Shortly thereafter, the Hosokawa and the Ōuchi went about planning independent diplomatic missions to Ming China. Three Ōuchi ships reached China in the fourth month of 1523, carrying the Zhengde tallies that they had secured on their last mission. The Hosokawa, on the other hand, managed to obtain the older Hongzhi tallies from the bakufu, and their ships entered China a little later than the Ōuchi fleet. Despite their later arrival, Song Suqing, who had sailed with the Hosokawa, bribed the Ningbo officials so that the goods on his ship could be unloaded and checked first. He also made arrangements for the head envoy of the Hosokawa tribute mission to be placed at the primary

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seat for the welcome dinner in the reception hall. The Ōuchi envoys became enraged, killed the Hosokawa’s head envoy, burned their ships, and generally caused havoc in and around Ningbo. They also captured Ming officials, stole ships, and returned home. This was the Ningbo disturbance. Following the incident, Ming China tightened its controls on Japanese tribute missions. In the sixth month of 1523, shortly after the outbreak of the Ningbo disturbance, Chosŏn received news of the incident through the Sō.17 In the eighth month, Chosŏn returned the Chinese prisoners captured by the Japanese in Ningbo, and presented to Ming China the Japanese in their possession, including a certain Nakabayashi and others. In the fourth month of 1525, the shōgun Ashikaga Yoshiharu’s (1511–50) envoy arrived in Chosŏn and requested Chosŏn to inform Ming China that the Chinese prisoners captured in the Ningbo disturbance would be repatriated in the following year aboard a Japanese tribute ship. In the sixth month of the same year, Ming China ordered the King of Ryūkyū to send a message to the “King of Japan,” telling him to hand over the Ōuchi’s head envoy, Sōsetsu, and return the Chinese prisoners taken to Japan. An envoy from Ryūkyū arrived in Japan with this command in 1527 bringing a state letter from the emperor of Ming China. Yoshiharu wrote a reply to the emperor and entrusted it to the Ryūkyū envoy. Regarding these developments, the Ōuchi, as the interested party, informed Ryūkyū that the Ōuchi should be the ones to deliver the emperor’s state letter to the “King of Japan.” Furthermore, in 1528, the Ōuchi sent a monk-envoy to Chosŏn, requesting Chosŏn to forward Ming captives on to China, but Chosŏn refused to comply with this request. As we can see, the aftermath of the Ningbo disturbance was different from the aftermath of the Riot of the Three Ports. In addition to Japan and Ming China, the concerned parties, the incident also came to involve Ryūkyū and Chosŏn. The different countries of East Asia, each taking on different roles, participated in the resolution of the affair. Ming China was at the center of the civilized–barbarian order, but this event is an important illustration of how the individual countries interacted closely during the aftermath of the Ningbo incident. Although the Ōuchi took complete control of the eighteenth and nineteenth tribute missions to Ming China, with the death of Ōuchi Yoshitaka in 1551 (b. 1507), the tally trade with Ming China came to a halt. Almost simultaneously, the activities of the Chinese “maritime traders,” or the so-called latter-period Japanese pirates (J. kōki wakō), increased. Arano Yasunori uses the expression “piratical circumstances” (J. wakō-teki jōkyō) to describe the various phenomena that sprang up along the network of sea routes from East Asia down into Southeast Asia from the middle of the sixteenth century to the end of the seventeenth century.18 He raises three points as main factors that contributed to the development of this situation: (1) the boom in trade from the meeting of smugglers and Chinese mainland merchants; (2) the sudden increase in silver production in Japan after the 1530s; and (3) the arrival of Europeans (particularly the Portuguese). Another feature of the “piratical circumstances”

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19

was the coexistence of people of different ethnicities. The phrases “piratical circumstances” and “multi-ethnic mixed residence” (J. shominzoku zakkyo) have become commonly accepted descriptors for the social situation of the late sixteenth century, but we await their further clarification. Just as Wang Zhi was deeply involved in the introduction of firearms to Japan through Tanegashima,19 Chinese maritime traders operated extensively throughout the area. Their activity in Japan appears to have intensified from around 1542 onwards. In 1548, when the Ming Chinese army destroyed Shuangyu Harbor, which had been used as the Chinese maritime traders’ headquarters, Wang Zhi escaped to Japan. Using the islands and harbors around Gotō and Hirado as a base, he and others engaged in smuggling and piracy. Their activity was not restricted to Kyūshū; they operated along the coasts of the Sea of Japan and even reached the Kantō region. This was probably a period during which domestic circulation was closely linked to larger Asian trading systems as had never been seen before. For example, the vast amount of Chinese pottery, dating from the second half of the sixteenth century, which has been found all over Japan, speaks volumes about the vigor of trade activities. In the first half of the sixteenth century, silver was mined in vast quantities following the development of the Iwami silver mines by a merchant from Hakata. As a result, silver coins circulated as currency within Japan and were carried to Korea and China by Japanese merchants and Chinese maritime traders.20 Even on Tsushima, silver was widely circulated. For example, in 1567, the governor of Tsushima collected silver from his own vassals when conducting the negotiations with Chosŏn over restoring privileges for nonTsushima Japanese contacts, and from 1572 onwards, the Sō collected silver as payment for measuring the length of envoy ships heading for Chosŏn from Waniura, a harbor in northern Tsushima.21 In addition to the boom in the circulation of goods brought about by the Japanese merchants and Chinese maritime traders, we can add another, vital, new component: the arrival of the Europeans. The maritime world stretching from East Asia to Southeast Asia entered an age of extremely close economic relations as various elements became enmeshed in complicated ways.

Conclusion This chapter will conclude by suggesting the preconditions of the Imjin Waeran. Economically, East Asia of the second half of the sixteenth century was extremely tightly bound. It is conceivable that, during this period, some regular form of interaction at the non-elite or mass level was maintained and mutual understanding developed. However, the deepening of that understanding was rarely recorded in written texts and disseminated more broadly. If we look at the relations between countries, the severance of official connections is striking. These included the breakdown of relations between

20

Saeki Kōji

Japan and Ming China, the ruination of relations between Japan and Chosŏn because of the systemic creation of impostor envoys, and the attenuation of relations between Japan and Ryūkyū. These failures brought about a decline in mutual understanding between countries. It is true that, following the intensification of activities by the latter-period Japanese pirates, an interest in Japan increased and Chinese publications about Japan increased, but the contents of these documents lack variety and display great uniformity.22 Leaving aside the debates over the immediate causes of the Imjin Waeran, for the countries of East Asia there is no denying that the breakdown in the exchange of knowledge among the ruling classes brought about by the severance and attenuation of relations posed a likely contribution to the outbreak of war.

Notes Translated by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne with James B. Lewis. 1 Murai Shōsuke, Chūsei Wajin den, 1993, pp. 79–126. 2 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Sanpo,” Vol. 1, 1965, pp. 627–728. 3 Tanaka Takeo, Taigai kankei, 1982, pp. 550–9. 4 Nakamura Hidetaka, Nissen, Vol. 1, 1965, pp. 194–5. 5 Chungjong shillok, 20:60a (1514.9.27). 6 Chungjong shillok, 23:34b (1515.11.18). 7 Nakamura Hidetaka, Nihon to Chōsen, 1966, pp. 98–9. 8 Chungjong shillok, 24:41b–43a (1516.4.17). 9 Goumamawari onhanmotsu hikae, 5. 10 Tanaka Takeo, Taigai kankei, 1982, pp. 560–623 (“Chōsen sōshi kunitsugi shokei oboe”). 11 Tanaka Takeo (trans.), Kaitō shokokuki, 1991, p. 180. 12 Sŏngjong shillok, 163:7a (1484.2.9); Sŏngjong shillok, 263:21b (1492.3.21). 13 Nakamura Hidetaka, Nihon to Chōsen, 1966, pp. 166–72. 14 Saeki Kōji, “Jūroku seiki,” 1997, pp. 34–7. 15 Yonetani Hitoshi, “Jūroku,” 1997, pp. 2–3. 16 Kashiwara Shōzō, “Nichi-Min kangō,” 1914 (25): 9–11; 1915 (26:2–3): 2–3; Kobata Atsushi, Chūsei, 1969, pp. 129–58. See Map 1. 17 Taigai kankeishi, 1999, p. 490. 18 Arano Yasunori, “Nihon-gata,” 1987, pp. 183–226. 19 Murai Shōsuke, Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon, 1997. 20 Murai Shōsuke, Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon, 1997. 21 Osa Masanori, “Chōsen sōshi,” 1964, pp. 104–16. 22 Translator’s note: Chinese official and popular depictions of the Japanese were filled with stories of the horrors visited on Chinese by the Japanese pirates: pillage, rape, death, and destruction at the hands of “lawless rouges,” “cunning barbarians,” “sharks,” and “water demons.” See Wang, “Realistic and fantastic images of ‘Dwarf Pirates,’” 2002.

References Arano Yasunori (荒野泰典). “Nihon-gata kai chitsujo no keisei (日本型華夷秩序の形 成),” in Asao, Naohiro (朝尾直弘) et al., eds., Nihon no shakaishi 1: Rettō naigai no kōtsū to kokka (日本の社会史１列島内外の交通と国家). Tōkyō: Iwanami Shoten, 1987, pp. 183–226.

Japanese–Korean and Japanese–Chinese relations

21

Chungjong shillok (中宗実録). Goumamawari onhanmotsu hikae (御馬廻御判物控), private collection of Yoshiga Heiuemon (吉賀兵右衛門所持). Kashiwara Shōzō (栢原昌三). “Nichi-Min kangō bōeki ni okeru Hosokawa – Ōuchi nishi no kōsō (日明勘合貿易に於ける細川 ዘ大内二氏の抗争),” Shigaku zasshi (史学雑誌) 25:9 (1914): 1128–72; 25:10 (1914): 1237–65; 25:11 (1914): 1414–47; 26:2 (1915): 172–201; 16:3 (1915): 301–37. Kobata Atsushi (小葉田淳). Chūsei Nis-Shi tsūkō bōekishi no kenkyū (中世日支通交 貿易史の研究). Tōkyō: Toko Shoin, 1969. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). Chūsei Wajin den (中世倭人伝). Tōkyō: Iwanami Shoten, 1993. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon (海から見た戦国日本). Tōkyō: Chikuma Shobō, 1997. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村栄孝). “Sanpo ni okeru Wajin no sōran (三浦における倭 人の争乱),” in Nakamura, Hidetaka (中村栄孝), Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū (日鮮 関係史の研究上), Vol. 1. Tōkyō: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1965. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村栄孝). Nihon to Chōsen (日本と朝鮮). Tōkyō: Chibundō, 1966. Osa Masanori (長正統). “Chōsen sōshi kunitsugu no shokei oboe no shiryō-teki seikaku (「朝鮮送使国次之書契覚」の史料的性格),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮学報) 33 (1964): 104–16. Saeki Kōji (佐伯弘次). “Jūroku seiki ni okeru kōki wakō no katsudō to Tsushima Sō-shi” (一六世紀における後期倭寇の活動と対馬宗氏),” in Nakamura, Tadashi (中村質編), ed., Sakoku to kokusai kankei (鎖国と国際関係). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1997, pp. 34–7. Sŏngjong shillok (成宗実録). Taigai kankeishi sōgō nenpyō henshū iinkai, ed. (対外関係史総合年表編集委員 会編). Taigai kankeishi sōgō nenpyō (対外関係史総合年表). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1999. Tanaka Takeo (translator and annotator) (田中健夫訳注). Kaitō shokokuki: Chōsenjin no mita chūsei no Nihon to Ryūkyū (海東諸国紀: 朝鮮人のみた中世の日本と琉球). Tōkyō: Iwanami Shoten, 1991. Tanaka Takeo (田中健夫). “Chōsen sōshi kunitsugi shokei oboe (朝鮮送使国次書契 覚),” in Tanaka, Takeo (田中健夫), Taigai kankei to bunka kōryū (対外関係と文化 交流). Kyōto: Shibunkaku, 1982, pp. 560–623. Tanaka Takeo (田中健夫). Taigai kankei to bunka kōryū (対外関係と文化交流). Kyōto: Shibunkaku, 1982. Wang, Yong. “Realistic and Fantastic Images of ‘Dwarf Pirates’: The Evolution of Ming Dynasty Perceptions of the Japanese,” in Joshua A. Fogel, ed., Sagacious Monks and Bloodthirsty Warriors: Chinese Views of Japan in the Ming–Qing Period. Norwalk, CT: EastBridge, 2002, pp. 17–41. Yonetani Hitoshi (米谷均). “Jūroku seiki Nit-Chō kankei ni okeru gishi haken no kōzō to jittai (16世紀日朝関係における偽使派遣の構造と実態),” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴史学研究) 697 (1997): 1–18, 62.

2

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation and relations with Japan Han Moon Jong (韓文鍾)

Introduction The Imjin Waeran, as a planned invasion of Chosŏn by Japan, was not just a war between Chosŏn and Japan. It took on the character of an East Asian war that expanded to involve Ming China. The result of the war saw the collapse of the Toyotomi regime in Japan and the appearance of the Edo bakufu. It was also a war that led to Ming’s slow decline on the Chinese continent, with its disbursement of heavy war expenditures, and to the opportunity for the displacement of the Ming by the Qing as Manchurian Jurchens expanded. As the war continued over seven years on the Korean peninsula, the land was devastated, lives were lost, and the country suffered severe damage politically, economically, socially, and culturally with the theft and loss of the products of civilization. In these ways, the Imjin Waeran brought enormous changes to the domestic and foreign circumstances of Korea, Japan, and China. In particular, this event visited such repercussions on Chosǒn society as to divide the Chosǒn period into the period before the war (early Chosŏn) and the period after the war (late Chosŏn). Studies of the Imjin Waeran have mainly focused on the causes of the war and the activities of the “righteous soldiers” or guerrillas (K. ŭibyŏng) and the navy, including Yi Sunshin. On the other hand, studies of the relations between Korea and Japan prior to the war and the causes for the initial defeat are few. Therefore, to acquire a composite understanding, it is necessary to examine the domestic situation in Chosŏn and the process of change in relations between Korea and Japan from the time of the Riot of the Three Ports (K. Samp’o Waeran) in 1510, when relations began to decline, to the eve of the war. The following will first look at the Korean domestic situation before the outbreak of the Imjin Waeran for relevant political, social, and economic changes. Next, I will turn to the background factors in the sudden rise after the Riot of the Three Ports in the number of impostors who falsely presented themselves as envoys of the Japanese king and consider the true identities of these fraudulent envoys. Finally, I will discuss the Chosǒn government’s defensive measures against a Japanese invasion on the eve of the outbreak of

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

23

the war and examine the causes of the government army’s crushing defeat by the Japanese army in the early stages of the war.

The domestic situation prior to the Imjin Waeran In late-fifteenth-century Chosǒn, contradictions within the yangban bureaucratic order began to cause problems. Socio-economic changes appeared with the collapse of the Rank Land Law (K. Kwajŏnbŏp), the expansion of private landholding, the intensification of contradictions within the circulation of commodities and the tax system (K. kongnapche), the collapse of the military service system (K. kunyŏk chedo), and the development of foreign trade and discord with foreigners. As commoner farmers sank deeper and deeper into ruin and the political order fragmented into factional dispute, none of these problems saw solution. Economically, the Rank Land Law collapsed, and land management that had operated through assigned rent collection rights based on social class (K. sujo’gwŏn) began to change into land management based on ownership (K. soyu’gwŏn). Yangban officials enlarged their private holdings by acquiring agricultural estates through various means. Especially after the abolishment in the mid sixteenth century of the Office Land Law (K. chikchŏnbŏp) that had granted office-holders tax collection rights, the growth of land ownership by yangban officials became considerable and expanded throughout the entire country beginning with the provinces of Chŏlla, Kyŏngsang, and Ch’ungch’ŏng. The yangban officials cultivated their land by farming themselves, or by managing farmland through unfree labor (K. nobi) and tenant farmers (K. chŏnho). The result of the expansion of private holdings was that social divergence appeared in the sixteenth century when self-sufficient, freeborn, commoner farmers increasingly faced ruin, and either abandoned their farmlands or sold their land and were degraded to the status of tenant farmers. In addition, abuses in the tribute tax system and disorder in the military service further hastened the disintegration of the small-scale, freeborn, farming class.1 The expansion of plantations and the collapse of the farming class brought about changes in the tribute tax and military service systems. The tribute tax system, which imposed levies on special regional products from the provinces, was a heavy burden on the farming class. Moreover, with the practice of “indirect payment” (K. pangnap), where intermediary merchants delivered tribute goods to the state and then collected the cost from the farmers, the farmers’ burden became all the more onerous. The practice of indirect payment, which began in the mid fifteenth century, became especially prevalent with the growth and development of the distribution economy in the sixteenth century. Abuse of the tribute tax system reached an extreme when powerful central officials and merchants conspired with local magistrates to commit fraud. In order to redress this abuse, a scheme to collect rice in lieu

24

Han Moon Jong

of tribute levies was discussed, the Uniform Land Tax Law (K. Taedongbŏp), but the reform was not established until the seventeenth century, after the Imjin Waeran.2 In commerce, agricultural production increased with improvements in agricultural technology, including fertilization methods and irrigation. As product distribution became more active, markets expanded in the provinces, and by the mid-sixteenth century a national distribution network took shape. Together with these developments, the transition to a monetized economy began. At the time, bolts of cotton cloth were the most general means of exchange. However, with a surge in the demand for cotton, the quality fell, and rice began to be used as a means of exchange.3 These economic changes not only promoted the development and growth of domestic commerce and industry, but also provided the setting for active foreign trade with China and Japan. Moreover, with the expansion of markets and the growth of a distribution economy, the number of farmers who left farmlands and became merchants increased. With these socio-economic changes, extreme unrest within the military service system also emerged in the sixteenth century. In the military service system of the early Chosǒn period, only freeborn commoners served, in accordance with social status. Because of the recognition of soldier-farmers (K. pyŏngnong ilch’ije) and the system whereby a taxpayer supported a duty soldier (K. pongjokche), soldiers received tax support while farming in various regions and serving as duty soldiers or guards. This military service system, however, became increasingly disorganized with the Paired Provisioner System (K. pobŏp) introduced at the time of King Sejo (r. 1455–68) that organized mutual support among two or three able-bodied men who supported each other as they were called up in turn. The result was that farmers ran away to avoid the burden of compulsory military service and passed the burden on to their families or neighbors to fill the quotas for duty, and these people, in turn, ran away. The disorganization in the military service system was exacerbated by the growing practice of assigning guardsmen, conscript duty soldiers, and sailors to other compulsory corvée labor, such as engineering work and construction, which differed from their original duties. Thus, from the end of the fifteenth century, military service became merely another form of compulsory corvée labor. Consequently, the sup’o taeripche, a system in which conscripted soldiers hired others for a fixed sum of cloth to stand corvée service in their place, became a common practice. However, the price for corvée labor substitution skyrocketed in the sixteenth century and bad cloth of poor quality was being used, which led to the further ruin of those responsible for military service. At this point, an adjustment was made that established the panggun sup’oje, a system in which the government collected cloth directly for central duty conscripts, and exempted the payers from their corvée duties. This system eventually became widespread among the land garrison forces and naval forces in the provinces. However, in the process of enforcing collection, many abuses took place, including provincial army

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

25

and navy officials coercing payments to fill their own purses.4 As a result, the number of soldiers decreased, military capacity declined, and the provincial armies became lax. The garrison-command structure that had focused on fortified points (K. chin’gwan ch’eje) – the basis of the early Chosŏn national defense structure – became merely a paper institution.5 The political world developed a confrontational style. The sarim, or NeoConfucian literati, who emerged as a new political force within the flow of these social and economic changes, tried to promote various reform measures to resolve conflict and construct an ideal Confucian society. In the process of establishing themselves, the sarim clashed with the Merit Subjects (K. hun’gu), and four literati purges (K. sahwa) took place over the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries. Among them, the Literati Purge of 1519 (K. kimyo sahwa) was a political event in which the Merit Subjects who had backed the coup d’état that placed King Chungjong on the throne in 1506 were driven into a corner by a critical censorate and retaliated by expelling Cho Kwangjo and the sarim from central governing circles. Despite this apparent setback, the sarim’s power was not on the wane. They retreated to regions outside the capital and worked at diffusing village codes (K. hyangyak) and constructing private academies (K. sŏwŏn). They laid a foundation for power by spreading their influence. After the Literati Purge of 1545 (K. ŭlsa sahwa), the sarim began to reappear in central political circles, and by the time of King Sŏnjo’s reign (r. 1567–1608) they succeeded in seizing political leadership. In 1575, the sarim divided into two factions of Easterners and Westerners, and intense factional struggle blossomed. With the eruption of the Kŏnjŏ Affair (K. kŏnjŏŭi sagŏn, Chŏng Ch’ŏl’s proposal in 1591 for designating an heir for the heirless King Sŏnjo), the Easterner faction divided into sub-factions of Southerners and Northerners, thereby further atomizing the political scene. Factional politics may have contained aspects of governance that reflected diversity of views, something akin to public consensus, and mutual checks on each party, but it also enabled exclusive and self-righteous political behavior. The sixteenth century thus saw a number of socio-economic changes and political developments that militated against accruing state revenues, strengthening the military, and centralizing power, three steps that might have helped the Chosŏn state organize an effective defense against the Japanese. Although markets in the provinces developed and trade with foreign countries became active with the increase in agricultural production and the elaboration of distribution networks, the expansion of agricultural estates ruined the peasantry, and the lives of farmers became increasingly destitute with increasing abuses visited on them from the tribute tax and military service systems. Moreover, with continuous droughts and floods and outbursts of epidemic diseases, farmers lost their homes, wandered aimlessly, or became thieves on a large scale like Im Kkŏkchŏng, who was active in King Myŏngjong’s time (r. 1545–67). Agricultural communities, which had formed the base of the country’s finances, became increasingly desolate as time went on. As a result,

26

Han Moon Jong

the store of rice in the Three Granaries (K. samch’ang) or the total government stores, which had amounted to 2,300,000 sŏk under King Chungjong (r. 1506–44), was depleted to only a little over 500,000 sǒk just before the Imjin Waeran.6 Adding to the general travail, public confidence declined as insecurity spread and fear was aroused among the people from wild rumors about the increasing number of raids by Japanese pirates after the Riot of the Three Ports in 1510.

The degeneration of envoys from the king of Japan and impostors In the early Chosǒn period, the Chosǒn king and the Muromachi shōgun entered into exemplary “good neighbor” relations (K. kyorin kwan’gye); envoys were exchanged on a regular basis and friendly relations were maintained. Chosǒn sent envoys carrying the titles of Hoeryesa, Pobingsa, and T’ongshinsa to the bakufu on eighteen occasions, most of which took place in the beginning of the Chosǒn dynasty, during the reigns of King T’aejong (r. 1400–18) and King Sejong (r. 1418–50). Table 2.1 lists the embassies exchanged between the two central governments from the end of the fourteenth century to the beginning of the seventeenth century. Among the eighteen official trips, only thirteen were successful journeys to the capital of Kyōto, while five had to be suspended en route to the capital due to typhoons, envoys’ illness, unstable Japanese domestic conditions, or danger on the journey route. Before the outbreak of the Imjin Waeran, the last official trip made by a Chosǒn royal envoy to Kyōto, excluding Hwang Yun’gil’s journey in 1590–1, was Pyǒn Hyomun’s visit in 1443, nearly a century-and-ahalf earlier. On the other hand, the bakufu sent Japanese envoys (from the king of Japan) to the king of Chosǒn seventy times. These occasions were concentrated during the reigns of Kings T’aejong, Sejong, and after Sǒngjong (r. 1469–94). The aim of the Japanese envoys’ visits most often consisted of maintaining friendly relations, requesting the Tripitaka, and seeking support for Buddhist temples. However, the objectives changed after the Riot of the Three Ports in 1510. The new objectives involved appeals for pardon so as to restore relations with Chosǒn and requests for the reinstatement of annual trading ships (K. segyŏnsŏn) and the ships granted to office-holders (K. sujik) and seal-holders (K. sudosŏsŏn). Degeneration of envoys from the king of Japan began around the eighth month of 1470 when Hosokawa and Ise falsely used the title “king” and sent envoys to Chosǒn to request war funds. The fact that these had been impostor envoys who misrepresented themselves as royal envoys was revealed when an actual envoy from the shōgun was sent to Chosǒn in 1474.7 The reasons behind the appearance of impostors who posed as envoys of the Japanese king from around 1470 were related to a variety of factors. As a result of rising levels of violence in Japanese domestic politics, there was disorder on the Japanese side and no possibility of control. The Chosǒn government increasingly lacked information on Japan that would have identified

7

0

1

Note: Numbers inside parentheses indicate aborted embassies.

Sources: Chosŏn wangjo shillok, Zenrin kokuhōki.

5 (1)

1 (1)

10

0

0

1 (1)

7

0

2 (2)

9

0

4

0

12

0

1

0

12

From the 0 king of Japan From the 1 king of Korea

1

Yejong Sŏngjong YŏnChung- Injong 1468–9 1469–94 san’gun jong 1544–5 1494–1506 1506–44

Reigns of T’aejo Chŏngjong T’aejong Sejong Munjong Tanjong Sejo Korean 1392–8 1398–1400 1400–18 1418–50 1450–2 1452–5 1455–68 kings

Table 2.1 Korean and Japanese embassies

0

8

1

5

18 (5)

70

Myŏngjong Sŏnjo Total 1545–67 1567–1608

28

Han Moon Jong

fraud. In particular, as Chosǒn no longer successfully sent envoys to Kyōto after Pyǒn Hyomun’s official trip in 1443, the Chosǒn court was unable to procure accurate information on the domestic situation of Japan. It is probable that this lack of intelligence opened opportunities for the dispatch of impostor envoys to Chosǒn. Finally, of course, there was the attraction of the special treatment given to envoys from the king of Japan. After the 1470 incident, the impersonation of Japanese royal envoys emerged again around the time of the Riot of the Three Ports. While it had been usually the attendants of the shōgun or powerful clans in mainland Japan who sent impostor envoys before the riot, it was the governor of Tsushima who often dispatched impostors after the riot. After the riot, with the severing and restoration of relations, contact between the two countries declined and multiple restrictions were placed on Tsushima’s contacts with Chosŏn. As a way to escape these restrictions, Tsushima sent impostors posing as envoys from the king of Japan, because royal envoys were free of controls and allowed to travel without restriction in Chosǒn, and they received lavish receptions. There are twenty-six cases of envoys from the king of Japan over the eighty years between 1511 and 1591 that can be identified through documents (Table 2.2). In 1512, 1522, 1545, and 1546, the Japanese royal envoys were accompanied by special envoys from the governor of Tsushima (K. tŭksong, J. tokusō) or by envoys (K. sasong, J. shisō) from powerful lords in northern Kyūshū and western Japan, the Shōni and the Ōuchi (Table 2.2: Nos. 2, 6, 13, and 14). There were many instances of a Tsushima person being the envoy or vice-envoy. The envoy in five cases from 1542 to 1552 was Anshin, who was a monk from Seizanji temple in Fuchū (Izuhara) on Tsushima. From 1556 to 1591, on seven occasions, Keitetsu Genso, from the Iteian temple in Izuhara was the envoy or vice-envoy, again a Tsushima person. Aside from these, we see the names Yanagawa Shigenobu, Tachibana Yashuhiro, and Tachibana Yasutoshi, all Tsushima people. From these cases, we can see that Tsushima was deeply involved. Because of their facility with Chinese and non-threatening demeanor, Buddhist monks were often emissaries. Kyōshi Bankō, who was the envoy in 1463, supervised foreign diplomacy with Chosŏn at the request of the Tsushima lords Sō Shigemoto and Sō Sadakuni. The result was that, following Bankō, monks of the Musō sect and the Kazōmon sect often operated as impostor envoys, posing as envoys from the king of Japan.8 Later on, we should take note of two monks of the Rinzai Genjū Zen sect. Genso appeared in Chosŏn as a Japanese royal envoy on seven occasions between 1556 and 1591. Genpō, from the Iteian temple in Izuhara, managed foreign relations with Chosǒn for Tsushima until the outbreak of the Yanagawa Forgery Affair in 1635 (J. Yanagawa ikken).9 From these facts, it is evident that the people who acted as Japanese royal envoys were Zen monks of the Rinzai Zen sect and monks from Tsushima. As the Zen monks of the Rinzai sect were working as diplomat monks for the

1511. 4–10

1512. 4–9

1514. 11–1515. 3?

1517. 5–8

1521. 4–7?

1522. 2–6

2

3

4

5

6

King of Japan (日本國王)

Daigen Tōdō (大原東堂)

Ishū Seidō (易宗西堂)

Taiin (太蔭)

Japan (日本國)

King of Japan (日本國王)

Nanko seidō (南湖西堂)

Chūseidō (中西堂)

Japan (日本國)

King of Japan (日本國王)

Chūseidō (中西堂)

Envoy

Japan (日本國)

Year. month Authority of embassy

1

No.

Ship captain and other available information

Taishuku (台叔)

Keisetsu Shuza (景雪首座)

20 people

Sō Shigenobu (宗茂信)

Gekkō (月江) 16 people

Vice-Envoy

Table 2.2 Embassies from the king of Japan to Chosŏn (1510–92)

Accompanied the Specially Dispatched Ships of the Island Lord; concluded the Imshin Agreement in the eighth month Permitted aid and trade in copper and iron

Notes

Request additional Annual Ships, aid, Sō Shigenobu (宗茂信) reinstated to office, and permission for copper and iron in the private trade Request Koreana Tripitaka, Bestowed one set of the aid, and repatriate Koreana Tripitaka; castaways repatriated castaways; bestowed 200 bolts [of cloth] Request re-opening of ports Re-opening of Pusan harbor in the eighth month Accompany Shōni and Enter into friendly Tsushima envoys relations with Tsushima, extradition of two leaders of the 1510 Riot of the Three Ports, request for cotton

Request peace, repatriate captives, mediation for tribute to Ming Peace negotiations, offer the heads of 18 Japanese pirates

Purpose

Envoy

Vice-Envoy

1525. 4–9?

1528. 10–1529. 5

1537. King of Japan 1–1537. 4 (日本國王)

1542. 4–9

1543. King of Japan, 3–1544. 1 Minamoto Yoshiharu (日本國王源 義晴)

8

9

10

11

12

King of Japan (日本國王)

King of Japan (日本國王)

1523. 5–9?

Jujiku Tōdō (受竺東堂)

Anshin Tōdō (安心東堂)

Ichigaku Tōdō (一鶚 東堂) Tōun (東雲) Tōyō Tōdō (東陽東堂)

Keien (稽圓)

Gyōfu Seidō King of Japan, Ichigaku (堯甫西堂) Minamoto Tōdō (一鶚 Yoshiharu (日 東堂) Tōun 本國王源義 (東雲) 晴) King of Japan, Keirin Tōdō Minamoto (景林東堂) Yoshiharu (日 本國王源義 晴)

Year. month Authority of embassy

7

No.

Table 2.2 (cont.)

Tachibana Narihiro (橘 成廣)

22 people

Ship captain and other available information

Request aid (rebuild Banshūzen temple (萬壽 禪寺) in Bungo); 10,000 bolts of cotton; repatriate castaways; increase the number of Annual Ships Collect Japanese castaway Nakahashi (中林); request books for Lord Ōtomo Request T’ongshinsa and Koreana Tripitaka; protest sending Japanese castaway Nakahashi to Ming Repatriate Ming castaways; request silver trade, and increase in Annual Ships Request mediation to offer tribute to Ming

Request aid, additional Annual Ships for Tsushima

Purpose

Refused

Bestowed one set of the Koreana Tripitaka

Traded for 1750 tong [87,500 bolts cotton]

Official Trade cotton 1700 tong [85,000 bolts cotton]

Five ships established

Notes

Anshin Tōdō (安心東堂)

Tenfū Tōdō (天富東堂)

King of Japan (日本國王) 1552. King of Japan 6–1553. 3 (日本國王)

King of Japan (日本國王)

1548. 9–10

1556. 10–1557. 2

1563. 4–9

1565. 3–?

16

18

19

20

17

1547. 9–?

15

King of Japan (日本國王)

King of Japan (日本國王)

Keitetsu Tōdō (Genso) (景 轍東堂, 玄蘇)

Keitetsu Tōdō (Genso) (景 轍東堂, 玄蘇)

King of Japan, Anshin Tōdō Minamoto (安心東堂) Yoshiharu (日 本國王源義 晴) Japan (日本國)

1546. 10–1547. 4

Anshin Tōdō (安心東堂)

14

King of Japan (日本國王)

1545. 3–11

13

Keitetsu Seidō, Genso (景 轍西堂, 玄蘇)

Tenyū Seidō (天友西堂)

Kikushin Seidō (菊心 西堂)

20 people

Tachibana Narihiro (橘成廣)

Two ships for the envoy and the vice-envoy, and one ship for Keikin Shūza (慶忻首座)

Accompany an envoy from Lord Hatakeyama (畠山) and Lord Ubuei (右武衛). Tenyū (天友) died on the mission. Request peace negotiations, Bestowed Koreana Tripitaka grant Annual Ship, again grant seals, trade items, copy of the Koreana Tripitaka, and other requests Request to open Che-p’o Seals again granted to 10 harbor, again grant seals revoked in wake of 1510 Riot of the Three Ports, and abolition of ivory seals

Traded silver and sappanwood

Offer condolences

Accompany Shōni and Request peace after Japanese disturbance in Tsushima envoys Saryang (蛇梁), increase Annual Ships Negotiations after Saryang Accompany Shōni envoy disturbance, offer prayers and concluded the for King Injong Chŏngmi Agreement in the second month

Vice-Envoy

Accompanying T’ongshinsa (Hwang Yun’gil) Return the courtesy and escort T’ongshinsa (Hwang Yun’gil)

Refused

Refused

Notes

Sources: Chosŏn wangjo shillok, Zenrin kokuhōki, Murai Shōsuke, Chūsei Wajinden, 1993, pp. 156–7. NB: Names and titles of envoys appear as they do in the sources.

26

25

1587. Taira Hideyoshi Tachibana (橘 Tachibana 10–1588. of Japan (日 康廣) (橘康年) 4 本平秀吉) 1589. Taira Hideyoshi Genso Tōdō Sō Yoshitoshi Shibu Suishun Request “borrow a road to 6–1590. 3 of Japan (日 (玄蘇東堂) (宗義智) (侍奉 瑞俊) 25 enter Ming” 本平秀吉) people 1591. 1–6 Taira Hideyoshi Genso Tōdō Taira Request “borrow a road to of Japan (日 (玄蘇東堂) [Yanagawa] enter Ming” 本國平秀吉) Shigenobu (平調信)

24

Taira Hideyoshi took power (the assassination of Oda Nobunaga or the Honnōji incident occurred on 1582.6.2), request for hawks, request for mediation to send tribute to the Ming Request dispatch of a T’ongshinsa

1580. 12–1581. 3

King of Japan (日本國王) Japan (日本國)

23

Request to open Che-p’o harbor, increase Annual Ships, and reception for Tōkikyū (藤熙久) and five others

Purpose

1571. 11–?

Ship captain and other available information

22

Keitetsu Tōdō Taira (Genso) (景 [Yanagawa] 轍東堂, 玄 Shigenobu 蘇) (平調信)

Envoy

1567. 5–?

Japan (日本國)

Year. month Authority of embassy

21

No.

Table 2.2 (cont.)

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

33

Muromachi bakufu, the two groups had close connections. Hence, it is likely that the bakufu was aware of Tsushima’s dispatch of impostors disguised as royal envoys through the Zen connection. If so, the bakufu failed to put a stop to the fraud, and the possibility that they consented to or even abetted the activity cannot be eliminated. Moreover, Chosǒn knew that the “royal envoys” sent after the Riot of the Three Ports were impostors. The presence of impostors was again publicly recognized in 1525, when Keirin Tōdō, an envoy from the king of Japan, arrived and the Chief State Councilor Nam Kon pointed out that this envoy was obviously a Tsushima fabrication.10 Because the Chosŏn government did not take firm action to resolve the matter of impostors, but dealt with them indifferently, the number of impostors leapt upwards. It is probable that the Yanagawa Incident, which revealed Tsushima’s forgery of state letters in the later Chosŏn period, also occurred as a result of such indifference. In the pre-war period, a distinguishing aspect of the impostor envoys was the swift increase in the number of cases from 1523 onwards where envoys emphasized trade rather than foreign relations. For example, an envoy in the fifth month of 1523 solicited an astounding quantity of cotton that amounted to more than 2,000 tong (100,000 bolts), which included 1,900 tong for official trade and the rest as gifts.11 Around 1542, a noticeable aspect of change in the trade between the two countries was the appearance of silver. The reason was the sharp increase in the Japanese production of silver beginning in Iwami, as a result of importing from Chosŏn the cupellation silver refining technique (K. hoech’wibǒp, J. haifuki).12 Anshin, who came in the fourth month of 1542, brought 80,000 yang of silver, which amounted to the price of 9,000 tong (450,000 bolts) of cotton cloth, and requested trade.13 As Tsushima did not have the economic capacity to handle such volumes, there was no other option than to join forces with powerful Kyūshū lords, such as the Ōuchi and the Ōtomo, or with merchants from Hakata,14 and this shows that the impostor envoys had close connections with influential Kyūshū elites and Hakata merchants. After the political situation in Japan became more stabilized under Hideyoshi, the Japanese king’s envoys (K. Kukwangsa) of 1589 and 1591 transfigured into envoys charged with the political goal to “borrow a road to enter Ming” rather than to promote Tsushima’s interests and pursue economic gains through trade. The senior envoy at the time, Genso, participated in the Imjin Waeran and acted as a prime mover in the invasions.

Defense measures against a Japanese invasion As attacks by Japanese pirates became frequent after the Riot of the Three Ports and the Jurchen tribes to the north grew in strength and emerged as yet another threat to Chosŏn, the court established the Border Defense Council (K. Pibyŏnsa) and strengthened Chosŏn’s frontiers against Japanese pirates and the Jurchen. After the pirate attack in 1555 (K. Ŭlmyo Waebyŏn or Tallyang Waebyŏn), the regional defense structures were reorganized so

34

Han Moon Jong

that the garrison-command structure was replaced by a “local self-defense system” (K. chesŭng pangnyak). Under the new system, in the event of an attack, local troops would gather at designated points and command would be handled through the dispatch of officers from the center. Furthermore, at the time of the pirate attack in 1555, when the Japanese pirates made an incursion using large ships and improved weaponry,15 it became clear that the standard maengsŏn or the lightweight kyŏngk’waesŏn ships could not stop the pirates and efforts were put into developing a new style of large warship that could dominate the Japanese pirate ships. The result was the advent of the p’anoksŏn, or vessels with wooden planks covering the top deck,16 which became the mainstay battleship during the Imjin Waeran and led the Korean navy to numerous victories at sea.17 In this manner, Chosǒn made efforts to devise suitable countermeasures for its defense. The establishment of the Border Defense Council, the reorganization of the military system into a local self-defense structure, and the construction of warships with covered decks were designed to counter pirate raids, though, and they were unable to function as an effective defense against a large-scale Japanese invasion. As national defense and the military service system largely collapsed towards the end of the sixteenth century, Yi I and others recognized and emphasized the importance of national defense by insisting on a policy to create an army 100,000 strong.18 However, the NeoConfucian literati in power at the time were exceedingly indifferent towards national defense. Out of the vague concern that Japan might attack, the Border Defense Council did prepare against a Japanese invasion by mending fortress walls in every province, inspecting weapons, and singling out talented soldiers without regard to rank, among whom were individuals such as Yi Sunshin and Kwǒn Yul.19 Other measures included replacing incompetent land and naval officers in the Yǒngnam, Honam, and Ch’ungch’ǒng regions and dispatching capable commanders (K. Pangŏsa) and assistant defense commanders (K. Chobangjang) for the tasks of building fortresses and digging trenches in areas of strategic importance along the coast.20 Meanwhile in Japan, Hideyoshi, who seized power after the death of Oda Nobunaga in 1582, subjugated Kyūshū in 1587. After unifying Japan, he began preparing for an invasion of the continent. He first ordered the governor of Tsushima, who was conversant with the Korean situation, to negotiate with the Chosŏn king to “loan a road for [the Japanese] to enter Ming” and to come to the Japanese capital for an audience with Hideyoshi. From the early years of the Chosŏn dynasty, Tsushima had been incorporated into a Chosŏn-centric international order and had been invested with special economic rights: the right to issue writs authorizing landing rights in Korea (K. mun’in palhaenggwŏn), a specified number of annual trading ships, and an annual disbursement of rice and beans.21 Because more than 95 percent of the island is not arable and Chosŏn was much closer than Kyūshū or Honshū, Tsushima was in the position of obtaining food and other necessities from

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

35

trade with Chosŏn. Therefore, if at all possible, Tsushima worked to avoid war with Chosŏn. At this point, in the ninth month of 1587, in contradiction to Hideyoshi’s command, the governor of Tsushima sent an envoy to Chosŏn to inform them of the political change in Japan and to request the dispatch of a Communication Embassy (K. T’ongshinsa) to congratulate Hideyoshi.22 While much debate took place at the Chosŏn court, Chosǒn eventually declined the request for the dispatch of envoys on the grounds that the waterways were dangerous and that it did not know the route very well. At the same time, Chosŏn demanded of the lord of Tsushima that he repatriate Korean peasants who had fled to Japan and that he capture and send the Japanese pirates who had been preying on the southern coast. Hideyoshi ordered the governor of Tsushima, Sō Yoshitoshi, to go to Chosǒn in person and negotiate with the court. At this point, Yoshitoshi accompanied Genso, acting as envoy for the king of Japan, to Chosǒn in the seventh month of 1589. While returning 116 Koreans and offering three captives as the Japanese pirates who had raided Chosŏn, he again requested a Korean Communication Embassy (K. T’ongshinsa).23 At this turn, the Chosŏn court decided to send a T’ongshinsa to reply to the king of Japan and to assess the situation. The embassy, led by Envoy Hwang Yun’gil, Vice-Envoy Kim Sǒng’il, and Document Officer Hŏ Sŏng, left the Chosǒn capital in the third month of 1590 and arrived in Kyōto in the seventh month. Because Hideyoshi was then on campaign against the Hōjō in Odawara, the state letter from the king of Chosŏn was not delivered until the eleventh month. Hideyoshi’s reply included the assertion that his army would subjugate Ming and he requested that Chosŏn guide him in this endeavor. The envoys requested that the letter be revised, but because Genso offered many excuses and pretexts to avoid altering the letter, in the end, the envoys failed to have their argument accepted and returned to Korea in the third month of the following year. The reports by Hwang Yun’gil and Kim Sǒng’il contradicted each other. About Japanese intentions to invade and Hideyoshi, Hwang reported: “As Japan is in the process of preparing many warships, war is likely. Toyotomi Hideyoshi has sharp eyes, and he appears to be fearless.” Kim reported: “I did not detect the slightest intention of invasion. Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s eyes are like those of a rat, and there is nothing to fear.”24 Traditionally, the different opinions of Hwang Yun’gil and Kim Sǒng’il have been understood as resulting from different positions taken in the confrontation between the Westerner (K. Sŏin) and the Easterner (K. Tong’in) factions, but this is a misunderstanding. Among the three envoys, the Document Officer (Hŏ Sŏng) was a member of Kim Sŏng’il’s Easterner faction and a personal friend, but he agreed with the Westerner Hwang Yun’gil’s assessment. Considering this point, it is doubtful that the difference between Hwang and Kim arose from a factional confrontation, and it is now thought that the differences arose over their impressions of Japan.25 In short, Kim based his impressions on a framework of relative rankings derived from the contest between civilization and barbarism, and in that framework he viewed Japan and the Japanese as

36

Han Moon Jong

barbarous. Kim was particularly obsessed with the relative superiority or inferiority between civilized and barbarous and this brought on a lack of clarity regarding Japanese circumstances at the time. The result was that he dismissed the Japanese as barbarians incapable of mounting an invasion.26 On the other hand, Hwang Chin, who accompanied Kim Sŏng’il to Japan, foresaw the coming war, and every day, after completing his work, would practice horseback riding and archery.27 Among the ministers at court there was fierce debate regarding the contrary reports from Hwang Yun’gil and Kim Sŏng’il, and those in power feared unrest among the populace if the rumor of war circulated. Accepting Kim’s opinion, orders were issued to all the provinces, and the hasty defensive preparations, including the building of fortresses, were suspended. The Embassy returned together with Genso and Yanagawa Shigenobu, who brought the reply from Hideyoshi. The content of Hideyoshi’s letter was not only insolent and rude, but it also included the request for Chosǒn to guide the way during Japan’s conquest of Ming. Enraged at the content of the letter, Cho Hŏn memorialized seven proposals, including decapitating the Japanese envoys, informing China and Ryūkyū of Japan’s threats to invade, and fortifying defenses in the Yǒngnam (southeast) and Honam (southwest) regions in preparation against Japanese raids. Most of these were rejected.28 However, Han Ŭng’in was dispatched to Ming China where he reported that the Japanese were intending to attack China. After he defended Chosŏn against suspicion that it was participating in preparations for invasion, the Ming government decided to dispatch a relief force.29 In this succession of diplomatic activity, Chosŏn could not accurately grasp Japan’s intentions to invade. In the midst of a vague worry that Japan might actually invade, from one year before the eruption of the Imjin Waeran, the Chosŏn court intended to set up measures in preparation for unexpected incidents. While the abuses within the local self-defense system were pointed out in the Border Defense Council, arguments were put forward to restore the garrison-command structure, but these measures never materialized.30 Under the judgment that Japan was stronger on sea than on land, the Chosǒn court ordered the extension of fortifications and trenches at the Left and Right Military Commands in Kyǒngsang, Chǒlla, and other, nearby provinces.31 However, construction took place perfunctorily, yielding low fortress walls built on plains. Moreover, some yangban concluded that the Japanese army would not invade and opposed these measures. The commoners who were mobilized to extend fortresses and participate in military training harbored grudges against the local magistrates and military officials. As a result, orders to mend defensive works along the southern coast and to repair weapons were used by local magistrates and military commanders merely as a means to mobilize the peasants and extract some profit. Very few orders were ever actually enforced.32 Accordingly, these efforts did not amount to preparations that could repulse the Japanese army but merely heightened popular animosity. On the other hand, from the eleventh month of 1591, Hideyoshi, at his

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

37

base in Nagoya Castle in northwestern Kyūshū, was, among other preparations, accelerating the construction of warships for the invasion of Chosŏn. In these ways, although the Chosǒn court could anticipate war, it did not sufficiently prepare the country. The immediate reason for the failure was the court’s miscalculated expectation that the war would only consist of Japanese pirates plundering on a grand scale. The larger reason was the collapse of order within the Neo-Confucian literati regime.

Reasons for the defeats at the beginning of the Imjin Waeran The discussion above has examined the domestic situation in Chosŏn, the relations between Chosŏn and Japan, and countermeasures taken by the Chosŏn government against invasion leading up to the outbreak of the Imjin Waeran. In light of this and in lieu of a conclusion, I would like to consider the causes for the defeats of the Chosŏn military in the early months of the Imjin Waeran. First, the discipline of the Neo-Confucian literati regime became lax in the sixteenth century and two factors emerged to prevent the establishment of an effective defense. In Chosŏn prior to the outbreak of the Imjin Waeran, popular sentiment became chaotic and national discipline became attenuated with changes occurring in politics, society, and the economy. As disturbances appeared in the military order, the basis of national defense in the garrisoncommand structure became little more than a nominal entity. Following the Riot of the Three Ports, the Border Defense Council was established to provide preparation against Japanese incursions and efforts were made to reform the military structure into a local self-defense system and to construct p’anoksŏn warships. On the eve of the Imjin Waeran incompetent magistrates were replaced and fortresses in Kyǒngsang and Chǒlla provinces were mended, but these measures were enforced perfunctorily and merely earned popular resentment. Although the coming war was clearly foretold, defensive preparations were unable to address this possibility adequately and the lack of preparation became the main reason for the defeat of the Chosŏn military at the hands of the Japanese. Second, the Chosŏn government had inadequate intelligence information on the internal Japanese situation. In the early Chosŏn period (1392–1592), Chosŏn envoys went as far as Kyōto and were able to see and hear first-hand about Japanese internal matters. With this information as a foundation, the early Chosŏn government was able to unfold an effective foreign policy regarding Japan. However, because envoys were unable to travel to Kyōto after 1443, it became impossible to obtain accurate intelligence on the Japanese domestic scene. The result was that impostor envoys sporting the title of king of Japan multiplied and the Chosŏn government was unable to grasp and cope with a Japanese plan of invasion in advance. On the other hand, envoys from the king of Japan, unlike Korean envoys, were able to visit the Korean capital until the eve of the invasion. Using these opportunities, they were able to

38

Han Moon Jong

obtain intelligence information on Chosŏn’s military structure and the state of its national defense. Consequently, when the invasion arrived, the routes that the Japanese envoys had taken to the Korean capital were the very routes that the invading Japanese armies mainly used. Moreover, the Chosŏn government worked from the assessment that because Japan was an island country, its naval capacity would be better than its land capacity, thus small-scale fortification extensions and ditches were prepared for the Left and Right Army Commands in Kyŏngsang and Chŏlla provinces and elsewhere as a defense against the Japanese army. As became clear later and in contrast to this assessment, Korean forces received crushing defeats on land, but at sea they gathered in victories.33 Again, this miscalculation was attributable to the inadequacy of accurate intelligence on the Japanese. Third, Korean tactics were wholly inadequate in comparison to the Japanese. After the Riot of the Three Ports, Chosŏn had established the Border Defense Council to cope with incursions from Japanese pirates in the south and from the Jurchens in the north. After the pirate attack of 1555, regional defenses were reorganized from a garrison-command structure into a local, selfdefense system. The local self-defense system was effective against Japanese pirates in limited, single incursions, but in a large-scale invasion such as the Imjin Waeran, it was useless in actual battle.34 This also became a factor in the crushing defeats of the Chosŏn forces at the opening of the invasion. Chosŏn weaponry at the opening of the Imjin Waeran was also inadequate and consisted of conventional weapons such as bows, arrows, and swords, and gunpowder weapons such as the victory mark cannon (K. sŭngja ch’ongt’ong), the heaven’s mark cannon (K. ch’ŏnja ch’ongt’ong), the earth mark cannon (K. chija ch’ongt’ong), the black mark cannon (K. hyŏnja ch’ongt’ong), and rocketry such as the single rocket arrow (K. shin’gijŏn), a multiple arrowlauncher akin to a modern, multiple-launch rocket system (K. hwacha), and something akin to modern bombs (K. pigyŏk chinch’ŏlloe).35 By contrast, the main weapon used by the Japanese army was the arquebus, whose performance far exceeded Korean weapons. The Japanese army used their pikes and firearms efficiently to allow their arquebuses to be put to best use. In short, when meeting the enemy, first the riflemen would fire, and while they were re-loading, the archers would launch arrows. After that, the riflemen would fire again. While the enemy’s line was in disarray, the pikemen and the cavalry would advance and with the initiation of hand-to-hand combat, victory or defeat would be decided. Even though the Japanese army was in command of a strategy that systematically used riflemen, the Korean army had nearly no information on Japanese weapons or tactics and so could not avoid complete defeat. An exemplary instance is Shin Ip’s defeat at the Battle of T’an’gŭmdae near Ch’ungju.36 In short, behind the Japanese army’s entrance into Hansŏng just a little over twenty days after landing at Pusan was the Chosŏn army’s inability to grasp and respond to the Japanese army’s performance and tactics. This was the reason why the army was unable to delay the advance of the enemy and create confusion behind his lines.37

Korea’s pre-war domestic situation

39

For the reasons stated above, in the opening days of the invasion, the Chosŏn army met total defeat by the Japanese forces. However, as time passed, the activities of the ŭibyŏng guerrillas, who arose in the provinces, and the naval victories centered on Yi Sunshin, as well as the development of new weapons and tactics, overcame failure and delivered defeat to the Japanese army.

Notes Translated by Grace Koh with James B. Lewis. 1 Kim T’aeyŏng, “Kwajŏnbŏp,” 1996, pp. 32–65. 2 Ko Sokkyu, “Sangp’um,” 1996, pp. 84–9. 3 Ko Sokkyu, “Sangp’um,” 1996, pp. 71–6. 4 Chungjong shillok, 103:29a–31a (1544.5.27). 5 Kim Chongsu, “Kunyŏk chedo,” 1996, pp. 89–113. 6 Sŏnjo shillok, 140:8a–10b (1601.8.13). 7 Sŏngjong shillok, 50:7b–8b (1474.12.15). 8 Itō Kōji, “Jūgo-jūroku seiki,” 1999, pp. 88–9. 9 Itō Kōji, “Chūsei kōki,” 1994. 10 Chungjong shillok, 54:16a–16b (1525.4.28). 11 Chungjong shillok, 48:63a (1523.7.28). 12 Murai Shōsuke, Chūsei Wajinden, 1993, pp. 163–4. 13 Chungjong shillok, 98:13a–14a (1558.4.20). 14 Because Tsushima sourced their goods and finances in Hakata, when they dispatched their impostor envoys, it was necessary to keep good relations with the Ōuchi and Ōtomo lords who controlled Hakata. Takahashi Kimiaki, “Jūroku seiki,” 1989, pp. 166–7. 15 Myŏngjong shillok, 18:34b–37a (1555.5.16). 16 Myŏngjong shillok, 32:34b–35a (1566.3.13). 17 Kim Chaegŭn, Uri ŭi pae, 1996, pp. 135–55. 18 There is much debate over Yi I’s proposal for 100,000 troops (shimman yangpyŏng sŏl). Yi Chaeho points out that the main source for Yi’s proposal is the personal obituary for Yi I by Kim Changsaeng in the Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, which underwent no selective editing and incorporated a number of fictions. Yi Chaeho, “Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok,” 1985. 19 Sŏnjo shillok, 23:1b (1589.1.21). 20 Sŏnjo shillok, 23:7a (1587.7.28). 21 Han Munjong, “Chosŏn chŏngi tae-Il,” 1996. 22 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 23:27a–27b (1587.9.1). 23 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 23:8a–8b (1589.7.1). 24 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:2a–3a (1591.3.1). 25 Ha Ubong, “Imjin Waeran,” 1999. 26 Ha Ubong, “Imjin Waeran,” 1999, pp. 198–200. Kim Sŏng’il’s view that Japan would not invade carried the day and Kim repeated his assessment on later occasions. In 1591, when there were proposals to repair fortifications, dig ditches, and select servicemen in preparation against a Japanese disturbance, Kim Sŏng’il criticized these proposals as mistaken stratagems (Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:20b, 1591.11.1). Even just before the Imjin Waeran broke out, while stating that the “Japs” (K. Waeno) will not invade, and even if they do, there is nothing to worry about, he argued that the castle construction and military drilling in Kyŏngsang Province were harmful (Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 26:1b, 1592.3.1). 27 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:20b–21a (1591.12.1). 28 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:4a–11a (1591.3.1).

40 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37

Han Moon Jong Ch’oe Yŏnghŭi, “Waeran,” 1995, p. 25. Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:19a–19b (1591.10.1). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:18b (1591.7.1). O Chongnok, “Yŏrŏ ŏlgul,” 2000, p. 87. The ability of the navy to achieve successive victories at sea was probably due to the confluence of fundamental differences in the performance of the battleships and cannon and Yi Sunshin’s outstanding ability to command. Pak Chaegwang, “Chŏngjaeng ŭi togu,” 1999, pp. 116–22. Yi Kyŏmju, “Imjin Waeran,” 1992, pp. 46–7. Translator’s note: See Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 74–5, for more details. Translator’s note: See Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 95–6. Pak Chaegwang, “Chŏngjaeng ŭi togu,” 1999, pp. 89–109.

References Ch’oe Yŏnghŭi (崔永禧). “Waeran chŏn ŭi chŏngse (㢲⧖G 㩚㦮G 㩫㎎),” Han’guksa (䞲ῃ㌂) 29, Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (1995): 13–26. Chungjong shillok (中宗実録). Ha Ubong (䞮㤆⽟). “Imjin Waeran chŏnhu Han’guk’in ŭi Ilbon kwan (㧚㰚㢲⧖G 㩚䤚G䞲ῃ㧎㦮G㧒⽎ὖ),” in Saeropge tasi ponŭn Imjin Waeran (㌞⫃ỢG┺㔲G⽊⓪G 㧚㰚㢲⧖). Chinju: Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan, 1999, pp. 198–203. Han Munjong (䞲ⶎ㫛). “Chosŏn chŏngi tae-Il oegyo chŏngch’aek yŏn’gu: Taemado wa ŭi kwangye rŭl chungsim ŭro (朝鮮前期 對日 外交 政策 硏究-對馬島㢖㦮G ὖἚ⯒ 㭧㕂㦒⪲),” Ph.D. dissertation, Chŏnbuk taehakkyo, 1996. Itō Kōji (伊藤幸司). “Chūsei kōki no Rinzai-shū Genjū-ha to taigai kōryū (中世後 期の螡濟宗幻住派と對外交流),” Shigaku zasshi (史學雜誌) 108:4 (1999): 465–500, 621–2. Itō Kōji (伊藤幸司). “Jūgo-jūroku seiki no Nichi-Min, Nit-Chō kōshō to Musō-ha Kazōmon-ha (十五·十蜄世紀の日明·日朝交涉と夢窓派華藏門派),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮學報) 71 (1999): 65–101. Kim Chaegŭn (ₖ㨂⁒). Uri ŭi pae: Kujo wa yŏksa (㤆Ⰲ㦮G⺆-ῂ㫆㢖G㡃㌂-). Seoul: Seoul taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1996. Kim Chongsu (金鍾洙). “Kunyŏk chedo ŭi pungkoe (軍役制度㦮G⿫ᾊ),” Han’guksa (䞲ῃ㌂) 28, Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (1996): 89–113. Kim T’aeyŏng (金泰永). “Kwajŏnbŏb ŭi pong’gŭi wa chijuje ŭi paldal (科田法㦮G ⿫ᾊ㢖 地主制㦮G ⹲╂),” Han’guksa (䞲ῃ㌂) 28, Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (1996): 32–65. Ko Sokkyu (高錫珪). “Sangp’um ŭi yut’ong kwa kongnapche ŭi mosun (㌗䛞㦮G 㥶䐋ὒ 貢納制㦮G ⳾㑲),” Han’guksa (䞲ῃ㌂) 28, Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (1996): 65–89. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). Chūsei Wajinden (中世倭人傳). Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1993. Myŏngjong shillok (明宗實錄). O Chongnok (㡺㫛⪳). “Yŏrŏ ŏlgul ŭi chŏnjaeng, Imjin Waeran (㡂⩂G㠒Ὴ㦮G㩚㨗G, 㧚㰚㢲⧖),” in Chŏng Pyŏngjun (㩫⼧㭖), ed., Chinbojŏk minju juŭija, Yŏ Unhyŏng: Naeil ŭl yŏnŭn yŏksa ch’angganho (㰚⽊㩗G⹒㭒㭒㦮㧦G, 㡂㤊䡫: ⌊㧒㦚G㡂⓪G㡃㌂G ⽚䢎 [㺓Ṛ䢎]). Seoul: Sinsŏwŏn, 2000, pp. 79–90. Pak Chaegwang (⹫㨂ὧ). “Chŏngjaeng ŭi togu (㩫㨗㦮G ☚ῂ),” in Saeropge tasi ponŭn Imjin Waeran (㌞⫃ỢG ┺㔲G ⽊⓪G 㧚㰚㢲⧖). Chinju: Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan, 1999, pp. 116–22.

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Sŏngjong shillok (成宗實錄). Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實錄). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok (宣祖修正實錄). Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Takahashi Kimiaki (高橋公明). “Jūroku seiki no Chōsen-Tsushima-Higashi Ajia kaiiki (十蜄世紀の朝鮮·對馬·東アジア海域),” in Katō Eiichi (加藤榮一) et al., eds., Bakuhansei kokka to iiki ikoku (幕藩制國家と異域異國). Tokyo: Azekura shobō, 1989, pp. 143–77. Yi Chaeho (蝗載浩). “Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok kisa ŭi ŭijŏm e tae han pyŏnsŏk: t’ŭkhi Yi Yulgok ŭi Simman yangpyŏngnon e tae hayŏ (宣祖修正實錄 記事㦮 疑點㠦 對䞲 辨析-䔏䧞G 蝗蜚谷㦮 十萬養兵論ὒ 蛢西厓㦮 養兵臺可論㠦G ╖䞮㡂G),” Taedong munhwa yŏn’gu (大東文化硏究) 19 (1985): 189–232. Yi Kyŏmju (蝗謙周). “Imjin Waeran chŏn Chosŏn ŭi kukpang silt’ae (壬辰倭亂前 朝鮮㦮 國防實態),” Han’guk saron (韓國史論) 22, Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (1992): 27–47.

3

Violence, trade, and impostors in Korean–Japanese relations, 1510–1609 Kenneth R. Robinson

Introduction Japanese traded with the Chosŏn government from the 1390s, but from the mid-fifteenth century elites in western Japan, especially Tsushima, frequently achieved sanctioned trade through impostor identities, too. The strategies behind impostor contacts varied, but all aimed at gaining regular, annual opportunities for exchange. Korean kings bestowed contact privileges that enabled trade to many fraudulent identities, but denied those privileges to numerous others. Concern at court about the long careers of several Japanese contacts sharpened in the first years of King Chungjong’s reign (r. 1506–44). This issue of interaction through impostor identities informed negotiations over expanding trade between the Chosŏn court and Japanese elites for most of the sixteenth century. Korean officials complained in the third lunar month of 1509 that Japanese were trading through the Chosŏn government-issued personal seals (K. tosŏ) of Japanese who must have already died. King Chungjong and his ministers soon revised four regulations governing maritime access to Chosŏn for trade and dispatched an official to inform the governor of Tsushima of these new rules. For those in Japan who were involved in such tribute trade missions, the most distressing reform probably was the review and possible voiding of personal seals issued more than “fifty years” earlier.1 That is, sanctioned trade in Chosŏn by or through these seal recipients could not continue without royal approval. However, the governor of Tsushima passed away before King Chungjong’s representative reached Kyŏngsang Province. With condolences now appropriate, the king of Chosŏn could not introduce the new regulations.2 Those reforms might have discouraged the next mission from Minamoto Gi, of Hirado, in northwest Kyūshū, who had received a personal seal in 1456. In the seventh lunar month of 1509 court officials asked about this contact’s health. The envoy replied that following Gi’s death some thirty years ago Gi’s younger brother had succeeded as family head. In the fifteenth century, the Chosŏn court recognized a contact successor when the successor returned his father’s personal seal and requested to receive a personal seal for himself. The successor to Minamoto Gi had not requested this recognition and that

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fueled Chungjong’s anger. Learning of the transfer of this seal to another person, Chungjong ordered officials at the open ports to question each envoy who presented a letter (K. sŏgye, J. shokei) that had been stamped by a personal seal issued decades earlier.3 Minamoto Gi was one of the impostor identities through which Japanese interacted fraudulently with the Chosŏn government. Most of the men involved in impostor tribute trade were based in Tsushima and Hakata, and, for some, their connections extended to elites in the Sakai area.4 King Chungjong dispatched another official to Tsushima in the second lunar month of 1510. In addition to condolences, this representative was to deliver the monarch’s confirmation of the new governor of Tsushima in the tributary relationship and in his role as the issuer of the mun’in travel permits. The Chosŏn court required this Korean document of all Japanese ships sailing from Tsushima to one of the three open ports in Kyŏngsang Province. (If an envoy led more than one ship, then a travel permit was necessary for each ship.) The Korean official carried a letter expressing concern, among other issues, about the durability of personal seal-holders. The letter read, in part, “There must be many among them that have died.”5 This official did not reach Tsushima, either. Before he could sail, Japanese residing in the Japan House (K. Waegwan) at the ports of Che-p’o and Pusanp’o attacked Korean military and civil administration offices in the fourth lunar month of 1510. The Riot of the Three Ports (K. Samp’o Waeran) ended in the eighth lunar month after having spread inland, to nearby ports, and to nearby islands, and after Japanese reinforcements had arrived from Tsushima.6 King Chungjong severed relations with the Muromachi bakufu, thus barring access to the peninsula and trade to all Japanese. Negotiations restored diplomatic relations in 1511 and trade in 1512. The Riot of the Three Ports was the first of three cycles of Japanese violence, Korean termination of state-to-state diplomatic relations and trade, negotiation, resumption of state-to-state diplomatic relations, negotiation, and resumption of interaction and sanctioned trade with other Japanese between 1510 and 1609. Individuals responsible for the violence – the disturbance at the ports in 1510, the 1544 pirate raid on Saryang, in Kyŏngsang Province, and Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasion from 1592 to 1598 – did not participate in the management of Japanese trade in Chosŏn. Those Japanese who negotiated with the Chosŏn court in 1511–12, 1545–7, and from soon after the invasion’s end until 1609 were based in Tsushima and Hakata or they had connections with Hakata’s political, religious, and merchant elites. In other words, the Japanese engaged in managing the Korean trade did not use violence to further their objectives. Rather, those Japanese had to repair diplomatic and trade relations with the Chosŏn government after others had disrupted them. Three dynamics shaped negotiations to establish and maintain trade over the sixteenth century. The first was the desire among Japanese in Tsushima and Hakata, but especially in Tsushima, to expand trade volume from 1512.

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Second were the Chosŏn government’s efforts to prevent further manipulation of access and trade regulations. The third was the Chosŏn government’s need to protect against maritime piracy from the mid-1540s. However, measures taken against piracy, which included permitting trade through impostor identities and encouraging Japanese to raise alerts of nearby pirate ships, failed when violence reached the level of an invasion. Such violence was far beyond what these men in western Japan could control, although they tried. The Chosŏn government’s policies, though, left it unprepared for an unexpected war.

Impostor identities, Hakata elites, and Southeast Asian goods The problems that King Chungjong and his officials sought to eliminate in 1509 may be traced back to the 1450s, when the Chosŏn court began regularly issuing personal seals and annual ship quotas to Japanese contacts based in western provinces. Among the recipients over the succeeding decades were living Japanese and contacts fraudulently created in Japan, almost certainly in Tsushima and Hakata. Other contacts, such as Minamoto Gi, continued to be active after their deaths, suggesting that another family member or someone outside the family held the personal seal and traded illicitly through that identity. In 1509 and 1510 the Chosŏn court intended to halt trade by impostor identities. In particular, King Chungjong and his officials sought to eliminate fraudulent trade through personal seals not held by the individuals in whose names they had been issued. The riot in 1510 enabled King Chungjong to finally impose reforms. His officials negotiated in 1511 and 1512 with the king of Japan (K. Ilbon kugwang, J. Nihon kokuō) as represented by the monk Hōchū Dōtoku. Whether Dōtoku traveled to Chosŏn on behalf of the shōgun Ashikaga Yoshitane, who had lived in exile with the Ōuchi family from 1493 to 1508, or on behalf of an impostor shōgun that had been designed and was being managed in western Japan is not clear.7 Dōtoku returned to Japan in 1511 with state-level diplomatic relations re-established, and again in 1512 with new regulations for access, trade, and residence, or the Agreement of 1512 (K. Imshin yakcho). In 1513, Yoshitane appointed him to Shōfukuji, a Rinzai Zen temple in Hakata.8 This assignment may indicate that he had traveled on behalf of Yoshitane. The Chosŏn government’s punishment in 1512 for the riot targeted Tsushima islanders and impostor identities. The Chosŏn court reopened only Che-p’o among the three ports where Japanese previously had resided and traded, but the king no longer permitted residence. Of immediate and long-term damage to Tsushima’s economy, the court eliminated contact privileges for all Tsushima islanders except the governor. It revoked the personal seals and the office warrants (K. koshin) for nominal military posts bestowed upon Tsushima men, invalidated the annual ship quota for the island’s seal recipients, and halved the number of annual trade ships allowed to the governor since 1443. The

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Korean government reduced Tsushima elites from some seventy-four trade ships each year to the twenty-five ships allowed to the governor. To halt the misuse of personal seals issued for contacts based elsewhere, the court stated its intention to review all personal seals with the exception of those bestowed for merit.9 To the extent that the personal seals of impostor identities such as Chiba Mototane were managed in Tsushima,10 the revocation of privileges reduced further the number of Tsushima ships that could visit Chosŏn each year and sharpened the islanders’ economic pain.11 After several requests, the court allowed three ships each year for the governor’s son in 1515 and added five ships to the governor of Tsushima’s annual quota in 1523.12 Nevertheless, discomfort from severed trading opportunities must not have stopped at Tsushima. It must have extended into the islanders’ trading relationships in Hakata, elsewhere in Japan, and even to Ryūkyū and Southeast Asia. Moreover, the slump to the north coincided with the appearance of Portuguese in Southeast Asia, their entry into local and regional networks from Malacca from 1511, and their competition with the Ryūkyū government and its traders. The Ryūkyūan government had to absorb reductions in volume north and south that proved to be permanent. Inflated and unreliable though his accounts may at times be, Fernão Mendes Pinto wrote that Ryūkyū continued to be a destination for ships sailing from Southeast Asia, and that Ryūkyūan ships sailed to Japan in the 1540s and 1550s.13 Kang Hang, a Korean captive of war in Japan from the tenth lunar month of 1597 until the fourth lunar month of 1600, commented that Ryūkyūan, Portuguese, Chinese, and Luzon trade ships came without cease to Karatsu and Nagoya, in northwest Kyūshū.14 And from the mid-sixteenth century Portuguese also carried pepper to Japan.15 Pepper, cinnabar, and sappanwood, all Southeast Asian goods that Japanese carried to the peninsula from the early fifteenth century, continued to enter Chosŏn as late as 1590.16 Cinnabar and pepper also arrived because of two changes in the patterns of Japanese trade. In the first pattern, certain Japanese revived trade under the names of impostor Muromachi bakufu officials in 1548, or the year after the king of Chosŏn had restored tribute trade following the second closure of the country to Japanese in 1544. An earlier generation of impostor Muromachi bakufu officials had proven effective between 1455 and 1474, especially during the Ōnin War of 1467–77. This was largely due to their status within the Korean tribute system and to inadequate information in Chosŏn about the Japanese government. In the fifteenth century and now again in the sixteenth century, the Chosŏn court received bakufu officials at the second reception grade, which was below only that for kings of foreign countries in the ordering of maritime contacts, and permitted these contacts to outfit as many as two ships each trade mission. But in 1551 the court complained that the trade missions of bakufu officials, ones that Korean officials do not seem to have realized were fraudulent, carried large amounts of cinnabar and pepper.17 In the second pattern, in 1552, King Myŏngjong’s court permitted Japanese contacts based in Kyūshū to resume interaction. Active personal seals totaled

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fifteen in 1555.18 More trade ships, including those of impostor bakufu officials, now sailed for Chosŏn as compared to prior to 1544, and greater volumes of cinnabar and pepper entered Chosŏn. In 1557 the Chosŏn court grew tired of Japanese seeking to exchange cinnabar and pepper in quantities four and five times greater than in earlier years. King Myŏngjong limited cinnabar to thirty catties (K. kŭn, J. kin), or 18,000 grams, and pepper to fifty catties, or 30,000 grams, per trade mission, and required the governor of Tsushima to record the quantity on the travel permit. The court also allowed each mission to carry as many as three inkstones (J. suzuribako).19 The ceilings imposed in 1557 governed exchange into the mid-1580s, and almost certainly until the invasion. Data for trade volumes are rich for the years 1580 to 1586. Before reviewing that information, a brief introduction to the Chosŏn court’s hierarchical ordering of Japanese contacts after 1512 will be instructive. The court divided Japanese contacts into four reception grades and into finer diplomatic statuses within two of those grades. The diplomatic equal of the king of Chosŏn was the king of Japan, as the Chinese and Korean governments called the representative of Japan in state-to-state relations. Interaction at this highest reception grade enabled those concocting fraudulent, impostor shōgunal embassies to outfit up to three ships per embassy. Below the king of Japan were bakufu officials, the Ōuchi family, and the Shōni family at the second reception grade, the Kyūshū Deputy (J. Kyūshū tandai), who was a regional official, at the third grade, and all other Japanese contacts at the fourth grade. Between 1580 and 1586 the quantities of cinnabar and pepper sent by contacts of the fourth reception grade did not exceed the 1557 regulations. Of 527 missions recorded as carrying cinnabar, pepper, inkstone cases, or horns, 517 missions held cinnabar, nine held pepper, and one held horns. In addition, inkstone cases appeared in two missions, and swords, silk thread, and other goods also were listed. Calculating from these Tsushima records, Japanese carried 12,251 catties, or 7,350,600 grams, of cinnabar and 105 catties, or 63,000 grams, of pepper from 1580 into 1586, or annual averages of 1,750.14 catties, or 1,050,084 grams, of cinnabar and 16.43 catties, or 9,858 grams, of pepper. These figures probably do not represent the total amounts of the goods, though. This is because the records do not identify goods prepared for impostor shōgunal embassies, which sailed from the 1520s at the latest, or for contacts of the second reception grade. As for inkstone cases, the number of items carried in 1580 and in 1584 exceeded the 1557 limit.20 Tsushima islanders almost certainly acquired these Southeast Asian goods in Hakata. The port city’s proximity was one reason. Another was the Sō family’s relationships with the city’s political and economic elites over the previous 150 years and more. Baigan, who probably was a monk and based in Tsushima, demonstrates the involvement of Tsushima men in networks that coursed through Hakata society in the late sixteenth century. In 1580 and 1585 his trade ships to Chosŏn each bore twenty catties, or 12,000 grams, of

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cinnabar, and his ships sent in 1581, 1582, 1583, and 1586 each carried thirty catties, or 18,000 grams. Moreover, his 1584 mission handled one of the few confirmed cargoes of pepper by a contact of the fourth reception grade other than the governor of Tsushima.21 An anecdote illustrates the network of traders and monks. One afternoon in 1579, Baigan joined a Hakata monk and prominent Hakata merchants for flower viewing and poetry.22 The Hakata monk who attended that afternoon gathering was Keitetsu Genso, the abbot of Shōfukuji temple in the port city.23 Shōfukuji had long maintained ties with the Ōuchi, who administered Hakata in the mid-fifteenth century and again from 1479 until their demise in 1551, and the temple remained visible and valuable in the second half of the sixteenth century, too.24 In earlier years, Genso had communicated with the abbot of Seizanji, a Rinzai Zen temple in Tsushima. Seizanji also contributed to Japanese relations with the Korean government. An abbot of Seizanji at one point in his career, the monk Anshin Tōdō served three times in the 1540s and 1550s as the envoy for impostor shōguns.25 And the temple traded in Chosŏn every year from 1580 to 1586.26 In 1580–1, Genso himself had served as envoy for an impostor embassy whose documentation was prepared in Tsushima.27 Also present at the gathering in Hakata that afternoon was the merchant Shimai Sōshitsu, who was an associate of Ōtomo Sōrin, himself the governor of Bungo Province and the most powerful man in northern Kyūshū in the 1570s. Sōrin (or perhaps someone using Sōrin’s name?) traded with the Chosŏn court through Tsushima islanders in 1572, 1573, and 1574.28 Shimai’s activities stretched to Tsushima and Chosŏn, and to Sakai, which he frequently visited for trade and where he joined in tea gatherings. The merchant was working with the Sō by 1568, when he turned a handsome profit in Sakai from goods acquired in the peninsula.29 And he visited Tsushima about one month before the outing with Baigan and Genso.30 Trade in Chosŏn was probably the strongest common denominator that connected the men viewing flowers that afternoon. In sum, throughout the sixteenth century Tsushima elites and their associates in western Japan were managing an elaborate system of seals that gained them access to Chosŏn and to trade there. Some of these seals were fraudulent in that they had been obtained under false pretenses. Real and impostor contacts moved Southeast Asian goods that had been acquired through Ryukyuan contacts. Changes in Chosŏn government policy to regulate the use of seals had repercussions through Tsushima to Hakata to Ryūkyū and even further. Into this network in the 1530s entered silver.

The early silver trade and China From the 1530s into the mid-1550s, silver eclipsed Southeast Asian goods in the cargo of a few select Japanese ships. The global silver trade linked economies in Asia, the Americas, and Western Europe, and expanded to

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northeast China when Koreans started to acquire goods there in the late fifteenth century or the first years of the sixteenth century with silver mined in Chosŏn. The Chosŏ-period silver trade in China first relied on metal mined in Tanch’ŏn and elsewhere in the peninsular northeast. By the late 1530s Koreans also were carrying Japanese silver into China. Silver mining came to the attention of the Korean ruler Prince Yŏnsan by 1503 at the latest.31 In the northeast, Koreans were utilizing a cupellation technique (K. yŏnyŏn ch’ŏl wi ŭn) learned from Chinese that separated silver more readily from the iron ore in which it was found.32 By early in 1508, the Chosŏn court knew that interpreters assigned to royal embassies were carrying Korean silver into China.33 For the next several decades the court struggled to prevent unsupervised extraction and to stop Korean merchants and government officials from trading silver or using it as currency in northeast China and Beijing. The circulation of silver touched upon the Korean government’s management of the domestic economy, relations with the Ming court, and relations with Japanese in western provinces. A profligate son, Prince Yŏnsan secured revenue from the mining. In 1504 he constricted mining to state-supervised digs during lulls in the spring and autumn farming seasons. King Chungjong abolished the seasonal mining almost immediately after taking the throne in the ninth lunar month of 1506.34 The government’s need for silver could not be neglected, however. In early 1510 King Chungjong ordered the Board of Taxation (K. Hojo) to calculate the amount of silver necessary for state use and to collect that amount in Hamgyŏng Province.35 People in Hamgyŏng and Kangwŏn provinces engaged in private extraction over the next several decades despite this king’s opposition to mining beyond state oversight. (King Chungjong had approved private mining in 1515, but halted it in 1516.) In 1517 the court decided to confiscate goods acquired in Ming China by embassy participants, save for books, medicine, and other approved items. The law was intended to stop the flow of silver to China by denying participants its proceeds and thereby discouraging private mining and export. The court resumed spring and autumn state mining in 1521, and this continued until 1542. Another ban on private mining, announced in 1528, indicates that the government could not police extraction, nor could it adequately monitor the comings and goings of merchants, interpreters, military men, and others assigned to embassies bound for Beijing. Silver left Hamgyŏng Province by various means. For example, miners exchanged their haul with visiting merchants, including licensed merchants, who then traveled to Hansŏng, to P’yŏng’an Province, or into China. In Hansŏng, they delivered the silver to Chinese-language interpreters or military officials who were to serve in an upcoming embassy. (The Ming court permitted the king of Chosŏn to send up to four tribute embassies each year.) Or, merchants carried their load to Ŭiju, the city in P’yŏng’an Province through which embassies departed and entered Chosŏn, and stored the metal at a private home for transfer to an embassy participant.

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Concern about the transport of silver to China did not begin in the early sixteenth century. Rather, this trade rekindled worries assuaged in 1429 when the Chinese and Korean governments agreed to the falsehood that silver was not to be found in Chosŏn and therefore would not be demanded as tribute. Maintaining this fiction and avoiding Chinese demands for silver tribute had inhibited the use of silver as currency in Chosŏn during the fifteenth century. King Chungjong on more than one occasion expressed fears that the current flow of Korean silver from the early 1500s would become known to the Chinese government and the emperor would renew the demand for silver as tribute.36 The Korean government would have found it difficult to ignore such a demand. In Ming China, silver was a trusted medium of exchange. When the government lifted the 1375 ban on payment in silver in 1435, it accepted the metal for the remittance of taxes.37 A silver economy formed in Ming China from the mid-fifteenth century, as “silver quickly displaced all other currencies.”38 The government did not convert this metal into coin. Silver circulated instead as weight. Participants in a transaction measured the quality of the ingot, which could be of varying sizes, and removed the amount necessary for the sale from the ingot. However, the Ming government’s monetary policies failed in the fifteenth century. While Chinese continued to use silver for large-scale transactions, such as land purchases, they relied upon other cash, typically copper-based coins, for smaller transactions. In addition to copper coins minted by the state in 1435, debased and counterfeit coinage also circulated, and the latter even displaced the state currency. Silver, though, retained its value. For example, in the mid-sixteenth century in Wujiang County, in Suzhou Prefecture, where silver and copper coins had been used for loans in the fifteenth century, the “lower interest rates levied on loans in silver attested to the market’s confidence in the long-term worth of silver.”39 Chinese economic historians have long noted the insufficient volume of circulating silver in the late Ming economy prior to its import from Japan and elsewhere.40 Regardless of whether silver’s presence or absence is emphasized, Chinese merchants and others welcomed the availability of the Korean precious metal. How Korean silver moved through the Chinese economy requires further research, but Sukawa Hidenori suggests that Korean silver served as compensation (J. taika) in smuggling.41 Meanwhile, in Chosŏn, veins opened in Tanch’ŏn were reported in 1540 to be thinning and in the mid-1560s to be all but exhausted.42 By 1538, and possibly from a decade earlier, though, a second source of silver for the Chosŏn government, for Korean markets, and for Korean trade in China had opened. Koreans taught Japanese the cupellation technique that had revolutionized mining in Hamgyŏng Province, and silver extraction flourished in the islands by the mid-1520s. The Hakata merchant Kamiya Jutei, who was already involved in copper mining and in trading copper in Chosŏn, began mining silver in Iwami Province, on the western coast of Honshū, from 1526.43 Silver

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mines opened elsewhere in Japan, too, especially in other provinces along that western coast. Japanese added silver to cargoes bound for Chosŏn possibly as early as 1528.44 The introduction of an external source of silver further complicated the Korean government’s efforts at preventing the flow of silver within and beyond Chosŏn. Japanese traded the metal through (at least) two contacts, the Shōni family and impostor kings of Japan. The earliest specific mention of silver in official trade is in 1538, when a Shōni mission brought 6,000 yang (375 catties, or 225,000 grams). The silver arrived as part of the trade to be conducted with the Korean government. In the court debate over the exchange rate, the Board of Rites (K. Yejo) described silver as not of use to the state and argued that it should not be included in official trade. Board officials worried that even if the monarch were to approve only one-third of the amount for official trade, Japanese would bring more of the metal for the private trade and Korean merchants would profit greatly by paying for goods in China with silver acquired from the Japanese.45 It is generally believed that the court accepted 125 catties, or 75,000 grams, for official exchange and allowed the remainder to be traded privately at the open port where the mission had landed. While accepting Japanese silver, the court paid close attention to the Korean goods that the Japanese obtained for their silver. In particular, Japanese carried away great amounts of cotton cloth, and this had an impact on supplies in state warehouses and thus on state coffers. Interest in importing cotton from Chosŏn and Ming China emerged in the mid-fifteenth century and informed the construction of some impostor Muromachi bakufu officials in the 1460s and early 1470s. Participants in these trade missions may have sought to circulate the goods in the capital area and elsewhere.46 The next recorded import of silver occurred in 1542. In this first known attempt to trade silver through an impostor shōgun, Japanese sent approximately 80,000 yang (5,000 catties, or 30,000,000 grams). The Chosŏn court wanted to keep the silver–cloth exchange rate low, and offered two bolts (K. p’il) of cloth for three yang of silver. The impostor shōgun’s envoy, Anshin Tōdō, demanded the 1538 rate of 15,000 yang of silver for 60,000 p’il of cloth that the Shōni mission had enjoyed (twelve bolts for three yang).47 The exchange rate is believed to eventually have been set at that previous rate of 15,000 yang of silver for 60,000 p’il of cloth.48 Yu Sŭngju suggests that the Chosŏn government’s acquisition of Japanese silver in the late 1530s and the early 1540s increased the displeasure of Tanch’ŏn residents who were forced to mine for the state but not permitted to mine for themselves. Whether people in Tanch’ŏn did or did not know of trade for Japanese silver, available figures show declining output around 1540 in Chosŏn compared to earlier years.49 Thanks to Japanese, as King Chungjong himself noted, the Korean government no longer suffered from a shortage of silver.50 Another impostor embassy led by Anshin Tōdō brought silver in 1552–3, and another impostor embassy in 1556–7 carried 30,000 yang (1,875 catties,

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or 1,125,000 grams). Judging from the amount of cotton cloth received in exchange by the later embassy, the court seems to have accepted a ceiling of 3,000 yang (187.5 catties, or 112,500 grams) of silver for official trade.51 Rather than accept one-third of the silver, or 10,000 yang, for official trade as in the past, the court allowed only one-tenth for official trade, or 3,000 yang. Generally, Koreans moved silver from Kyŏngsang Province to Hansŏng, where central government officials channeled the metal to interpreters, merchants, or others for exchange in China. But, as the king of Chosŏn’s embassies to Ming China offered opportunities for Koreans to engage in the private exchange of silver there, the Chosŏn court’s relations with Japanese invited what the court considered to be smuggling trade in Japanese silver. Japanese and Koreans met near Che-p’o and Pusan-p’o, the latter port having been reopened in 1521. Hansŏng merchants posing as central government officials acquired silver in 1539, and Japanese rendezvoused late at night with military officials in 1541. Also in 1541, government slaves disappeared with silver without fulfilling their promise to provide the Japanese with goods in return. In a similar case, Koreans did not compensate Japanese for silver that had been obtained from the Japanese in advance of payment, which prompted the swindled Japanese smugglers to complain to the Board of Rites.52 And in 1539, the court revised the guard system at the Hall of Eastern Peace (K. Tongp’yŏnggwan), where Japanese stayed while in Hansŏng, so as to prevent trade in forbidden goods.53 The smuggling provoked consternation.54 Frustrated by the secret trade in the south and the transfer of Japanese silver among Koreans, the court began introducing new laws to thwart smuggling in the late 1530s. For example, officials would be dismissed if they did not arrest local interpreters (K. hyang t’ongsa) and merchants who secretly traded at night with Japanese on offshore islands.55 That is, the court would punish officials who participated directly or indirectly in illicit transactions, or who knew of such transgressions but did not act. Several other laws introduced prior to the compilation in 1545 of the Taejŏn hu songnok, a volume of addenda to the Kyŏngguk taejŏn, the state law code, imposed penalties on individuals who traded improperly in China and on individuals who traded in silver and Chinese goods.56 Legal restrictions and political problems make it difficult to track the silver trade after this time. The closure of Chosŏn to Japanese trade from 1544 to 1547 due to the pirate raid at Saryang contributed to the gap in (recorded) silver deliveries between 1542 and 1552. The silence of the veritable records regarding Japanese silver cargo after the impostor shōgunal embassy of 1556–7 makes it difficult to confirm the frequency or volume of trade in Japanese silver from that time until 1592. The success of the court’s anti-smuggling measures similarly cannot be judged from the 1540s onwards. Japanese silver found other routes to China. To the south, Chinese merchants were sailing for northern Kyūshū by late 1541.57 With the silver trade through Chosŏn stifled by volume, exchange rates, and the court’s ban of thirty-four months on sanctioned exchange from 1544 to 1547, Japanese may

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have turned directly towards China. According to Fernão Mendes Pinto, in 1542 pirates attacked three Japanese ships bearing large quantities of silver that had departed Hirado bound for “Chincheo,” in China.58 The Ōtomo and other families in western Japan endeavored to send embassies in 1544, 1545, and 1546, but these seem not to have sailed. In 1556, 1557, and 1558, families in western Japan again sent tribute embassies to Ming China. However, with one Japanese embassy sent by the Ōuchi having returned to Japan in 1541 and another in 1549, the Chinese government denied reception because each of these three later embassies did not meet the schedule of one embassy every ten years.59 Tribute trade and supplementary trade in the capital were obvious goals. The embassies, and their persistent dispatch, were perhaps inspired in part by the new demand for Japanese silver in China.

Piracy and impostor identities An issue more problematic than the smuggling of silver confronted the Chosŏn government from the mid-1540s until the Japanese invasion. As noted already, pirates reached Chosŏn in the fourth lunar month of 1544. Some 200 men aboard some twenty ships plundered Saryang that month. King Chungjong closed Chosŏn to Japanese for the second time, and only permitted trade from 1547.60 Meanwhile, “Chinese ships” (K. hwang tangsŏn) struck more than ten times from 1544 to 1547. Piracy, as in the second half of the fourteenth century, was a menace that civil war in Japan compounded, and a menace that influenced Korean court policy thereafter. Korean–Japanese relations from 1547 until the invasion in 1592 differed significantly from interaction between 1512 and 1544. King Chungjong’s administration had prevented further interaction through impostor identities and other questionable contacts that had been active prior to 1510. With piracy now a threat, though, King Myŏngjong’s administration used trade through impostor identities to help discourage further raids. As had happened in 1510, Japanese men who were not involved in planning and managing much of the Japanese trade in the peninsula, this time, pirates, impelled changes in Korean policy towards maritime trade. Neither the severing of relations nor the resumption of trade halted marauding, however. Another wave of eight pirate attacks from 1552 to 1554 also troubled the court and residents of southern coastal areas. Pirates intruded intermittently for several more decades, though apparently not again in such flurries.61 The Chosŏn court concluded the Agreement of 1547 (K. Chŏngmi yakcho) with an impostor king of Japan. The new king of Chosŏn, Myŏngjong, then in his second year on the throne, was just fourteen years old. The Korean government reiterated the prohibition of further interaction through personal seals and military posts issued more than “fifty years” earlier. Prior to the Saryang raid in 1544, elites in Tsushima could send at least sixty-six ships each year. In 1547, the court reduced the governor from thirty annual ships back to twenty-five annual ships. Further, it did not restore or add other contact

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privileges.62 Before considering how Japanese traders subverted these restrictions, how control of the south affected the Chosŏn government’s defense posture should be discussed. Korean kings and officials had feared piracy since 1350, and they frequently referred to raids when debating policy and action. In the mid-sixteenth century, however, numerous problems connected with military preparedness complicated their response. For example, the Korean government had lowered troop levels in the early 1470s, reducing the number of soldiers and sailors by 25 percent between 1469 and 1475. In 1472, 19,015 soldiers and sailors served in Kyŏngsang Province and 102,736 soldiers and sailors countrywide. In 1475 the court fixed the number of troops required of individual villages and of each province. From that time, according to the new regulation, the Chosŏn government would stand 15,022 soldiers and sailors in Kyŏngsang Province, 72,097 soldiers and sailors countrywide.63 These reductions probably expressed a belief that the threat of piracy had faded. And several years earlier, in the late 1460s, the court had converted naval vessels into ships for conveying taxes. This, too, likely expressed lessened worries about the southern coast.64 Larger, structural problems came to play a role in debilitating the Korean military in the late sixteenth century. These included the “under-registration of the adult male population for service, the exemption of slaves and yangban from military duty, the lack of training, and the failure to adopt firearms.” Avoidance of duty through laws and evasion denied the military of soldiers such that in 1582 Yi I recommended an army of 100,000 troops, with 10,000 men to be based in each province and 20,000 men in the capital.65 However, Yi I’s proposed distribution of soldiers equally across the provinces suggests an unsure grasp of the geography of targets and the geography of defense. Why, for example, did Kangwŏn Province, which was distant from Kyūshū and not a key agricultural area, require the same number of troops as Kyŏngsang Province and Chŏlla Province? After all, coastal defense in Kyŏngsang and Chŏlla provinces had failed often since 1544. Or, perhaps Yi hoped to prompt discussion at court of the country’s current and future defense system. Whether or not Yi I’s implicit warning resonated at court, a Jurchen attack in northeast Hamgyŏng Province in early 1583 almost certainly sharpened thinking about military readiness.66 The court selected 101 men from the first military examination (K. mukwa) conducted in 1583, 500 men from the second military examination conducted in 1583, and 202 men from the military examination conducted in 1584.67 By contrast, in 1580, the court had accepted forty-four passers from the military examination.68 Meanwhile, maritime piracy troubled leaders in Tsushima as well as the Chosŏn government. Following the resumption of trade in 1547, the island’s governors alerted Korean officials when marauders approached. They sent seven messages between 1553 and 1559; three of those alerts arrived in 1555, or before and after seventy ships descended upon Tallyang, in Chŏlla Province, in the fifth lunar month. By bartering information for access, the governors hoped to increase the quality and the quantity of exchange in Chosŏn.69

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The preservation of peaceful waters became an important aspect of the governor of Tsushima’s trade policy. This objective also benefited people in Iki, Hakata, Akamagaseki (in westernmost Honshū), and Matsuura (in northwest Kyūshū) who, probably bothered by the dangers from piracy of passage between China and Kyūshū and between Kyūshū and Ryūkyū, provided Tsushima elites with information. In Hansŏng, Korean officials came to trust the governors’ reports.70 Japanese pressed other strategies for improving trade, too. Governors of Tsushima, as noted, managed to restore a total of eight ships in 1515 and 1523, though the Chosŏn court limited these vessels to the Sō family. By 1544, the court allowed Japanese to send some sixty-six or more ships,71 but piracy and the reduction to twenty-five ships from 1547 brought continued focus on impostor shōgunal embassies for exchange and negotiation with the Chosŏn court.72 After 1547, these impostor kings of Japan, composed and outfitted almost certainly in Tsushima, and possibly with assistance from men in Hakata or western Honshu, increasingly requested contact privileges for other Japanese. The requests in 1552, 1563, and 1567 to be discussed below are the most important examples. Another tactic revived in 1548 a gambit that had succeeded in the midfifteenth century, namely, sending impostor Muromachi bakufu officials or impostor contacts that likewise would be received at the second reception grade. These identities could conduct more trade at one visit than could contacts, including the governor of Tsushima, of the fourth reception grade. Two approaches can be identified.73 In the first approach, Japanese reintroduced the families of impostor Muromachi bakufu officials utilized between 1455 and 1474. Envoys presented the appropriate patents of identification, which required access to an ivory tally that the king of Chosŏn had issued in 1504. In the twelfth lunar month of 1474, King Sŏngjong had entrusted the king of Japan (and retired shōgun) Ashikaga Yoshimasa with a set of ten ivory tallies in order to halt the dispatch of tribute trade missions under the names of impostor bakufu officials. The Chosŏn court expected the king of Japan to distribute the patent to his envoys and to the envoys of bakufu officials. The set of ivory tallies issued in 1504 replaced the first set.74 Several of the new tallies reached the Ōtomo and the Ōuchi in western Japan. These families administered Hakata and were deeply involved in the Chosŏn trade. Looking towards Kyōto, the Ōtomo and the Ōuchi had supported different shōguns in a power struggle that continued from 1493 to 1508. Each family presumably received one or more tallies from the shōgun that they had backed.75 Multiple holders of 1504 tallies posed the possibility that different groups could organize impostor shōgunal embassies and impostor bakufu official missions. Or perhaps the two families also cooperated in ventures sent through their respective tallies. Whatever the background of the embassy or of the mission, the participation of the Sō was necessary because the governor of Tsushima issued the travel permit required for reception and

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trade. From 1548, envoys of impostor bakufu officials presenting an ivory tally again appeared in Chosŏn. In the second approach, Japanese sought to free contacts from the ivory tally. The number of ivory tallies was limited, and none were held in Tsushima. The Ōtomo family in northern Kyūshū or the Ōuchi family, and perhaps then the Mōri family, which controlled the former Ōuchi lands in western Honshū from the mid-1550s, presumably rented an ivory tally to the governor of Tsushima or a trader for trade in Chosŏn. But elites in Tsushima seem to have used the tally for additional purposes related to enhancing trade through new impostor identities. Gaining a personal seal from the king of Chosŏn in the name of an impostor identity received at the second grade would presumably free the user of the ivory tally from paying a percentage to that tally’s holder. Some impostor bakufu officials, that is, the sponsor(s) of the trade mission behind the fraudulent identity, asked Korean kings to bestow personal seals upon them presumably so as to escape the ivory tally regulations and paying a percentage to someone else. By removing an impostor bakufu official from the oversight of an impostor king of Japan, that is, by trading through a personal seal rather than an ivory tally, the Japanese sponsor(s) of these fraudulent identities could send ships under this name at their convenience. The key was to receive a personal seal from the Chosŏn government. To offer one example, King Myŏngjong’s court refused the request of the impostor, Hatakeyama Yoshiaki, for a copper seal in 1560, but in 1563 the fake Yoshiaki gained a seal through the good offices of an impostor shōgun.76 The planners of this fraud placed the Yoshiaki identity in an impostor branch of the Hatakeyama family that had traded in Chosŏn in the mid-fifteenth century. Yoshiaki was claimed to be a descendant of (the impostor) Hatakeyama Yoshinari, who began trading in 1460 as Deputy Shōgun (J. Kanrei), which was then the most powerful position below the shōgun. Not surprisingly, the planners of the Yoshiaki identity also designed male relatives for future interaction. Yoshiaki’s younger brother received a personal seal and Yoshiaki introduced a son to the court. Japanese also traded through fake identities placed in the Hosokawa, Shiba, Kyōgoku, and Kai families. All were families that Korean officials could confirm in records from the second half of the fifteenth century. With the personal seal for Yoshiaki’s younger brother and (at the least) a wooden seal for Yoshiaki held in Tsushima, it would seem that the Sō managed these two identities.77 Japanese aimed the largest number of impostor identities at the fourth reception grade. In seeking to increase trade, this strategy was the most significant because it could potentially result in more trade annually than through impostor bakufu officials. Represented by impostor kings of Japan in 1552, 1563, and 1567, Japanese succeeded in opening interaction through two new types of contacts: identities that had traded in the late fifteenth century and the early sixteenth century, and impostor successors to contacts that had been active from the mid-fifteenth century until after 1512. More specifically,

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the Chosŏn court reissued personal seals for the first type of contacts, and renewed a family’s privileges through contact succession and the issuance of a personal seal for the second type.78 The Chosŏn government found it expedient to use impostor trade to protect against piracy. Reversing the policy of King Chungjong’s court, King Myŏngjong’s court accepted trade through impostor identities. The government permitted impostor trade by Tsushima islanders as another means to discourage as well as to defend against piracy, because the managers of impostor identities would profit from continued trade and could contribute to reducing the threat of piracy to the Chosŏn government’s interests and to their own interests. That is, this was not fraudulent trade. Among fifty-seven personal seals known to have been used in the early 1570s and the early 1580s, the Chosŏn court produced at least forty-four patents for contacts claimed to be based in places other than Tsushima. In eleven known cases of reissued personal seals, the court reinstated contacts that had been recognized after King Sŏngjong’s coronation in 1469. The cutoff at “fifty years” proposed in 1509, implicit in the Agreement of 1512 and reiterated in the Agreement of 1547, came to mean a break between personal seals bestowed by King Sŏngjong’s predecessors and personal seals bestowed by King Sŏngjong.79 These impostor contacts thus traded through personal seals in two distinct periods, from the original bestowal until the court terminated contact privileges for that identity at some date after the restoration of interaction in 1512 and again from the second bestowal until the invasion in 1592. King Myŏngjong enabled tribute trade through contact succession in 1563 and 1567. That is, if they had not already done so in late 1552, he and his officials accepted the fiction of family succession and allowed ten contact successions in 1563 and twelve more in 1567. Of those twenty-two new impostor identities, three names have been confirmed as 1563 grantees and nine names confirmed as 1567 grantees.80 In contrast to the reissuance of personal seals, in these twenty-two contact successions all of the earlier generation of contacts had entered into tributary relationships with the Korean monarch before King Sŏngjong assumed the throne in the eleventh lunar month of 1469. Further, all of these impostor identities were based in places other than Tsushima. King Myŏngjong’s court focused not on the recent trade as had King Chungjong and his officials, but on the early interaction. However, the court maintained the practice of not bestowing privileges upon a contact that had been active prior to Sŏngjong’s enthronement. This stance may have helped to justify the bestowal of contact privileges upon later generations in contact families. King Myŏngjong’s court restored a form of interaction that Japanese had abused in the second half of the fifteenth century and the first decade of the sixteenth century, and that had prompted revisions in 1509, 1510, and 1512. However, the strict stance against sanctioned trade by Tsushima elites other than the Sō family continued. In short, King Myŏngjong’s court institutionalized impostor identities

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and impostor trade, and entrusted management of that trade to the governor of Tsushima. The king of Chosŏn approved personal seals for impostor identities instead of issuing personal seals to Tsushima men and permitting interaction under their names and place of residence. Many personal seals for impostor identities reached the governor of Tsushima, who then assigned the patents to island elites for tribute trade missions. The Chosŏn court surely understood that these personal seals would be stored and utilized in Tsushima. If this view is accurate, the Korean monarch and his officials converted impostor identities and impostor trade into a means of subsidizing the Tsushima economy. By supporting the Tsushima economy the Korean government almost certainly sought to guide islanders away from piracy. This strategy had worked in the early fifteenth century. Regardless of the degree of their knowledge of these Japanese contacts, King Myŏngjong, King Sŏnjo (r. 1567–1608), and their officials restored trade to Tsushima islanders indirectly. Greater numbers of trade missions did not end piracy, yet raids and warnings did not compel the Chosŏn court to focus sustained attention on the military system and on reform of recruitment practices or other problems. The courts of kings Myŏngjong and Sŏnjo, as had the Chosŏn government in its first decades, chose trade over military readiness.81 Of course, throughout King Myŏngjong’s reign and the first two decades of King Sŏnjo’s rule there was no reason to fear an invasion from across the sea.

From trade to invasion By the late 1560s, then, a new form of mutually beneficial interaction had emerged. The Korean government accepted impostor trade and encouraged continued cooperation against pirate attacks; Tsushima islanders and perhaps other Japanese increased the frequency and quantity of their trade in Chosŏn, enhanced the quality of trade through impostor bakufu officials, and contributed to the Korean government’s defense against pirate attacks. However, Hideyoshi’s desire to receive the king of Chosŏn’s subjugation and to conquer Ming China worried Japanese who knew Chosŏn, who knew the Korean government’s relationship with the Chinese government, and who knew Japanese–Korean relations best. From 1587, men in Tsushima and Hakata who would suffer economically from war labored to avert catastrophe. In the sixth lunar month of 1587 Hideyoshi ordered the governor of Tsushima Sō Yoshishige to have the king of Chosŏn come to Japan and submit before him. Outfitted as an embassy sent by the king of Japan, a Tsushima official traveled to Hansŏng and in the ninth lunar month of 1587 informed the Korean government of Hideyoshi’s unification of Japan. Rather than deliver Hideyoshi’s demand that the king submit before Japan’s ruler, Yoshishige instead asked that King Sŏnjo send an embassy to congratulate the new ruler.82 In the third lunar month of 1589, Hideyoshi commanded the governor of Tsushima to demand that the king of Chosŏn submit in

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person and to deliver a warning that should the king not assist in his attack on Ming China, he, Hideyoshi, would invade Chosŏn. The governor, now Sō Yoshitoshi, prepared another impostor embassy. That group departed Tsushima with Keitetsu Genso standing as envoy. Yoshitoshi, his retainer Yanagawa Shigenobu, who had sailed with Genso in 1580–1, and Shimai Sōshitsu accompanied the envoy. Underscoring this mission’s importance, Yoshitoshi was the first governor of Tsushima to visit Chosŏn. They reached Pusan in the sixth lunar month of 1589. In the capital, the mission suggested again that the king of Chosŏn send an embassy to Japan. King Sŏnjo and his officials did not realize that these guests, like the guests in 1587, were endangering themselves by misrepresenting their ruler’s message to the advantage of the Korean government. However, King Sŏnjo needed a reason other than a request presented by an (impostor) envoy of the king of Japan to send an embassy to Japan.83 The Chosŏn court demanded that a Korean who had assisted in a Japanese raid on an island in Chŏlla Province in 1587 be handed over for punishment. Upon the delivery in the second lunar month of 1590 of several men, including the wanted Korean, King Sŏnjo now had a pretext for contacting the ruler of Japan. He could now thank Hideyoshi, and dispatched an embassy. Led by the Envoy Hwang Yun’gil and the Vice-Envoy Kim Sŏng’il, the embassy departed Hansŏng in the third lunar month of 1590. Genso, Yoshitoshi, and Shimai accompanied the Koreans to the Japanese capital. There are extant in Japan two letters under King Sŏnjo’s name dated the third lunar month of 1590 and addressed to the “King of Japan.” One letter is preserved in Tōkyō at the Shoryōbu, an archive managed by the Imperial Household Agency (J. Kunaichō); the other letter is at Myōhōin, a temple in Kyōto. The text of both letters is the same, though the former is more skillfully prepared. For example, the fifth column is straight where the fifth column in the latter document veers to the reader’s right. Both letters bear two imprints that identify the king of Chosŏn in state letters addressed to the king of Japan.84 The text of that seal reads “Ŭi chŏng i tŏk.”85 The document preserved at the Shoryōbu, which is thought to be the letter presented to Hideyoshi, is not what it appears to be. Testing of the seal ink on that letter and the seal ink on a wooden seal inscribed with the text Ŭi chŏng i tŏk that formerly was preserved in Tsushima and is now held by the Kyūshū National Museum (J. Kyūshū Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan) indicates that the same seal ink is on both objects.86 In other words, the Shoryōbu letter was prepared with the assistance of Japanese, presumably Tsushima islanders and presumably in Tsushima or elsewhere in Japan, as the Korean embassy traveled to meet Hideyoshi. It is a forgery.87 That the Shoryōbu letter does not mention the return of the Korean pirate may suggest that the forger(s) did not want Hideyoshi to learn of that action and Tsushima’s role in it.88 Tsushima elites went so far as to use a counterfeit royal seal, one that likely had been used for earlier impostor shōgunal embassies to Chosŏn, and

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rewrite a Korean state letter, activities that required the cooperation of one or more Korean embassy officials. Such efforts bespeak desperate efforts by some elites in western Japan to avert war. Sŏnjo ordered the envoys to observe military preparations for a possible invasion while in Japan. However, it would seem unlikely that the two men saw much while sailing through the Inland Sea or while on land that could have offered valuable hints of readiness. First, Hideyoshi had not yet ordered daimyō throughout the country to begin preparations for an invasion of Chosŏn, including the construction of large numbers of vessels. Second, he had not ordered a headquarters for the invasion to be constructed. Third, the Korean delegation stopped at Tsushima, Iki, Hakata, Nagato Province, Nagoya (that is, the birthplace of Hideyoshi in central Honshū), and Sakai, a thriving port town from which one could travel to Ōsaka and Kyōto.89 These places relate a maritime journey to the Japanese capital; Hwang and Kim’s predecessors too had reached the Kyōto area by sea in the second half of the fourteenth century and the first half of the fifteenth century. What concrete information the two envoys could have based their respective evaluations upon when reporting to King Sŏnjo in the third lunar month of 1591 is unclear. However, the Korean officials gained more than impressions about military readiness in Japan. As was common in the fifteenth century, the monarch entrusted his representatives with gifts for Japanese contacts. The families that King Sŏnjo’s envoys were to meet included the Hosokawa and the Kyōgoku, who had served in the Muromachi bakufu but under whose surnames impostor trade had resumed by the 1570s. They also carried gifts for the Shōni and the Ōuchi. Despite being in Japan for so long, though, the envoys had not yet met anyone from these four families. Soon after learning that the Shōni and the Ōuchi had been removed from political significance many years earlier, the Ōuchi in 1551 and the Shōni in 1559, the embassy received letters from the family heads of the Shōni and the Ōuchi. Korean officials noticed, however, that the same hand had written both letters. Vice-Envoy Kim Sŏng’il sensed that the Kyōgoku and the Hosokawa, too, no longer exercised influence.90 The Chosŏn court had not realized that the Ōuchi, the Shōni, the Kyōgoku, and the Hosokawa had become vehicles for impostor trade. Stated differently, the impostor trade that Tsushima and Hakata elites were desperately trying to preserve had been exposed as broader than the court had known. This discovery showed how dangerously uninformed Korean officials were about the changes in Japan over the past century and more. And this lack of knowledge demonstrated how effectively Tsushima elites had deterred the Chosŏn court from meeting with other Japanese who were not involved in the trade in Chosŏn until this embassy. Conversely, the possibility that Korean embassy members would uncover hidden features of the trade underscores the danger that Hideyoshi’s intentions posed for the governor of Tsushima and his associates in Hakata. In effect, though without doubt unintentionally, the governor of Tsushima lost the impostor trade in the effort to avoid war.

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Genso and Shigenobu traveled with the Korean embassy back to Hansŏng in 1591 and again sought to postpone or avoid war. They tried to recast Hideyoshi’s demand that the king of Chosŏn guide the Japanese army to Ming China as a request that the Korean monarch permit the Japanese army to pass through Chosŏn to Ming China.91 They could not but fail. The further Hideyoshi’s plans advanced and the more bellicose his demands of the king of Chosŏn became, the further into a corner the Japanese involved in the Korean trade were pushed.92 The dispatch of the Korean embassy in 1590 focuses attention not only on elites in Tsushima, but also on their associates in Hakata. For example, Tsushima islanders needed Hakata’s merchants for cinnabar, pepper, and other goods that they traded in Chosŏn, and the Rinzai Zen community contributed to selecting monks such as Genso to serve as the envoys of the impostor kings of Japan. They also benefited from assistance in distributing goods acquired in Chosŏn, such as cloth and pottery. Relationships may also be traced eastward to Sakai. Tanaka Takeo believed that Konishi Yukinaga supported the Sō and Shimai in seeking a solution to the crisis. Born into a family of Sakai merchants, Konishi had included Shimai, whose ties to the merchant community in Sakai extended back many years, in the visit to Chosŏn in 1589–90.93 Yoshitoshi, who, like Konishi, had been baptized, was married to Konishi’s daughter. In Hideyoshi’s invasion army, Konishi commanded the First Division, which spearheaded the invasion. Yoshitoshi’s forces served in the First Division, and Genso guided Konishi and the soldiers serving under him to Hansŏng. After the war, Yoshitoshi approached the Korean government hoping to initiate discussion of the restoration of state-to-state diplomatic relations and of Tsushima’s trade in Chosŏn. Over several years of communication, Japanese sailed from Tsushima, Koreans sailed to Tsushima, and Tsushima islanders forged state letters between the king of Chosŏn and the shōgun of Japan. With diplomatic relations established in 1607, Genso and the son of Shigenobu negotiated new regulations for departure, access, trade, and residence.94 The Agreement of 1609 (K. Kiyu yakcho), like those in 1512 and 1547, covered several aspects of interaction. Perhaps the most important change also punished Japanese broadly for the impostor deceptions that Kim Sŏng’il had discovered in Japan. That is, the Chosŏn court banned trade by Japanese based outside of Tsushima other than the king of Japan. This halted both the approved, institutionalized impostor tribute trade and the covert impostor tribute trade. Thus ended the careers of these impostor identities, still more victims of Hideyoshi’s folly.

Conclusion Hideyoshi’s invasion fractured diplomatic and trade practices that the Chosŏn court and Japanese elites in western provinces had constructed through overlapping interests, regulations, and deception from the 1390s,

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more immediately from 1511 and 1512, and especially from 1547. The Agreement of 1609, however, limited trade to Tsushima islanders, who continued to work with Hakata elites, and the Japanese ruler in Edo. Trade in Southeast Asian goods and Japanese silver resumed in Pusan, the only port now open for residence and exchange. And Tsushima elites continued forging state letters, now to restore and to enhance diplomatic relations between the Chosŏn court and the Edo government, until exposed in 1635 by Yanagawa Shigeoki, an ambitious Tsushima official who was the grandson of Shigenobu. From 1547, King Myŏngjong’s court chose trade with impostor identities over confronting piracy with an improved military. Proposals for strengthening the army and the navy in the late sixteenth century might have met a more positive response had history and experience not suggested that trade could be effective and less disruptive to Korean society. Reforming the military would have necessitated addressing, among other problems, the evasion of military duty and perhaps even the difficult issue of privileges enjoyed by yangban families. The court debate in the third lunar month of 1591 over Hideyoshi’s ability to make war was sadly irrelevant when observed in a longer timeframe. By then the timetable for assembling a military that would repel a Japanese onslaught, that is, for enlisting and training men to be officers, soldiers, and sailors, for constructing warships, for manufacturing weapons, for strengthening forts and other defenses, and for storing food and weapons, among other preparations, could not have countered Hideyoshi’s timetable for invasion once he had decided upon war. The direct preparation was launched from spring 1591, when Hideyoshi ordered troops to Nagoya in northwest Kyūshū. Further, Hideyoshi’s shallow comprehension of the practices of diplomatic relations and interaction in northeast Asia should not be underestimated as a cause of the war.95 One reason for Hideyoshi’s ignorance was the dislocation of state-to-state relations from the government in Kyōto and its relocation to elites in western provinces, particularly in Tsushima and in Hakata, in the early sixteenth century. Enterprising men had appropriated the shōgun for, among other purposes, recovering trade ships and trade volume lost in and after 1512. Interaction with these fake shōguns similarly distanced the Korean government from its counterpart in Japan, and contributed to the court’s confusion when Hideyoshi introduced himself in 1587 as the new paramount in Japan. In the second half of the sixteenth century, and from earlier, the Chosŏn court was dependent upon people involved in impostor trade for current information about Japan. Lacking direct communication with Japanese governments, and lacking the interest or the urgency to send officials beyond Tsushima to Hakata or Kyōto, Korean kings and their officials could not follow the politics and warfare in Japan on their own terms. For such reasons, as well as the audacity of Hideyoshi’s demands even when muted by Tsushima elites, King Sŏnjo and his officials were unable to skillfully interpret signals from the Tsushima and Hakata men representing Hideyoshi. The winter of

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1590 was too late for the Chosŏn court to begin gathering information in Japan beyond Tsushima.

Notes 1 Chungjong shillok, 8:15a–b (1509.3.26); Chungjong shillok, 8:23a–24a (1509.4.12). 2 Nakamura, Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, Vol. 1, 1965, pp. 674–5. 3 Chungjong shillok, 8:60a (1509.7.6); Chungjong shillok, 8:61a (1509.7.7); Shin, Haedong chegukki, 1933, 83b. 4 Here I have adapted Mary Elizabeth Berry’s discussion of corporations in Muromachi-period Japan. See Berry, The Culture of Civil War in Kyoto, 1994, pp. xxix–xxx. For connections between Hakata and Sakai, see Izumi, Sakai to Hakata, 1976. 5 Chungjong shillok, 10:43b–44a (1510.2.3). 6 Nakamura, Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, Vol. 1, 1965, pp. 703–28. 7 For impostor kings of Japan, see Murai, Chūsei Wajin den, 1993, pp. 154–63. 8 Osa, “Keitetsu Genso ni tsuite,” 1963, p. 145. 9 Chungjong shillok, 16:55a–b (1512.8.20); Chungjong shillok, 16:55b (1512.8.21). 10 Please refer to Chapter 1, by Saeki Kōji. 11 The first Chiba Mototane mission arrived in 1458. Perhaps two more missions sailed before his death in 1464 and at least fourteen more from 1465 until 1504. The governor of Tsushima tried in 1513–14 to continue trade through the Mototane personal seal, which was kept on the island. The court’s rejection is strongly suggested by the absence of further reference to Mototane in extant sources. See Shin, Haedong chegukki, 1938, 81a; “Yoshimori kakikudashi,” dated 1513.12.23, in Umamawari gohanmotsu chō, in Nagasaki-ken shi, shiryō-hen, dai1, 1963, pp. 724–5; Takeuchi “Tsushima no komonjo,” 1951, p. 111. 12 Chungjong shillok, 49:21a (1523.9.6); Chungjong shillok, 23:45b (1515.12.4). The 1585 edition of the Kosa ch’waryo reports that relatives of the governor of Tsushima could send four ships each year. See Ǒ, Kosa ch’waryo, 1974, 1:40b. 13 Mendes Pinto, The Travels of Mendes Pinto, 1989, pp. 73, 104, 420, and 518. 14 Kang, Kanyangnok, 1658, 42b, 73b. 15 Schurhammer, Francis Xavier, 1982, p. 9 n. 44; p. 138 n. 24. 16 Osa, Chūsei Nitchō kankei to Tsushima, 1987, p. 285. 17 Myŏngjong shillok, 12:29b–30b (1551.10.24). 18 Myŏngjong shillok, 13:77a–b (1552.11.26); Ǒ, Kosa ch’waryo 1:37a (1585 edition); Nakamura, Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, Vol. 3, 1969, pp. 193–6. 19 Myŏngjong shillok, 23:71a–b (1557.12.30). 20 Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, ed., Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe, 1955, 38, 69. Japanese inkstones circulated in Chosŏn in the mid-sixteenth century. See Yi, Mukche ilgi, Vol. 2, 1998, p. 336 (1558.10.9). 21 Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, ed. Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe, 1955, pp. 36, 45, 53, 62, 68, 75, and 82. 22 Osa, “Keitetsu Genso ni tsuite,” 1963, pp. 139–41; Keitetsu Genso, Sensōkō, 1:24b–26a, 2:23b, 2:27b–29b. 23 In 1513, the shōgun appointed Hōchū Dōtoku as Abbot of Shōfukuji. 24 Itō, “Ōuchi-shi no taigai kōryū to Chikuzen Hakata Shōfukuji,” 1996, pp. 31–53. 25 Ieyasu-kō, 13a. 26 Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, ed., Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe, 1955, pp. 34, 44, 50, 60, 67, 74, and 82. 27 Keitetsu Genso, Sensōkō, 1:26b, 1:41b; Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, ed., Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe, 1955, p. 38; Sŏnjo shillok, 15:3b (1581.1.26); Sŏnjo shillok, 15:10b (1581.3.26).

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28 Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, ed., Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe, 1955, pp. 18, 23, and 27. 29 “Shimai-shi nenroku,” item dated 1568.2 and item dated 1568.6.5, p. 171; Izumi, Sakai to Hakata, 1976, pp. 127–39. 30 “Shimai-shi nenroku,” item dated 1579.8, p. 174. 31 Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 49:29b (1503.5.23); Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 52:3b (1504.1.16); Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 53:21a (1504.Intercalary 4.29). Also, in 1502.1 and 1503.4 Japanese requested silver as an exchange good, suggesting the possibility that the Korean government and people in Chosŏn with whom Japanese dealt knew of the mining prior to 1502. See Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 42:10a (1502.1.19); and Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 49:22b (1503.4.27). 32 Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 52:3b (1504.1.16); Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 53:21a (1504.Intercalary 4.29). 33 Chungjong shillok, 7:14a–15a (1508.11.6). Also see Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 37:7a–b (1500.3.22) for the transport of silver into Ming China. 34 This brief discussion of silver production in Chosŏn is based on Han, “16 segi tae-Chungguk samuyŏk ŭi chŏngae,” 1983, pp. 449–85, and Yu, Chosŏn shidae kwangŏpsa yŏngu, 1993, pp. 130–74. 35 Chungjong shillok, 7:58a–b (1510.1.28). 36 Chungjong shillok, 7:14a–15a (1509.11.6); Chungjong shillok, 21:50a–b (1515.2.8). Also see Chungjong shillok, 9:15a–16a (1509.8.28). 37 The discussion of silver in Ming China is from von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, pp. 70–112, and Mote, Imperial China, 900–1800, 1999, pp. 766–9. 38 von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, p. 79. 39 von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, p. 103. 40 Li, “A Study on the Song, Yuan and Ming Monetary Policies,” 2007, pp. 123–6. 41 Sukawa, “Chōsen jidai no kahei,” 1999, p. 81. 42 Chungjong shillok, 93:67a–b (1540.9.10); Myŏngjong shillok, 32:64b (1566.4.25). 43 Murai, Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon, 1997, p. 153. 44 Murai, Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon, 1997, pp. 153–4; Chungjong shillok, 60:43a (1528.2.10). 45 Chungjong shillok, 88:64b–65a (1538.10.29). 46 For cotton in the capital area of Japan in the 1460s and 1470s, see Nagahara, Shin – Momen izen no koto, 1990, pp. 68–70. 47 Chungjong shillok, 98:52a (1542.6.10); Chungjong shillok, 98:55b (1542.6.18). For a summary of the court debate regarding the silver carried by this embassy, see Ch’oe Yŏng-ho, trans. “Precious Metals,” in Lee, ed., Sourcebook of Korean Civilization, Vol. 1, 1993, pp. 597–600. 48 Kobata, “Chūsei kōhanki ni okeru Nissen kin-gin bōeki no kenkyū (2),” 1932, p. 104; Shin Sekkō, “Chōsen Chūsō jidai no kin-gin mondai,” 1938, p. 428. 49 Yu, Chosŏn shidae kwangŏpsa yŏngu, 1993, p. 154; Chungjong shillok, 64:12b (1528. Intercalary 10.20); Chungjong shillok, 93:67a–b (1540.9.10). 50 Chungjong shillok, 98:51b (1542.6.9). 51 Myŏngjong shillok, 13:43b (1552.6.12); Myŏngjong shillok, 22:25a–26a (1557.2.12); Kobata, “Chūsei kōhanki ni okeru Nissen kin-gin bōeki no kenkyū (2),” 1932, p. 106. 52 Shin Sekkō, “Chōsen Chūsō jidai no kin-gin mondai,” 1938, pp. 424–5. 53 Chungjong shillok, 91:7a–8a (1539.6.5). 54 Yi, Hoeje sŏnsaeng pyŏlchip, 1973, 1:20a–21a; Murai, Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon, 1997, pp. 160–75. 55 Taejŏn hu songnok, 1983, 5:5a. 56 Taejŏn hu songnok, 1983, 5:3b–6a. 57 Chungjong shillok, 96:64b (1541.11.24). 58 Mendes Pinto, The Travels of Mendes Pinto, 1989, p. 126. Also see Lidin, Tanegashima, 2002, p. 208, note 101.

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59 Hashimoto, “Muromachi – Sengokuki no shōgun kenryoku to gaikōken,” 1998, pp. 13–14. 60 Myŏngjong shillok, 5:19b–20b (1547.2.13). 61 Takahashi, “16 seiki chūki no kōtōsen to Chōsen no taiō,” 1995, pp. 95–104; Saeki, “16 seiki ni okeru kōki Wakō no katsudō to Tsushima Sō-shi,” 1997, p. 36. 62 Myŏngjong shillok, 5:19b–20b (1547.2.13); Chungjong shillok, 49:21a (1523.9.6). 63 Yi, “Chosŏn ch’ogi,” 2003, pp. 65–72. 64 For the naval vessels see Rokutanda, “Chōsen shoki,” 1997, pp. 73–97. 65 For the Korean military in the sixteenth century, see Palais, Confucian Statecraft, 1996, pp. 76–82, and pp. 402–5. The quotation and Yi I’s memorial are from p. 76. 66 For the connection between the Jurchen attack and military examinations see Park, “Military Examination Graduates,” 2001, pp. 24–6. 67 Shim, “Chosŏn Sŏnjo-dae mukwa kŭpcheja ŭi shinbun,” 1994, pp. 48–9. 68 Mallyŏk p’allyŏn kyŏngjin samwŏl shib’o-il pyŏlshi pangmok, 10a–19b. 69 Saeki, “16 seiki ni okeru kōki Wakō no katsudō to Tsushima Sō-shi,” 1997, pp. 36, 47. 70 Tashiro and Yonetani, “Sō-ke kyūzō ‘tosho’ to mokuin,” 1995, p. 94; Takahashi, “16 seiki chūki no kōtōsen to Chōsen taiō,” 1995, pp. 95–112; Saeki, “16 seiki ni okeru kōki Wakō no katsudō to Tsushima Sō-shi,” 1997, pp. 34–7 and pp. 42–6. 71 Chungjong shillok, 102:75b–78b (1544.4.24). 72 Murai, Chūsei Wajin den, 1993, p. 160. 73 Myŏngjong shillok, 7:41b (1548.3.18); Myŏngjong shillok, 7:41b–43b (1548.3.18). 74 “Nihon kokuō Minamoto Yoshizumi hōsho,” dated 1503.3.(unspecified), 1901, pp. 24–5; Kyōto shōgun kefu, 1978, p. 382; Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 49:3a (1503.3.6); Hashimoto, “Muromachi – Sengokuki no shōgun kenryoku to gaikōken,” 1998, pp. 10–11. 75 See Hashimoto, “Muromachi – Sengokuki no shōgun kenryoku to gaikōken,” 1998, pp. 5–6, for confirmation that both the Ōtomo and the Ōuchi held 1504 tallies. 76 Myŏngjong shillok, 26:9b–10a (1560.2.21); Myŏngjong shillok, 26:28a–b (1560.5.12); Tashiro and Yonetani, “Sō-ke kyūzō ‘tosho’ to mokuin,” 1995, pp. 50–2. 77 Robinson, “The Imposter Branch of the Hatakeyama Family,” 1999, pp. 67–88. 78 Yonetani, “16 seiki Nitchō kankei ni okeru gishi haken no kōzō to jittai,” 1997, pp. 3–7. 79 Chungjong shillok, 8:15a–b (1509.3.26); Chungjong shillok, 16:55a–b (1512.8.20); Myŏngjong shillok, 5:19b–20b (1547.2.13). 80 Myŏngjong shillok, 29:71b–72a (1563.9.28); Myŏngjong shillok, 34:32b–34a (1567.5.16); Myŏngjong shillok, 34:34a–b (1567.5.17); Yonetani, “16 seiki Nitchō kankei ni okeru gishi haken no kōzō to jittai,” 1997, p. 6. 81 For the earlier preference see Nakamura, Nihon to Chōsen, 1966, p. 102. 82 This discussion of the roles of Tsushima and Hakata elites in negotiations is drawn from Tanaka Takeo’s biography of Shimai Sōshitsu, from Kitajima Manji’s research on the invasion and its prelude, and from Yonetani Hitoshi’s study of Japanese communication with King Sŏnjo’s court in 1589–90. See Tanaka, Shimai Sōshitsu, 1961, p. 145; Kitajima, Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku, 1995, pp. 14–28, and Yonetani, “Hideyoshi seiken-ki ni okeru kaizoku no hikiwatashi to Nitchō kankei,” 2002, pp. 1–17. 83 Yonetani, “Hideyoshi seiken-ki ni okeru kaizoku no hikiwatashi to Nitchō kankei,” 2002, pp. 5–6. 84 “Chōsen kokuō Ri En (Senso) kokusho,” 2002, viii, plate 5.1; “Chōsen ō Ri En shinsho – dō beppuku,” in Kyōto Kokuritsu Hakubutsukan, ed., Myōhōin to

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Sanjūsangendō, 1999, pp. 190–1, plate 73. The two extant texts each show the Ŭi chŏng.i tŏk seal face text in two places on the letter and in one place on the appended list of gifts. For a photographic enlargement of the first imprint, which was affixed over the king of Chosŏn’s adult name written in the column for the address from the king of Chosŏn, that is, the first column, in the Shoryōbu letter, see plate 5 on page xxii in the issue of Kyūshū shigaku containing “Chōsen kokuō Ri En (Senso) kokusho.” For Chosŏn period reproductions of the Ŭi chŏng i tŏk royal seal, see Poin pushin ch’ongsu, 1994, p. 46, and Han’guk Chŏngshin Munhwa Yŏn’guwŏn Changsŏgak, ed., Poinso ŭigye, 2004, pp. 51–6. Wada, “Chōsen kokuō kokusho ni osareta shuin no kagaku-teki bunseki,” 2006, p. 26. Tashiro and Yonetani, “Sō-ke kyūzō ‘tosho’ to mokuin,” 1995, pp. 86–8. Yonetani, “Hideyoshi seiken-ki ni okeru kaizoku no hikiwatashi to Nitchō kankei,” 2002, pp. 12–13. Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:2a–3a (1591.3.1). Kim, Haesarok, 1967, pp. 42–3. Tanaka, Shimai Sōshitsu, 1961, pp. 154–5; Kitajima, Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku, 1995, p. 26; Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 265–6. Tanaka, Shimai Sōshitsu, 1961, p. 144; Turnbull, Samurai Invasion, 2002, pp. 33–4. Tanaka, Shimai Sōshitsu, 1961, pp. 149, 152–4, and 156–8. Also see Yonetani, “Hideyoshi seiken-ki ni okeru kaizoku no hikiwatashi to Nitchō kankei,” 2002, pp. 7–10, and 13. Toby, State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan, 1984, pp. 23–43. Hideyoshi believed that the king of Chosŏn was a tributary of the governor of Tsushima. See Kitajima, Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku, 1995, p. 16.

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Hashimoto Yū (橋本雄). “Muromachi – Sengokuki no shōgun kenryoku to gaikōken: Seiji katei to taigai kankei (室町 ዘ戦国期の将軍権力と外交権―政治過程と対外 関係),” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴史学研究) 708:3 (1998): 1–18. Ieyasu-kō mei waboku Chōsen Tsushima sosa yakujo sōtei shidai narabi Tsushima shiki (家康公命和睦朝鮮対馬送使約条并対馬私記). Tōkyō: Tōkyō National Museum collection. Itō Kōji (伊藤幸司). “Ōuchi-shi no taigai kōryū to Chikuzen Hakata Shōfukuji (大 内氏の対外交流と筑前博多聖福寺),” Bukkyō shigaku kenkyū (仏教史学研究) 39:1 (1996): 31–53. Izumi Chōichi (泉澄一). Sakai to Hakata: Sengoku no gōshō (堺と博多―戦国の豪 商). Ōsaka: Sōbunsha, 1976. Kang Hang (姜沆). Kanyangnok (看羊錄), in Kang Hang (姜沆), Suŭn chip (睡隱集). National Library of Korea collection, 1658 printing. Keitetsu Genso (景轍玄蘇). Sensōkō (仙巣稿). National Diet Library, Japan, collection. Kim Sŏng’il (金誠一). Haesarok (海槎錄), in Haehaeng ch’ongjae (海行摠載), Vol. 1. Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 1967, pp. 25–48. Kitajima Manji (北島万次). Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku (豊臣秀吉の朝 鮮侵略). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1995. Kobata Atsushi (小葉田淳). “Chūsei kōhanki ni okeru Nissen kin-gin bōeki no kenkyū (2): Richō Meisō matsunen ni itaru (中世後半期に於ける日鮮金銀貿 易の研究(二)－李朝明宗末年に至る),” Shigaku zasshi (史學雑誌) 43:7 (1932): 71–110. Kyōto kokuritsu hakubutsukan (京都国立博物館), ed. Myōhōin to Sanjūsangendō: Tokubetsu tenrankai (妙法院と三十三間堂―特別展覧会). Tōkyō: Nihon keizai shinbunsha, 1999, for the document “Chōsen ō Ri En shinsho – dō beppuku (朝鮮 王李昖信書 ዘ同別幅).” Kyōto shōgun kefu (京都将軍家譜), in Koji ruien, gaikō-bu (古事類苑, 外交部). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1978. Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai (九州史料刊行会), ed. Chōsen sosa kuninami no shokei oboe (朝鮮送使國次之書契覺). Fukuoka: Kyūshū daigaku Kyūshū bunkashi kenkyūjonai Kyūshū shiryō kankōkai, 1955. Li, Kangying. “A Study on the Song, Yuan and Ming Monetary Policies within the Context of Worldwide Hard Currency Flows during the 11th–16th Centuries and Their Impact on Ming Institutions,” in Angela Schottenhammer, ed., The East Asian Maritime World 1400–1800: Its Fabrics of Power and Dynamics of Exchange. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2007, pp. 99–136. Lidin, Olof G. Tanegashima: The Arrival of Europe in Japan. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2002. Mallyŏk p’allyŏn Kyŏngjin samwŏl shib’o-il pyŏlshi pangmok (滿暦八年庚辰三月十五 日別試榜目). Mansong Kim Wansŏp Mungo, Koryŏ Taehakkyo Tosŏgwan (晩松金 完燮文庫ٜ高麗大學校圖書館). Mendes Pinto, Fernão. The Travels of Mendes Pinto. Catz, Rebecca D., ed. and trans. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1989. Mote, F.W. Imperial China, 900–1800. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). Chūsei Wajin den (中世倭人伝). Tōkyō: Iwanami shoten, 1993.

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Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). Umi kara mita sengoku Nihon: Rettōshi kara sekaishi e (海 からみた戦国日本－列島史から世界史へ). Tōkyō: Chikuma shobō, 1997. Myŏngjong shillok (明宗實録). Nagahara Keiji (永原慶二). Shin – Momen izen no koto: Choma kara momen e (新 ዘ木 綿以前のことー苧麻から木綿へ). Tōkyō: Chūō kōronsha, 1990. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村栄孝). Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū (日鮮関係史の研究), vols. 1–3. Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1965–1969. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村栄孝). Nihon to Chōsen (日本と朝鮮). Tōkyō: Shibundō, 1966. “Nihon kokuō Minamoto Yoshizumi hōsho (日本国王源義純奉書),” in Zoku zenrinkoku hōki (續善隣國寳記), in Kaitei shiseki shūran, dai-21 satsu (改定史籍集 覧). Tōkyō: Kondō shuppanbu, 1901, pp. 24–5. Ǒ Sukkwŏn (魚叔權). Kosa ch’waryo (1585 edn.) (攷事撮要). Seoul: Nammun’gak, 1974. Osa Masanori (長政統). “Keitetsu Genso ni tsuite: Ichi gaikō zō no shutsuji to hōkei (景轍玄蘇について:一外交僧の出自と法系),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮学報) 29:10 (1963): 135–47. Osa Setsuko (長節子). Chūsei Nitchō kankei to Tsushima (中世日朝関係と対馬). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1987. Palais, James B. Confucian Statecraft and Korean Institutions: Yu Hyŏngwŏn and the Late Chosŏn Dynasty. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1996. Park, Eugene Y. “Military Examination Graduates in Sixteenth-Century Korea: Political Upheaval, Social Change, and Security Crisis,” Journal of Asian History 35:1 (2001): 1–57. Poin pushin ch’ongsu (寳印符信總數). Seoul: Sŏul taehakkyo Kyujanggak, 1994. Robinson, Kenneth R. “The Imposter Branch of the Hatakeyama Family and Japanese–Chosŏn Korea Court Relations, 1455–1580s,” Kokusai Kirisutokyō Daigaku Ajia Bunka Kenkyūjo Ajia bunka kenkyū (国際基督教大学アジア文化研究 所アジア文化研究) 25:3 (1999): 67–88. Rokutanda Yutaka (六反田豊). “Chōsen shoki sōunsei ni okeru sensotsu – senpaku no dōin taisei (朝鮮初期漕運制における船卒 ዘ船舶の動員体制),” Tōkyō daigaku bungakubu Chōsen bunka kenkyūshitsu kiyō (東京大学文学部朝鮮文化研究室紀要) 4 (1997): 73–97. Saeki Kōji (佐伯弘次). “16 seiki ni okeru kōki Wakō no katsudō to Tsushima Sō-shi (十六世紀における後期倭寇の活動と対馬宗氏),” in Nakamura, Tadashi (中村 質), ed., Sakoku to kokusai kankei (鎖国と国際関係). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1997, pp. 31–50. Schurhammer, Georg. Francis Xavier, His Life and Times, Vol. 4: Japan and China, 1549– 1552. Costelloe, M. Joseph, trans. Rome: The Jesuit Historical Institute, 1982. Shim Sŭnggu (葘勝求). “Chosŏn Sŏnjo-dae mugwa kŭpcheja ŭi shinbun: 1583–1584 nyŏn ŭi taeryang shich’wi pangmok ŭl chungshim ŭro (朝鮮 宣祖代 武科及第者㦮 身分; 1583―1584⎚㦮 大量試取 榜目㦚G 㭧㕂㦒⪲),” Yŏksa hakpo (歷史學報) 144:12 (1994): 47–87. “Shimai-shi nenroku (島井氏年録),” in Shimai monjo oyobi kiroku (島井文書および 記録), in Oshirō, Itō (伊東尾四郎), ed., Fukuoka-ken shi shiryō, dai-6 kan (福岡県史 資料). Fukuoka: Fukuoka-ken, 1936. Shin Sekkō (Shin, Sŏkho) (申奭鎬). “Chōsen Chūsō jidai no kin-gin mondai (朝鮮 中宗時代の金銀問題),” in Inaba hakushi kanreki kinenkai (稲葉博士還暦記念会),

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ed., Inaba hakushi kanreki kinen Mansenshi ronsō (稲葉博士還暦記念満鮮史論叢). Keijō: Inaba hakushi kanreki kinenkai, 1938, pp. 401–52. Shin Sukchu (申叔舟), comp. Haedong chegukki (海東諸國紀). Keijō: Chōsen sōtokufu, 1933. Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實録). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok (宣祖修正實録). Sukawa Hidenori (須川英徳). “Chōsen jidai no kahei: ‘Riken zaijō‘ o meguru kattō (朝鮮時代の貨幣―「利権在上」をめぐる葛藤),” in Rekishigaku kenkyūkai (歴史 学研究会), ed., Ekkyō suru kahei (越境する貨幣). Tōkyō: Aoki shoten, 1999, pp. 75–108. Taejŏn hu songnok (大典後續錄), in Taejŏn songnok – hu songnok (大典續錄, 後續錄). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1983. Takahashi Kimiaki (高橋公明). “16 seiki chūki no kōtōsen to Chōsen no taiō (十六世 紀中期の荒唐船と朝鮮の対応),” in Tanaka, Takeo (田中健夫), ed., Zenkindai no Nihon to Higashi Ajia (前近代の日本と東アジア). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1995, pp. 342–70. Takeuchi Rizō (竹内理三). “Tsushima no komonjo: Keichō izen no onhanmotsu (対 馬の古文書―慶長以前の御判物),” Kyūshū bunkashi kenkyūjo kiyō (九州文化史研 究所紀要) 1 (1951): 65–118. Tanaka Takeo (田中健夫). Shimai Sōshitsu (島井宗室). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1961. Tashiro Kazui (田代和生) and Yonetani, Hitoshi (米谷均). “Sō-ke kyūzō ‘tosho’ to mokuin (宗家旧蔵「図書」と木印),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮学報) 156:7 (1995): 13–96. Toby, Ronald P. State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan: Asia and the Development of the Tokugawa Bakufu. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1984 (reprinted 1991). Turnbull, Stephen. Samurai Invasion: Japan’s Korean War, 1592–1598. London: Cassell & Co., 2002. Umamawari gohanmotsu chō (馬周御判物控), in Nagasaki-ken shi hensan iinkai (長 崎縣史編纂委員會), ed., Nagasaki-ken shi, shiryō-hen, dai-1 (長崎県史資料編). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1963. von Glahn, Richard. Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China, 1000– 1700. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Wada Hiroshi (和田浩). “Chōsen kokuō kokusho ni osareta shuin no kagaku-teki bunseki (朝鮮国王国書に捺された朱印の科学的分析),” Museum 603:8 (2006): 23–38. Yi Hyŏnsu (㧊䡚㑮). “Chosŏn ch’ogi kunjŏng ŭi chŏng’aekhwa kwajŏng kwa kun’aek ch’ui (㫆㍶㽞₆ 軍丁㦮 定額化 ὒ㩫ὒ 軍額 推移),” Chosŏn shidaesa yŏn’gu (朝 鮮時代史研究) 26:9 (2003): 39–73. Yi Mungŏn (蝗文楗). Mukche ilgi (默齋日記), Vol. 2. Kwach’ŏn: Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1998. Yi Ŏnjŏk (蝗彦迪). Hoeje sŏnsaeng pyŏlchip (晦齋先生別集), in Yi Ŏnjŏk (蝗彦迪), Hoeje chŏnsŏ (晦齋全書). Seoul: Sŏnggyun’gwan taehakkyo taedong munhwa yŏn’guso, 1973. Yonetani Hitoshi (米谷均). “16 seiki Nitchō kankei ni okeru gishi haken no kōzō to jittai (16世紀日朝関係における偽使派遣の構造と実態),” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴 史学研究) 697:5 (1997): 1–18, 62.

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Yonetani Hitoshi (米谷均). “Hideyoshi seiken-ki ni okeru kaizoku no hikiwatashi to Nitchō kankei (秀吉政権期における海賊の引き渡しと日朝関係),” Nihon rekishi (日本歴史) 650:1 (2002), 1–17. Yŏnsan’gun ilgi (燕山君日記). Yu Sŭngju (蛢承宙). Chosŏn shidae kwangŏpsa yŏn’gu (朝鮮時代 鑛業史 硏究). Seoul: Koryŏ taehakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1993.

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Part II

War

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4

The Imjin Waeran Contrasting the first and the second invasions of Korea Kitajima Manji (北島万次)

Introduction In the course of his unification of Japan, Toyotomi Hideyoshi advocated the conquest of Ming China, embracing the ambition of foreign subjugation. The first step towards achieving this ambition was his initial invasion of Chosŏn Korea in 1592. The people of Korea, however, successfully defended their own land with the help of the Chinese army, and the war, which stretched over seven years and included the mounting of two major invasion campaigns, ended in Hideyoshi’s defeat. The focus below is on contrasting features of the two Japanese invasions.

The first Korean invasion Hideyoshi’s ultimate aim when he invaded Korea for the first time was the conquest of Ming China. His plan was to send the Koreans into China as a vanguard, followed by the military forces of various Japanese daimyō. In order to achieve this, he ordered the Sō daimyō of Tsushima to go to Korea and demand Chosŏn submit to Hideyoshi. Far from taking the vanguard in an assault on Ming China, the Koreans mounted a country-wide resistance. What had begun as Japan’s military invasion of China turned into a war in Korea. When Hideyoshi set out to unify the warring states of Japan, he awarded his vassals lands as a result of military success, or he confirmed lands held by the lords at the time of their submission to him. Some were obliged to move to another territory. Action taken in the hope of increasing territory, therefore, became the pursuit of land outside one’s own territory. From the very beginning of the establishment of the Toyotomi regime in 1582, territorial aggrandizement and even foreign conquest was an inherent part of its nature. In other words, foreign conquest was an extension of national unification. In 1587, Hideyoshi secured Kyūshū. Believing that the king of Ryūkyū was already under the control of the Shimazu daimyō of Satsuma, he instructed Shimazu to make the king of Ryūkyū submit to become his vassal. Similarly, he

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commanded the Sō daimyō of Tsushima to force the king of Korea into submission, believing that Chosŏn was under Sō’s authority.1 Considering Tsushima’s long-standing economic relations with Chosŏn, Sō could not relay Hideyoshi’s message directly for fear of offending the Chosŏn king. Instead he negotiated for Chosŏn to send an embassy carrying messages of congratulations to Hideyoshi on his recent successful unification of Japan. The Koreans dispatched just such a Communication Embassy (K. T’ongshinsa, J. Tsūshinshi). For Sō, this was a convenient way of papering over a delicate situation, since the Korean embassy could be presented to Hideyoshi as an envoy of submission. In the eleventh month of 1590, Hideyoshi greeted the embassy from Chosŏn at his Jurakudai residence in Kyoto, believing that they were there to convey the Korean king’s subordination. After the meeting, he wrote a letter of reply to the Korean king and sent it to the embassy waiting in Sakai. It contained orders to the Korean king to guide the conquest of Ming China and depicted Hideyoshi as the “Sun Child” (J. nichirin no ko). The content of the letter can be summarized as follows: 1 2 3

Hideyoshi considered himself the “Sun Child,” and therefore it was his fate that he should engage in the task of unifying the world. Hideyoshi appreciated the tribute sent to him by the Korean king, and he ordered Chosŏn to become the vanguard in the Ming invasion. Hideyoshi desired notoriety in his homeland, in China, and in India.2

Hideyoshi used the term “Sun Child” for the following reasons. He came from humble parentage, but when his mother was pregnant with Hideyoshi, she saw a dream in which the sun (J. nichirin) entered her womb. A fortuneteller told her that the child would grow up to be “a person known in distant places; his benevolence and grand character would be renowned; his fame universal.” With such propitious omens at his back, the boy’s future was secure. He will be undefeated in battle and come to rule the world. He will treat the peasantry well and the people will prosper. Revenue will increase and the Japanese court will be secure. The capital will flourish as never seen before. Similar conception myths are fairly widespread in Eastern Eurasia. Stories of pregnant mothers feeling sunlight, a sun spirit, or thunder and lightning and then giving birth are referred to as the sensory birth theory (J. kansei teisetsu).3 Similar nativity stories feature conspicuously in myths surrounding the births of China’s dynastic founders. The mother of the first ruler of the Han Dynasty gave birth to her son Liu Bang after being exposed to thunder and lightning. He is said to have been born with the face of a dragon.4 Yang Jian, the Wendi emperor and first ruler of the Sui Dynasty, was born when the courtyard of his house was shrouded in violet vapor. The adult Yang Jian developed a dragon visage.5 Even among the conquest dynasties, there is the story of Bodončar, the tenth-generation ancestor of the founder of the Mongol dynasty. Bodončar’s mother, Alan, dreamed of white light

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flooding from above into her bedchamber. The light became a golden demigod and later she gave birth to Bodončar.6 These stories were used to justify the supremacy of their courts. Hideyoshi, who planned to conquer East Asia and establish a new conquest dynasty in China, needed a similar myth, and that was the purpose of the “Sun Child” myth. He would tell the Korean court of the miraculous circumstances of his birth, and then order the Koreans into the forefront of the Ming conquest (J. seimin kyōdō). Hideyoshi’s hope was to illuminate India (J. Tenjiku), China (J. Kara), and Japan (J. Honchō) with his illustrious name. Afterwards, the phrase “Sun Child” appeared in diplomatic letters to Luzon, Ming, and Taiwan. Myths do not create governments, and Hideyoshi laid plans for continental conquest and administration. Hansŏng fell on the third day of the fifth month of 1592. On receiving the news, Hideyoshi addressed an oboegaki, or memorandum, consisting of twenty-five articles to the Regent (J. Kanpaku) Hidetsugu.7 Hideyoshi outlined three main concerns. The first was the management of the emperor. He expressed his wish to have Emperor Go-Yōzei moved to Beijing to administer ten “countries” (J. kuni, or provinces) in the vicinity of the Chinese capital. Courtiers accompanying the emperor would also be awarded with land ten times larger than that which they previously owned (article 18). He also stated that he would elevate either Crown Prince Yoshihito or Prince Tomohito to the reigning emperor of Japan (article 20). The second concern was what should be done with the position of Kanpaku, the de facto ruler of Japan at the time. Article 20 proposed that Hideyoshi intended to appoint either Toyotomi Hideyasu, the adopted son of Toyotomi Hidenaga, or Ukita Hideie as Kanpaku in Japan, and the current Kanpaku, Hidetsugu, would be posted to China as the China Regent and awarded with 100 provinces in the vicinity of Beijing. Finally, the third concern was a consideration of administrative posts in Kyūshū and Chosŏn Korea. Hideyoshi’s choice for the Korean post was between Oda Hidenobu, who was second in line to succeed Oda Nobunaga by virtue of being Oda Nobutada’s son, or Ukita Hideie. For Nagoya in northwestern Kyūshū, Hideyoshi’s chief staging point for the Korean campaigns, he appointed Hashiba Toshihide, later known by the name Kobayakawa Hideaki (article 21). From other documents we can glimpse Hideyoshi’s long-term thinking. Letters by Hideyoshi state that he intended to stay in Beijing for a while before moving on to Ningbo.8 His plan to control the East Asian transportation system is made clear by the fact that he had plans to settle in Ningbo, formerly the gateway to Japan–Ming trade. Hideyoshi took an ambitious perspective on his foreign domination project: he was intending to extend his control from Kinai to Kyūshū to Chosŏn to China, and then penetrate further into all parts of Asia. The Korean invasion was only the first step in the grand scheme. Still, appointments to top posts are not sufficient to rule the newly acquired territories, and Hideyoshi outlined an occupation strategy based on his troop deployments across the eight Korean provinces. On the sixteenth day of the

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fifth month of 1592, or two days before Hideyoshi announced his intent to conquer “the three lands,” he instructed Katō Kiyomasa on nine issues, four of which shall be mentioned here: 1

The townspeople of Korea will be forced back to [urban centers] and a seat of government will be established for Hideyoshi in Hansŏng.

Hideyoshi had intentions of settling himself in Hansŏng, envisaging the city as a fully equipped center of administration, with a castle around which would be a castle town. Outside of the city the daimyō would set up their camps in the same manner as at Nagoya in Kyūshū, the military base from which Japan’s Korean invasion was set in motion. 2

The peasants scattered around the country will be directed back to their villages and prohibition laws (J. hatto) will be enforced.

Hideyoshi intended to treat the Korean peasant population in the same manner as in Japan by tying them to agriculture and taxing them on their produce. 3 4

On inspection and reserves of food supplies for the army. On the construction of Hideyoshi’s lodgings and road works between Pusan and Hansŏng.9

Furthermore, in the sixth month, Hideyoshi sent Ishida Mitsunari to Chosŏn as Administrator of Chosŏn (Chōsen bugyō), who took with him the following instructions: 1

2 3

The eight provinces of Chosŏn will come under Hideyoshi’s direct jurisdiction and a bailiff or intendant (J. daikan) will be stationed in each of them. The selected daimyō for these posts will be shown the extent of their jurisdiction on a map, and the allotments will be according to status. Fugitive peasants must be called back to the villages to farm and pay taxes. Build new lodgings for Hideyoshi along the route to China and station bailiffs there.10

The above terms demonstrate that Hideyoshi would rule Chosŏn as a means to prepare the ground for the conquest of China, the underlying ideas being the same as when he proceeded to establish military camps wherever his troops were stationed during the national unification campaign. Following Hideyoshi’s instructions, the daimyō designated as bailiffs, their territory, and the land tax value of the eight districts were apportioned as shown in Table 4.1.11 Under this policy, the Japanese daimyō encroached on Korean territory.

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Table 4.1 Province, production level, and daikan assignments Name of province

Taxation level in koku

Name of daikan

Kyŏngsang Chŏlla Ch’ungch’ŏng Kangwŏn Kyŏnggi Hwanghae Hamgyŏng P’yŏng’an Total koku

2,287,790 2,269,379 987,514 402,289 775,113 728,867 2,071,028 1,794,186 11,316,166

Mōri Terumoto Kobayakawa Takakage Fukushima Masanori Mōri Yoshinari Ukita Hideie Kuroda Nagamasa Katō Kiyomasa Konishi Yukinaga

If we look closer at the occupation policies, we can begin to detect the character of the rule planned for Chosŏn. The cases of Katō Kiyomasa and Nabeshima Naoshige are illustrative. In the sixth month of 1592, troops led by Kiyomasa and Naoshige entered Hamgyŏng Province in the northeast of Korea. Kiyomasa issued the following ordinances addressed to the peasants of the district:12 1 2 3 4

Hideyoshi’s military intervention is aimed at the political reform of Chosŏn. The King of Chosŏn has fled Hansŏng, but we are not here to penalize him. We promise to provide protection to those who submit to us. Peasants must therefore return to their homes and devote themselves to farming. Japanese commanders have been assigned to govern each of Chosŏn’s eight provinces. The administrator of Hamgyŏng Province is Katō Kiyomasa. This is as it should be.

Kiyomasa established his military base at Anbyŏn and Naoshige encamped at Hamhŭng, both in southern Hamgyŏng Province. Garrisons were built throughout the region, guarded by Kiyomasa’s vassals in the magistracies of Kilju, Sŏngjin, Tanch’ŏn, Iwŏn, and Pukch’ŏng and Naoshige’s in Tŏg’wŏn, Munch’ŏn, Yŏnghŭng, Chŏngp’yŏng, Hamhŭng, and Hongwŏn.13 Kiyomasa and Naoshige built fortifications in these areas and appraised agricultural productivity. An extant document on Korean revenue (J. Chōsen kokuso zeichō) for the magistracies controlled by Naoshige shows that the total revenue from the cereal harvest was 244,360 sŏk.14 Out of this total figure, 86.28 percent (210,839 sŏk) was constituted of miscellaneous cereal grains and the remaining 13.72 percent (33,521 sŏk) was some sort of rice. Of that, unpolished rice was no more than 1.5 percent, indicating that unpolished rice was a priceless commodity in a region devoted to other grains. It was the unpolished rice that interested Naoshige the most, and he devised a method of collection. This was to “take hostages and imprison them. The

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hostages were released, one by one, in exchange for the delivery of military provisions.”15 A Chosŏn document describes the Japanese rule as follows: The exercise of authority by the bandit forces [Kiyomasa] is more intense here [Hamgyŏng Province] than in any other province. They have appointed a Japanese [K. Wae] general in each of the six towns surrounding Anbyŏn, who each have three to four hundred soldiers under their command. They levy taxes from the people and daily rob the peasantry for provisions. They deploy troops at strategic points to ambush passersby, making travel impossible. Everywhere, massacre and plunder are rife.16 This sort of rule was practiced everywhere by the Japanese occupying forces, albeit to varying degrees. The Korean people responded by organizing “righteous soldiers” (K. ŭibyŏng) and initiating a war of resistance. In Hamgyŏng Province, Chŏng Munbu and Yu Ŭngsu led a campaign in the tenth month of 1592. Among the problems that the occupation faced was the mobilization of the Ming army and the shock handed the Japanese military by its deployment. In the seventh month of 1592, the Ming Liaodong regiment sent to Chosŏn’s aid attacked Konishi Yukinaga and his forces in P’yŏngyang and suffered a defeat. Although Konishi and his forces repelled the assault on this occasion, the deployment of Ming aid itself became a serious problem for the Japanese. In the eighth month, the majority of commanders who were posted in Chosŏn gathered at a military conference held in Hansŏng. The central issue was how to deal with an anticipated renewed attack by the Ming army. A suggestion was made to give priority to the defense of Hansŏng but this proposal was met with opposition from Konishi Yukinaga, whose forces had already advanced as far northwards as P’yŏngyang.17 At the same time, the Ming Minister of War Shi Xing was under financial pressure, for the Ming government was suppressing a mutiny in Ningxia.18 For that reason, Shi Xing wanted to pursue negotiations to resolve the Korean conflict. He decided to appoint the Japan specialist Shen Weijing as a Mobile Corps Commander (Ch. Youji jiangjun) and sent him to the Japanese military headquarters.19 With the initiation of negotiations, Japanese objectives shifted from the conquest of Ming to the cession of Korean territory. On the first day of the ninth month of 1592 (8.30 by the Japanese lunar calendar) Konishi Yukinaga met Shen Weijing at the foot of Mount Kangbok in the suburbs of P’yŏngyang. In reviewing the particulars to Shen as to how Japan came to send troops to Chosŏn, Yukinaga explained that the Japanese had deployed their army because they wanted enfeoffment and a tribute route to the Ming. Shen replied that Chosŏn was within China’s dominion (“Ming’s boundary” – jing – or the gateway to China) and urged a Japanese military withdrawal.

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In response, Yukinaga asserted that he would leave P’yŏngyang, but that the Japanese would keep the area south of the Taedong River.20 In the background to Yukinaga’s statements – the Japanese military was in Chosŏn because Japan wished to obtain enfeoffment and tribute access to China – lurk the following elements. In the eleventh month of 1590, Hideyoshi gave a letter to the Korean Communication Embassy addressed to the Korean king that ordered Chosŏn to “lead the way to conquer China [J. seimin kyōdō].” This, however, unnerved Sō Yoshitoshi of Tsushima to the extent that he responded to Hideyoshi’s order to present a subjugated Chosŏn with creative diplomacy. As already mentioned, Sō requested the Koreans to send a congratulatory mission to Hideyoshi for unifying Japan and then pretended to Hideyoshi that the envoys dispatched by the Korean king were messengers confirming Chosŏn’s submission. Sō Yoshitoshi’s second temporary expedient was to substitute “borrow a road to China” (J. kato nyūmin) for “lead the way to conquer China.” In the intercalary third month of 1591 (third month by the Japanese lunar calendar), the monk Keitetsu Genso of Shōfukuji temple in Hakata, acting as Sō Yoshitoshi’s representative, traveled to Hansŏng to enter negotiations with the Koreans over the matter of access to China. He told the Koreans that Hideyoshi was deeply ashamed of the lapse of the tributary relations between Japan and China, and he sincerely hoped for its resumption. Japan was only asking Chosŏn to “borrow a road” to enter Ming to offer tribute and requesting the kind offices of Chosŏn in this matter. If this wish was not granted, he feared hostilities would break out.21 Genso’s argument – that a war will break out if Chosŏn refused to yield a tribute route to Ming – was the point put to Shen Weijing by Konishi Yukinaga. Later, it became established fact that Hideyoshi deployed his army in Chosŏn because he failed to receive a response from the king of Chosŏn promising to assist him to present tribute to the Ming emperor.22 Originally, however, Hideyoshi himself never held such an intention. Returning to the issue of Japanese annexation of Korean territory from the Taedong River southwards, we should note that the matter of the cession of Korean territory first surfaced during these initial discussions between Konishi Yukinaga and Shen Weijing. Hideyoshi’s plan to conquer Ming was never mentioned on this occasion. Thus it was that at the first Japan–Ming negotiations the goal of conquering Ming had completely disappeared and the focus had shifted to the cession of Korean territory.

The Japan–Ming peace negotiations As negotiations proceeded, fighting still went on. On the first day of the fifth month of 1593, Hideyoshi confided his thoughts on the conditions for the peace negotiations to Asano Nagamasa, Kuroda Yoshitaka, Mashita Nagamori, Ishida Mitsunari, and Ōtani Yoshitsugu. At the same time, Hideyoshi ordered the capture of Chinju and the subjugation of Chŏlla Province, saying that even if Ming proposed peace, they must remain vigilant.23 In the sixth month,

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Hideyoshi ordered all his troops to join forces for the assault on Chinju in southern Kyŏngsang Province. In this way, Hideyoshi proceeded to negotiate peace with the Ming, advising Asano and the others of the advantage of maintaining both a fighting spirit and a wish for a peaceful resolution. These actions suggest that Hideyoshi proposed to create a fait accompli in acquiring the four southern provinces of Chosŏn, which he would present to Ming China as a condition of peace. In the fifth month of 1593, the Ming envoys Xie Yongzi and Xu Yiguan reached Nagoya in Kyūshū. Hideyoshi appointed the monks Genpo Reisan of Kyoto’s Nanzenji temple and Keitetsu Genso, who were experienced in handling foreign affairs, to carry out peace negotiations with the ambassadors from Ming China. Their meetings resulted in a Japanese peace proposal consisting of the following seven articles, which was presented to the Ming envoys at the end of the sixth month of 1593: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Provide the emperor of Ming China’s daughter as a bride for the emperor of Japan; Resume state trade between Japan and Ming China; Establish friendly relations between the high-ranking officials of both countries; Cede the southern four provinces of Chosŏn [to Japan]; Provide a Chosŏn prince as a hostage in Japan; Return the two Chosŏn princes captured by Katō Kiyomasa; The ministers of the Korean court must provide written oaths stating their absolute obedience to Japan.24

In addition, Hideyoshi’s private démarche Dai Min chokushi ni kokuhō subeki jōmoku (“What I Wish to Convey to the Imperial Envoy of the Great Ming”) was presented to the Ming ambassadors. The following is a summary: 1

2

3

Ming’s failure to show gratitude for Hideyoshi’s suppression of the widespread Japanese piracy problem against the Ming implies contempt for Japan. That is why we planned to conquer the Ming, and Chosŏn expressed its willingness to cooperate with us in this endeavor. Chosŏn was initially in favor of mediating between Ming China and Japan, but later breached its promise. Japan sent in troops to redress this error but was greeted with defiance. Ming lost sight of its advantage by providing emergency aid to Chosŏn, but the responsibility lies with Chosŏn.25

The core of Hideyoshi’s peace proposal lies in articles 1, 2, and 4. The marriage between the two royals in article 1 was discussed by Genpo Reisan and the Ming envoys in Nagoya, but the Ming envoys refused to give consent to such an arrangement. Hideyoshi obviously had in mind a political marriage of convenience such as were arranged in Japan. The issue of the cession of southern Chosŏn was put forward with the intention of giving

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China alternatives: if the royal marriage was unthinkable, then hand over half of Chosŏn. The cession option, however, was an issue that had already been discussed by Konishi Yukinaga and Shen Weijing in their deliberations. At the time of that meeting, Yukinaga, who was based in P’yŏngyang, had proposed the border at the Taedong River, which was his forward position. Meeting resistance from the allied Ming and Korean forces, however, Yukinaga’s men had to withdraw southwards to Hansŏng. From that time onwards, the negotiating position had retreated to cession with the Han River as the border.26 Furthermore, although the Japanese army had retreated from Hansŏng to the environs of Pusan harbor to facilitate the peace negotiations, they held their ground in newly constructed fortresses scattered along the southern coast of Kyŏngsang Province, realizing that there was far greater chance of claiming ceded territory in Chosŏn than of conquering Ming. Let us elaborate further on article 2, which proposed a resumption of state trade between Japan and Ming China. The proposal actually reads: “In recent years, communications between Japan and Ming have degenerated and even our tally trade (J. kangō)27 has ceased to operate. We must review this situation with the desire to revive both official and private sea traffic.” The question of trade had never been addressed in previous negotiations. As is well known, the key to the tally trade with Ming China was the offering of tribute to the Ming emperor. Tribute was treated as a sign of submission to the Ming, and this would have been unthinkable for Hideyoshi, who advocated conquering the Ming. A tally, however, was proof of identity for an official trade ship, a license that distinguished official vessels from pirate ships. For Hideyoshi, who was planning to set himself up in Ningbo, to encourage a revival of “official and private sea traffic” using tallies, was, in short, a demand for official trade between Ming China and Japan. Portions of Hideyoshi’s Dai Min chokushi ni kokuhō subeki jōmoku had already been revealed at a meeting in Nagoya between Keitetsu Genso and the Ming representatives. The point of interest is article 2. The necessity of Japan’s military deployment in Chosŏn was expressed by Sō Yoshitoshi and Keitetsu Genso during their 1591 negotiations “to borrow a road into China,” and by Konishi Yukinaga in his 1592 talks with Shen Weijing. Namely, Chosŏn breached its promise to intercede with Ming to help Hideyoshi establish tribute relations, and when Japan deployed forces to redress the matter, the Koreans resisted. This point was improvised during Japanese negotiations with Chosŏn and the Ming. It was an extreme position and ultimately placed the blame for the invasion entirely on Chosŏn. Both Hideyoshi’s terms for peace and his private démarche to the Ming peace envoys were the product of countermeasures that the Japanese were forced to devise in coping with the real situation, whether they were aiming to subjugate China in fighting Ming and Korean troops or engage in peace negotiations. The nonchalance that Hideyoshi showed when he declared his plan to divide the continent after the fall of Hansŏng was gone. The contrast between that earlier time and 1593 and after is stark.

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The second Korean invasion It is usually said that in the ninth month of 1596 Japan–Ming peace negotiations came to an end when the Ming envoy read an imperial edict to Hideyoshi that contained the phrase, “Herewith I bestow on you the title King of Japan.” These words supposedly enraged Hideyoshi, since they implied Chinese sovereignty, and are often cited as the cause of the collapse of the negotiations. The real reasons were not so straightforward. The instructions written by Hideyoshi on the seventh day of the same month to Shimazu Yoshihiro condemned the Korean king for failing to comply with article 5 of Hideyoshi’s peace proposal, which stated that the king must hand over one of his sons as a hostage to Japan in return for four of the eight provinces of Chosŏn. He ordered Yoshihiro to strengthen the military stronghold on Kadŏk Island in southern Kyŏngsang Province, commanding him to strengthen the garrison guards and secure provisions.28 In the meantime, a letter from Kobayakawa Takakage to Shimazu Yoshihiro on the same day reports on this matter of the emperor’s edict causing the collapse of the peace parleys and states that Hideyoshi’s excuse for the deployment of new forces was the fact that the Chosŏn government refused to send their prince to become a hostage, thereby not fulfilling article 5 of Hideyoshi’s demands.29 Together with this evidence we should keep in mind that the Ming court had insisted strongly on the withdrawal of the Japanese army stationed in Japanese fortifications around Kyŏngsang Province, something the Japanese were exceedingly dilatory in accomplishing. The Ming envoy sent to enfeof Hideyoshi had closely inspected the situation.30 The Japanese positions were still held. In sum, Hideyoshi equated the total evacuation from Chosŏn with the collapse of his regime. He realized that the only way to stay in power was to dispatch another military force to Chosŏn. The only problem was what excuse to use. His consistent complaints about the lack of a Korean hostage indicate that the excuse focused on Chosŏn. In the second month of 1597, Hideyoshi finalized the battle formation for the second invasion of Chosŏn and Chŏlla Province was to become its focus. Katō Kiyomasa and Konishi Yukinaga were to head regiments of 14,700 men each and a total of 141,500 soldiers would be marshaled for the campaign. He ordered them to subjugate Chŏlla Province and then advance into Ch’ungch’ŏng Province.31 From the very beginning of the peace talks, Hideyoshi had been building fortresses around the southern coast of Kyŏngsang Province, suggesting that his strategy was to seize the grainrich region of Chŏlla Province, secure the south, and then gain control of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province before moving northwards. We can see from this that Hideyoshi intended to impose by force the cession of southern Chosŏn that he had proposed in the peace negotiations. In the seventh month of 1597, the Japanese destroyed a Korean navy led by Wŏn Kyun at a sea battle at Ch’ilch’ŏllyang near Kŏje Island. From this

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point onwards, the Japanese military split into two units, the Left Army and the Right Army. Kobayakawa Hideaki was appointed commander-in-chief and encamped at Pusan Bay. Ukita Hideie was placed in charge of the Left Army, supervising Konishi Yukinaga, Shimazu Yoshihiro, Katō Yoshiaki, and Hachisuka Iemasa. The Right Army was under Mōri Hidemoto, who directed Katō Kiyomasa, Asano Yoshinaga, and Kuroda Nagamasa. In the eighth month of 1597, the Left Army advanced northwards through Chŏlla Province after fighting in Namwŏn. On reaching Puyŏ in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, it doubled back south to Chŏng’ŭp in northern Chŏlla Province. It was here that a military meeting was convened.32 The following points were discussed: 1

2 3

4

5

Having invaded Chŏlla Province by way of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, the Shimazu regiment should divide themselves across the province, advance further, and fortify positions from which they can exercise their authority over the occupied territory. We expect reports, with maps, on the situation in the various counties of both Ch’ungch’ŏng and Chŏlla provinces. Final decisions have now been made on the locations of fortifications. Konishi Yukinaga’s fort should be constructed on the frontline in either Kyŏngsang Province or at Sunch’ŏn in Chŏlla Province. Mōri Yoshinari will be posted as defender of Pusan Bay, the communications and supply artery between Japan and all Chosŏn-based Japanese daimyō, and he must see that its defense capabilities are strengthened. Tachibana Muneshige’s fortification is to be built between the Shimazu regiment and the Nabeshima regiment.33

Sites of fortifications also indicate territory to be occupied and administered. The Japanese army applied their rule to Chŏlla Province shortly afterwards. Thirteen daimyō, including Shimazu Yoshihiro, Hachisuka Iemasa, Ikoma Kazumasa, Konishi Yukinaga, Mōri Yoshinari, and Nabeshima Naoshige, signed a decree addressed to the Korean peasantry: Matters concerning the administration of Haenam, Chŏlla Province: 1 2

3 4

Peasants who are originally from Haenam County will immediately return to their homes and farm there. Locate the homes of Chosŏn officials and execute their occupants, including the immediate and extended family members. Set fire to officials’ homes. Rewards will be given to those who inform us of the location of any secret refuge within Haenam County that shelters either peasants or officials. Although we have so far spared the lives of the people of Haenam County, if we find anyone refusing to return home, we will do as we did in the interior of Chŏlla Province, which was to set fire to all the houses and execute everyone.

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5

If a Japanese soldier is found to be behaving contrary to the intentions set out in this decree and kills a member of the Korean public or plunders the people of their possessions, Konishi Yukinaga must be notified.34

Inducing the peasants into returning to their villages to farm and soliciting information on Chosŏn government officials or leaders of the anti-Japanese resistance were two aspects that had also characterized the first invasion. The Japanese military would dazzle with rewards, behind which was the threat of death. This was military rule through carrots and sticks. In order to establish these policies, senior military supervisors (J. Ikusa metsuke) such as Kumagai Naomori issued the following additional orders: 1 2

Korean peasants will be taxed on their produce at either 20 percent or 25 percent of their total harvest. Do not trust Korean peasants who have a guaranteed livelihood from farming when they express their gratitude only in words. They will receive the same treatment as Japanese peasants if they show their sincerity by either capturing officials or informing us of land and buildings hidden from the surveyors. We will reward them with a field or a larger possession. Nabeshima Katsushige and Shimazu Tadatsune are also to be informed of these decisions.35

By shifting control of the Korean peasantry from Korean officials to themselves, the occupying Japanese hoped to raise revenue through taxation. From the senior military supervisors down to the lower-ranking daimyō, this method of control was adopted universally by the Japanese in Chosŏn. As a result of these policies, the Korean peasantry settled into their villages for a time. In response to the inducements to capitulate used by the Shimazu forces in Naju, Chōlla Province, markets opened and trading transpired.36 The peasantry apparently pretended obeisance while harboring betrayal towards their Japanese masters, because when the allied Ming and Korean forces began their push southwards, the peasants ran away from the villages and scattered into the mountains,37 displaying an opposition to Japanese rule when the circumstances of war shifted. Occupation policies and the response of the local populace were always dependent on the progress of the war and the disposition of armies. By the time the Japan–Ming peace negotiations collapsed, most of the Chinese relief forces dispatched to Chosŏn had been withdrawn to China. As a result, in the eighth month of 1597, at the battle for Hwangsŏk mountain fortress (the passes of Hwangsŏk mountain marked the border between Kyŏngsang Province’s Kŏch’ang County and Chŏlla Province’s Chŏnju County), the Korean forces were alone and were repelled by Katō Kiyomasa’s troops. The Ming court, on hearing the news in the fifth month of 1597 of Japan’s renewed invasion of Chosŏn, sent Deputy Commander (Ch. Fuzongbing) Yang Yuan

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to Chosŏn. Yang led 3,000 soldiers from Liaodong and reached Namwŏn in Chŏlla Province in the middle of the sixth month. Namwŏn was the key strategic point for Chŏlla and Kyŏngsang provinces. Yang reinforced his defense there, but in the middle of the eighth month Namwŏn fell to the Japanese and Yang deserted the field of battle. This was the Battle of Namwŏn. In the ninth month of 1597, Kuroda Nagamasa’s troops clashed with an army led by the Ming Deputy Commander Xie Sheng at Chiksan, a border town between northern Ch’ungchŏng Province and Kyŏnggi Province. No resolution emerged in the battle and both sides retreated. This was the Battle of Chiksan. And, in the eleventh month, Ming’s Supreme Commander (Ch. Jinglue) Xing Jie led a large army into Chosŏn. In preparation for a counterattack against the Japanese, he also reorganized the Korean troops38 and then laid siege to Katō Kiyomasa’s army at Ulsan in Kyŏngsang Province. Fighting in the second invasion became hard and bitter and atrocities became commonplace. The Japanese committed a large-scale massacre following the Battle of Namwŏn in the eighth month. One of Hideyoshi’s military supervisors, Bungo Usuki, had a castle keeper called Ōta Kazuyoshi. Ōta’s field physician, the monk Keinen from Anyōji temple, kept a diary in which he vividly described the indiscriminate massacre at Namwŏn.39 The ordinary people remained within the city walls of Namwŏn, lending their support to the allied Ming–Chosŏn army in the fight against the Japanese. From the time of the Battle of Namwŏn, hanagiri or cutting off noses was widely practiced by the Japanese. At the Battle of Namwŏn, Shimazu Yoshihiro’s troops removed 421 noses, while Tōdō Takatora’s soldiers sliced off 269. These severed noses were delivered to Hideyoshi, who sent the troop commanders a note congratulating their valor.40 The cutting off of noses was done at the direction of Hideyoshi. Kobayakawa Hideaki and others received orders from Hideyoshi: “Send in our army and kill all [J. minagoroshi] Koreans. What do I care if Chosŏn becomes a land empty of people [J. akichi]? … Humans have two ears, but we only have one nose. Cut off noses instead of heads!”41 Hideyoshi also made it clear to “sever noses from the elderly, the young, men, women, priests, laymen, rich, or humble and send these to Japan.”42 The idea of clearing the land by mass slaughter had already been practiced in Japan when the land survey had been applied in the Tōhoku region of northern Honshū. Then, Hideyoshi had instructed his army to cut down everyone (J. nadegiri) in a village where anyone resisted the survey, even if this meant that the land would be deprived of tillers.43 Similarly, the idea of slicing off the enemy’s noses instead of removing heads was not new; it had already been practiced during the Sengoku period in Japan (1467–1573).44 During the invasion of Chosŏn, however, even ordinary people were pursued as targets, a practice that differed from what had been done in Japan. The various daimyō and their vassals living in Chosŏn found it compulsory to cut off noses under this policy. Katō Kiyomasa issued a quota to his subordinates to obtain three noses each.45 Once the daimyō was in possession of his

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vassal’s latest acquisition, he would make out a receipt. Kitsukawa Hiroie’s vassal Akana Kyūnai for example, was issued a receipt, dated second day, tenth month, 1597 for 365 noses.46 For Kyūnai, this testified to his distinguished war service and entitled him to a larger share of land. The daimyō collected the noses secured by their vassals and forwarded them to Hideyoshi’s military supervisors who would, in return, write out receipts. The severed noses, therefore, became visible evidence of a daimyō’s distinguished service in war. Receipts for noses were not the only proof of distinguished service, but they were important as the Japanese tried to salvage something from the Korean campaign. Hideyoshi’s death in the eighth month of 1598 prompted the military withdrawal of the Japanese from Chosŏn. It is from around this time that doubts arose regarding the utility for the daimyō of the huge costs incurred from Japan’s invasion of Chosŏn. Written records such as Kiyomasa Kōrai [no] jin oboegaki about Katō Kiyomasa and Kuroda kafu Chōsen [no] jin ki about Kuroda Yoshitaka and Kuroda Nagamasa describe how these powerful clans displayed their military valor during the Korean campaign. In order to sustain their position as a lord within Japan’s feudal class, it became essential to prove their worth by making known the military exploits associated with themselves and their illustrious houses. These collections of war tales that starred particular lords may have had many reasons for composition, but we do have evidence that their production was linked to the creation and maintenance of status. For example, in the early stages of the second invasion, the Shimazu were victorious in two conflicts, once in the sea battle at Kŏje Island’s Ch’ilch’ŏllyang and once at the Battle of Namwŏn. On hearing about Shimazu Yoshihiro’s exploits in Chosŏn, Shimazu Yoshihisa, who had remained in Japan, commended Yoshihiro on his admirable achievements and urged Yoshihiro to report these victories to Ishida Mitsunari immediately, warning him that any negligence in doing so might cause some to believe that the Shimazu were complacent, and that such rumors would tarnish the family name.47 Clearly, the daimyō clans were very conscious of making the right kind of impression upon their peers and superiors with evidence of distinguished war service. The most ostentatious displays of valor were connected with the battle at Sach’ŏn in the tenth month of 1598 and the sea battle at Noryang in the eleventh month. The first victory is attributed to the Shimazu, who repelled the allied Ming–Chosŏn assault on Sach’ŏn Castle. Heads of enemy soldiers were taken and their noses sent to Japan, although, as one might expect, there is some confusion over just how many heads and noses. According to the monument dedicated to the Japanese dead from the Korean war erected by the Shimazu family at Kōyasan temple, the number exceeded 80,000.48 The authenticity of this figure, however, remains unconfirmed. A letter addressed to Shimazu Tadatsune by officers (gobugyō49) of the Toyotomi regime states that the number was 38,700.50 Yet, the figure 30,814 is quoted in a letter sent home by a vassal of the Shimazu clan.51 Murai Shōsuke considers the last figure to be the most likely one.52 Be that as it may, we can be certain of the fact

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that, in the end, the number was grossly exaggerated as having been in excess of 80,000. While noses supported the Shimazu, the Seikanroku entry on the Noryang sea battle helped save the reputation of the major five clans of the Konishi. In a self-congratulatory postscript, the author states “recently, our ancestor who took part in the mission to conquer Chosŏn displayed his military power on foreign soil, doing great deeds for our people, and his reputation now spreads over the four seas.” Noses provided concrete evidence and war tales filled in the storyline, but nothing was more convincing than captives, particularly those with technical skills or cultural knowledge. At the Battle of Namwŏn, Koreans were detained and taken to Japan. Among the prisoners of the Shimazu, some who were sent to Satsuma became potters. A Satsuma legend describes a Korean prisoner taken at Namwŏn, a soldier attendant on Prince Yi Kŭmgwang, who arrived at Naeshirogawa in Satsuma after journeying from Chŏlla Province to Sach’ŏn in Kyŏngsang Province. He settled in as a potter.53 In this manner, the western daimyō, such as the Nabeshima, brought Korean potters from various regions back with them. The beginning of Arita porcelain is attributed to these potters, and their production enriched the finances of the western daimyō. While pottery was useful, perhaps even beautiful, captive Confucian scholars provided prestige. The most representative of all the scholars taken to Japan was Kang Hang. He was captured by Tōdō Takatora and sent to Ōzu in Iyo Province. After learning that he was a Confucian scholar, the Japanese treated him differently. Later, in Kyōto, Kang Hang and Fujiwara Seika developed a friendly relationship while discussing Neo-Confucianism (J. Shushigaku). Kang left behind Kanyangnok as a record of the time he spent as a prisoner of war in Japan.54 Out of all the prisoners, peasants were the most numerous. According to the confession by Katō Kiyomasa’s vassal Fukuda Kansuke, who was captured by the Chosŏn army in the ninth month of 1597, Korean peasants taken captive were taken to Japan and immediately put to work on the land to fill the labor shortage. Labor was in short supply because Japanese peasants had been taken abroad to perform miscellaneous duties in the military camps of the western Japanese daimyō in Chosŏn.55

Conclusion The first Japanese invasion of Chosŏn was instigated by Hideyoshi, whose ambition was to reign over Asia. His dream of domination did not stop at China, the country that he had planned as his initial conquest, but it extended to other countries and territories in Asia. Hideyoshi’s first step was to send his troops into Chosŏn. His plan, however, was frustrated by the resistance of the Korean people and the relief aid that Chosŏn obtained from Ming China. By the time Konishi Yukinaga and Shen Weijing began their negotiations, Hideyoshi’s original objective was already shifting from the conquest of Ming to the cession of Chosŏn.

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The second invasion aimed at the forcible seizure of Korean territory as its objective. The various daimyō who went into Chosŏn tried to bring the peasantry under control using the same policies adopted at home. They massacred those who disobeyed. The occupation of Chosŏn finally ended in failure. Eager to display their military valor, the daimyō and their vassals used the war as a tool for self-aggrandizement. Cutting off the noses of ordinary people was typical of this approach. The oppression of a foreign people and their sacrifice became an essential means by which members of Japan’s feudal land-holding class sustained their position within the feudal order. That was a consequence of the invasions of Chosŏn.

Notes Translated by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne with James B. Lewis. 1 Ōmura Yūko, Kyūshū godōza ki. 2 Tenshō 18 (1590), mid-winter, “Chōsen kokuō ate, Kanpaku Hideyoshi shokan,” in Edaki Ungai, Kōun zuihitsu. 3 Naitō Konan, “Tōhoku Ajia no kansei teisetsu,” 1914. 4 Hanshu, Vol. 1, Gaodiji, diyi shang. 5 Suishu, Vol. 1, diji, diyi, Gaozushang. 6 Yuanshi, Vol. 1, benji, diyi, Taizu. 7 “Kanpaku Hidetsugu ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi oboegaki,” 1592.5.18, in Seikan monjo. 8 “On higashi sama, On kyakushin sama ate, Yamanaka Kitsunai shojō,” 1592.5.18, in Kumiya monjo. 9 “Katō Kiyomasa ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1592.5.16, in Katō monjo. 10 “Sō Yoshitoshi ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1592.6.3, in Sōke Chōsenjin monjo. 11 Kōraikoku hassu no kokunō oboe no koto. 12 “Kankyōdō [K. Hamgyŏng-do] hyakushō ate, Katō Kiyomasa bōbun,” 1592.6.?, in Taichōin monjo. 13 “Kiyomasa Kōraijin no oboegaki,” 1592.9.25, in Tajiri Akitane, Kōrai nikki. See Map 2. 14 In Korea, weights and measures at the time were as follows, according to Kyŏngguk taejŏn, 1971: 10 chak = 1 hop; 10 hop = 1 toe or sŭng; 10 toe or sŭng = 1 mal or tu; 15 mal or tu = 1 sŏk. The Japanese koku (180 liters), composed of Japanese masu, was roughly 4.5 times the Korean sŏk, composed of 4 Korean sŏk and 5 mal. Translator’s note: Although the source is Japanese, it refers to a Korean harvest, so the measuring unit is rendered here as sŏk and not koku. 15 Nabeshima Naoshige fukōho, 1592.7.18, in Tajiri Akitane, Kōrai nikki. 16 Sŏnjo shillok, 30:12b–13a (1592.9.15). 17 Kuroda kafu, Chōsen jinki. 18 Translator’s note: See Swope, A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail, 2009, pp. 25–33. 19 Ryōchō Heijōroku. 20 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 26:34b–35a (1592.9.–); Ryōchō Heijō roku; Mingshi, Vol. 320, liechuan 208, Chaoxian. 21 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:11a–11b (1591.intercalary 3.–). 22 “Dai Min chokushi ni kokuhō subeki jōmoku,” in Edaki Ungai, Kōun zuihitsu. 23 Kuroda kafu, Chōsen jinki. 24 Nanzen kyūki. Translator’s note: See Chapter 5, p. 96, for a more literal statement of Hideyoshi’s seven articles of peace.

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Edaki Ungai, Kōun zuihitsu. Mingshi, Vol. 320, liechuan 208, Chaoxian. See Toby, State and Diplomacy, 1984, p. 58, on the issue of kangō. “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1596.9.7, in Shimazu-ke monjo, document no. 424. “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Kobayakawa Takakage shojō,” 1596.9.7, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 37. Sŏnjo shillok, 65:37a–37b (1595.7.24). “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1597.2.21, in Shimazu-ke monjo, document no. 402; “Toyotomi Hideyoshi Kōrai saido jinjindate sho,” 21/2 Keichō 2 (1597), in Shimazu-ke monjo, document no. 403. Omodaka renchōbō nikki, 16/9 Keichō 2 (1597). See Map 5. “Maeda Geni ika 3 mei ate, Ukita Hideie hoka 14 mei rensho gonjō jōan,” 1597.9.16, in Shimazu-ke monjo, document no. 988. “Shimazu Yoshihiro hoka 12 mei rensho Zenra-dō [K. Chŏlla-do] Kainan [K. Haenam] teibō bunsha,” 1597.9.?, in Shimazuke monjo, document no. 971. “Ikoma Sanuki no kami ate, Kumagaya Naomori hoka 2 mei shojō,” 1597.9.23, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 40. Nanjung chamnok, 1597.9. “Ishida Mitsunari ate, Shimazu Yoshihiro shojō,” 1598.1.6, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 41. Ryōchō Heijōroku. Keinen, Chōsen hinikki, 16/8–18/8 Keichō 2 (1597). “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1597.9.13, in Shimazu-ke monjo, document no. 438; “Tōdō Takatora ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 13/9 Keichō 2 (1597), in Tōdō monjo. Nanjung chamnok, 1597.7. Ōkōchi Hidemoto Chōsen nikki. “Asano Nagamasa ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō,” 1586.9.14, in Asanoke monjo, document no. 59. Zōhyō monogatari. Shimokawa Heidayū, Kiyomasa Kōrai [no] jin oboegaki. Hagi-han batsuetsuroku, no. 37 “Shimazu Yoshihiro, Tadatsune ate, Shimazu Yoshihisa shojō,” 1597.9.13, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 40. Kagoshima kenshi, Vol. 1, p. 784. The gobugyō or five principal figures in the Toyotomi government were Asano Nagamasa, Ishida Mitsunari, Mashita Nagamori, Natsuka Masaie, and Maeda Gen’i. “Shimazu Iehisa ate, Toyotomi gobugyō rensho onchigyōgata mokuroku,” 1599.1.9, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 44. “Yatomoto ate, Ōshima Tadayasu shojō,” 1598.10.12, in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen, no. 29. Murai Shōsuke, “Shimazu shiryō kara mita Shisen no tatakai,” 2000. Shiseki hennyū no negai. Translator’s note: Kang’s students later compiled his writings and titled the collection Kanyangnok. For an English translation, see Kang Hang, A Korean War Captive in Japan, 1599–1600 in the References for Chapter 1. Sŏnjo shillok, 93:8a–9a (1597.10.3).

References Asanoke monjo (浅野家文書). Dai Nihon komonjo, iewake 2 (大日本古文書, 家わけ2).

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Asanoke monjo (浅野家文書). “Asano Nagamasa ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō (浅 野長政宛, 豊臣秀吉朱印状).” Chōsen kokusozei chō (朝鮮国租税牒). Maeda Sonkeikaku Bunko (前田 尊経閣文 庫所蔵). Edaki Ungai (江岳雲崖), ed. Kōun zuihitsu (江雲随筆). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō shahon (東京大学史料編纂所所蔵写本). Edaki Ungai. “Chōsen kokuō ate, Kanpaku Hideyoshi shokan (朝鮮國王宛,關白秀 吉書翰).” Edaki Ungai. “Dai Min chokushi ni kokuhō subeki jōmoku (大明勅使に告報すべき 条目).” Hagi-han batsuetsuroku (萩藩閥閲録). Yamaguchi-ken shokan shozō (山口県文書館 所蔵). Hanshu (漢書). Kagoshima kenshi (鹿児島県史). Kagoshima ken (鹿児島県). Kang Hang (姜沆). Kanyangnok (看羊録). Included in Haehaeng ch’ongjae (海行摠 載). Katō monjo (加藤文書). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō shahon (東京大学史 料編纂所所蔵写本). Katō monjo (加藤文書). “Katō Kiyomasa ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō (加藤清正 宛, 豊臣秀吉朱印状).” Keinen (慶念). Chōsen hinikki (朝鮮日々記). Ōita-ken Usuki-shi Anyōji shozō (大分 県臼杵市安養寺所蔵). Kōraikoku hassu no kokunō oboe no koto (高麗国八州之石納覚之事). Included in the Tosa no kuni tokanshū (土佐国蠧簡集). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō shahon (東京大学史料編纂所所蔵写本). Kumiya monjo (組屋文書). Included in Echizen nyakkyō kobun shosen (越前若狭古文 書選). Kumiya monjo (組屋文書). “On higashi sama, On kyakushin sama ate, Yamanaka Kitsunai shojō (御ひかしさま, 御きやくしんさま宛, 山中橘内書状).” Kuroda kafu, Chōsen [no] jinki (黒田家譜朝鮮陣記). Naikaku Bunko shozō (内閣文 庫所蔵). Kyŏngguk taejŏn (J. Keikoku taiten, 経国大典). Gakushūin Daigaku Tōyō Bunka Kenkyūjo (学習院大学東洋文化研究所), 1971. Mingshi (明史). Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). “Shimazu shiryō kara mita Shisen no tatakai (島津史料か らみた泗川の戦い).” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴史学研究) 736 (2000): 16–27. Nabeshima Naoshige fukōho (鍋島直茂譜考補). Naikaku Bunko shozō (内閣文庫所 蔵). Naitō Konan (内藤湖南). “Tōhoku Ajia no kansei teisetsu (東北亜細亜の感生帝説).” Minzoku to rekishi (民族と歴史) 1–4 (April 1914). Nanjung chamnok (亂中雜綠). Han’guk Kuksa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏnhoe (韓國國史編 纂委員會). Nanzen kyūki (南禅旧記). Naikaku Bunko shozō (內閣文庫所蔵). Ōkōchi Hidemoto Chōsen nikki (大河內秀元朝鮮日記), alternate title Chōsenki (朝鮮 記). Included in Zoku gunsho ruijū (續群書類従, 590), Vol. 590. Omodaka renchōbō nikki (面高連長坊高麗日記). Included in Kaitei shiseki shūran (改 訂史籍集覧), Vol. 25. Ōmura Yūko (大村由己). Kyūshū godōza ki (九州御動座記). Maeda Sonkeikaku Bunko (前田尊経閣文庫).

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Ryōchō Heijōroku (両朝平攘録). Tōkyō Daigaku Tōyō Bunka Kenkyūjo shozō (東京 大学東洋文化研究所所蔵). Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō (東京大学史料編纂所所蔵). Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Kobayakawa Takakage shojō (島津義弘宛, 小早川隆景書状).” Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Ikoma Sanuki no kami ate, Kumagaya Naomori hoka 2 mei shojō (生駒讃岐守宛, 熊谷直盛外２名連署状).” Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Ishida Mitsunari ate, Shimazu Yoshihiro shojō (石田三成宛, 島津義弘書状).” Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Shimazu Yoshihiro, Tadatsune ate, Shimazu Yoshihisa shojō (島津義弘,忠恒宛, 島津義久書状).” Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Shimazu Iehisa ate, Toyotomi gobugyō rensho onchigyōgata mokuroku (島津家久宛, 豊臣五奉行連署御知行方 目録).” Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen (薩藩旧記雑録, 後編). “Yatomoto ate, Ōshima Tadayasu shojō (やともと宛, 大嶋忠泰書状).” Seikan monjo (征韓文書). Maeda Sonkeikaku Bunko (前田尊経閣文庫所蔵). Seikan monjo (征韓文書). “Kanpaku Hidetsugu ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi oboegaki (関白秀次宛,豊臣秀吉覚書).” Seikanroku (征韓録). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō shahon (東京大学史料 編纂所所蔵写本). Shimazu-ke monjo (島津家文書). Included in Dai Nihon komonjo, iewake (大日本古文 書, 家わけ16), Vol. 16. Shimazu-ke monjo (島津家文書). “Shimazu Yoshihiro ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō (島津義弘宛, 豊臣秀吉朱印状).” Shimazu-ke monjo (島津家文書). “Toyotomi Hideyoshi Kōrai saido jinjindate sho (豊 臣秀吉高麗再度陣陣立書).” Shimazu-ke monjo (島津家文書). “Maeda Geni ika 3 mei ate, Ukita Hideie hoka 14 mei rensho gonjō jōan (前田玄以以下3名宛, 宇喜多秀家外14名連署言上状案).” Shimazu-ke monjo (島津家文書). “Shimazu Yoshihiro hoka 12 mei rensho Zenra-dō [K. Chŏlla-do] Kainan [K. Haenam] teibō bunsha (島津義弘外12名連署全羅道海 南定榜文写).” Shimokawa Heidayū (下川兵大夫). Kiyomasa Kōrai [no] jin oboegaki (清正高麗陣覚 書). Included in Zoku zoku gunsho ruijū (続々群書類従, 4), Vol. 4. Shiseki hennyū no negai (士籍編入之願). Chinjukan shi shozō monjo (沈寿官氏所蔵 文書). Sōke Chōsenjin monjo (宗家朝鮮陣文書). Included in Chōsen shiryō sōkan (朝鮮史料 叢刊 第19), Vol. 19. Sōke Chōsenjin monjo (宗家朝鮮陣文書). “Sō Yoshitoshi ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō (宗義智宛, 豊臣秀吉朱印状).” Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實録). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok (宣祖修正實録). Suishu (隋書). Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming Chin and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Taichōin monjo (泰長院文書). Included in Saga-ken shiryō shūsei komonjo hen (佐賀県 史料集成古文書編), Vol. 5. Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō shahon (東京 大学史料編纂所所蔵写本).

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Taichōin monjo (泰長院文書). “Kankyōdō [K. Hamgyŏng-do] hyakushō ate, Katō Kiyomasa bōbun (咸鏡道百姓宛, 加藤清正榜文).” Tajiri Akitane (田尻鑑種). Kōrai nikki (高麗日記). Saga Kenritsu Toshokan shozō (佐 賀県立図書館所蔵). Tajiri Akitane (田尻鑑種). “Kiyomasa Kōraijin no oboegaki (清正高麗陣覚書).” Tajiri Akitane (田尻鑑種). “Nabeshima Naoshige fukōho (鍋島直茂譜考補).” Toby, Ronald P. State and Diplomacy in Early Modern Japan: Asia in the Development of the Tokugawa Bakufu. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984. Tōdō monjo (藤堂文書). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo shozō (東京大学史料編纂 所所蔵写本). Tōdō monjo (藤堂文書). “Tōdō Takatora ate, Toyotomi Hideyoshi shuinjō (藤堂高虎 宛, 豊臣秀吉朱印状).” Yuanshi (元史). Zōhyō monogatari (雑兵物語). In Nakamura Michio (中村通夫) and Yuzawa Kōkichirō (湯沢幸吉郎), eds., Zōhei monogatari: Oamu monogatari (雑兵物語: お あむ物語). Tōkyō: Iwanami Bunko, 1943.

5

Hideyoshi’s view of Chosŏn Korea and Japan–Ming negotiations Sajima Akiko (佐島顕子)

Introduction In 1592, Japan and China commenced a series of negotiations to end the Imjin Waeran, and by the ninth month of 1596, the Japanese received envoys from both Ming China and Chosŏn Korea. The peace was short-lived, terminated by a sudden explosion of anger from Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and in 1597, a renewed attack on Korea began. Previous research in Japan has focused on the reasons for the rupture after four years of peace negotiations.1 This chapter examines Hideyoshi’s view of Korea, the contradictions remaining by 1596 in the conditions for peace put forward from Hideyoshi and Ming China, and the process of negotiation. In addition, I will investigate the reasons why peace negotiations took place between the Japanese and the Chinese, despite the fact that Chinese territory was never invaded and Korea was the center of the fighting.

The Toyotomi regime’s awareness of Korea In the fourth month of 1592, troops led by Konishi Yukinaga landed at Pusan and committed their first atrocity. The following, by one of Konishi’s men, describes the scene: When we landed in the early morning on the thirteenth day of the fourth month, we immediately fell on the Pusan fortress, but they were expecting us. Arrows released from small bows fell upon us like rain … They hid between houses or under the flooring, and those who could not find anywhere to hide ran to the east gate to escape. They all put their hands together kneeling down, and uttered words we had never heard, meaningless words that sounded like “manō, manō!” as if to plead for help. The Japanese officers and men ignored these words, slashed at them, and trampled them to death. Their victims were both men and women, and even dogs and cats were slain. Nearly 30,000 were massacred.2

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Why was the Japanese attack so extreme? Normally, the Toyotomi regime employed “total massacre” (J. minagoroshi) as a means to suppress domestic revolts, but this was a foreign war. The reasons for the deployment of this domestic fighting style require explanation. Fujiki Hisashi’s studies reveal that in the process of unifying the Japanese archipelago Hideyoshi chose not to destroy the feudal lords, but used methods to incorporate them under his rule.3 After the Muromachi bakufu lost power from the fifteenth century, regional lords, military men, and even villagers resorted to force to resolve problems such as border incidents. The Toyotomi regime that appeared in the late sixteenth century demanded a cessation of conflict, obedience to itself, and the acceptance of boundaries arbitrated by itself. This marked the transition from a medieval world to an early-modern world in which public life would be subject to law and order. The feudal lords were promised control of their lands by the Toyotomi regime in exchange for hostages, which acted as proof of their allegiance to the regime. The Toyotomi regime considered local disturbances, whether an invasion by a neighboring domain or an uprising organized by retainers, not as a private matter, but as an act of defiance against their authority; they would intervene by sending in allied troops, collected from various daimyō. Hideyoshi sent messengers country-wide to persuade local lords to submit to him. For those who yielded to persuasion, he permitted them to continue controlling their land as before. Resistance and then capitulation were met with a reduction of the lord’s holdings, but even then, confiscation of the offender’s land was not complete. However, later on, if there was dissatisfaction with Hideyoshi’s decision in land allocations or a lack of submission and open rebellion against Hideyoshi, the Toyotomi regime called this resistance a “revolt” and mercilessly killed all of the perpetrators. Although the Toyotomi regime tolerated opposition from antagonists before they submitted, it never tolerated rebellion from those who had submitted and joined the regime. This was a particular characteristic of the regime’s control over the daimyō. From 1587, when he opened diplomatic contact with Chosŏn, Hideyoshi insisted on adhering to the same policy towards this neighboring country as he had adopted at home: if the king of Chosŏn swore obedience to Hideyoshi, then his right to rule Korea would be recognized, but if the king refused, then a Toyotomi army made up of subordinate daimyō would be sent to force him into submission. The envoys responsible for communicating this policy, Sō Yoshitoshi and his father-in-law Konishi Yukinaga, failed to convey Hideyoshi’s intentions to the Chosŏn court for fear of offending King Sŏnjo. Instead, they requested a congratulatory embassy be sent in honor of Japan’s recent unification. When the embassy arrived from Chosŏn Korea in 1590, Yoshitoshi and Yukinaga presented them to Hideyoshi as an embassy communicating Chosŏn’s submission. Hideyoshi mistakenly accepted this as a sign of the Chosŏn king’s subjugation to his authority, and in 1592 launched a campaign to conquer Ming

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China on the understanding that Chosŏn would cooperate in this venture. There is no evidence to suggest, however, that Chosŏn ever submitted to the Toyotomi regime and therefore no reason for Chosŏn to assist Hideyoshi. On learning of Chosŏn’s non-compliance, Konishi began the invasion by attacking Pusan. On receiving the news of the disturbance at Pusan, Hideyoshi issued the following statement to his daimyō: Some time back, the Chosŏn court submitted to Toyotomi governance, so I told them to make their roads into China available for our use to subjugate Ming China. However, today we learn that, instead of being welcomed at the castle at Pusan, our troops were attacked. We therefore initiated a counterattack and razed their castle.4 And three days later Hideyoshi added the following: “Do not kill the Chosŏn king for I intend to award him with territory.”5 We can infer from these statements that Hideyoshi considered Korea to be one of his territorial domains. The invasion, therefore, was not a foreign war, but a suppression of a local revolt. In the eleventh month of the same year (1592), Hideyoshi stated: “I will cross the channel to Chosŏn in the third month of next year without fail, and I will subject the whole land to my authority after annihilating [J. minagoroshi] these rebels [J. ikki].”6 In reality, the conditions of war were such that Hideyoshi was unable to cross to Korea: his troops were challenged by the bitter defiance of the Chosŏn regular and irregular (K. ŭibyŏng, “righteous soldiers”) forces and suffered from food shortages. Although the fighting in Chinju, a southern Korean city, was in reality a confrontation between two armies, Hideyoshi called it a “revolt” (J. ikki), and in the sixth month of 1593, he delivered an all-out attack and after fierce fighting, killed 60,000 people, including civilians.7 Thus Hideyoshi treated the clash with Chosŏn not as a foreign war but as the suppression of a revolt. This discrepancy in views was later to affect the nature of the peace negotiations.

The Japan–Ming negotiations that led to Hideyoshi’s recognition (J. sakuhō) In the autumn of 1592, for the first time, Konishi Yukinaga’s troops in P’yŏngyang fought with the Ming auxiliary army, which had been brought in at the request of Chosŏn. Immediately after this initial clash, the Japanese appealed for peace with China. Chosŏn, whose sovereignty had been violated by the Japanese army, was not Yukinaga’s interlocutor for peace, the Ming government was. The Toyotomi regime’s perception of Chosŏn – that it was a rebellious part of the internal dominion – was responsible for this neglect of one of the main participants of the war. In 1593, Hideyoshi declared a truce with the Ming army and issued the following terms and conditions to his chief negotiator Yukinaga.

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Sajima Akiko The terms of peace between the Great Ming and Japan:

1a There must not be any misunderstandings in our peace covenant. Peace must be protected even if heaven and earth vanish. We therefore invite a daughter of the Emperor of Great Ming to become Empress to the Emperor of Japan. 2a Attenuation of the relations between our two countries has resulted in the recent discontinuation of the tally trade (J. kangō). This situation will now be rectified so that official envoy ships and trade ships can travel freely. 3a Diplomatic relations between Great Ming and Japan must not be impaired. Ministers from both countries will write each other oaths. 4a We have already subdued Chosŏn with our military power, but now is the time to stabilize the country and let the people live in peace. Japan may have been forced to deploy its army, but if agreement is reached over the acceptance of these conditions, then Chosŏn will, in dread of defying Japan and before the Great Ming, divide its eight provinces. Four provinces and the capital city will be awarded to the king of Chosŏn, because Japan had previously entered into peace with Chosŏn through the three Chosŏn envoys dispatched to Japan. Precise details may be obtained verbally from Ishida [Mitsunari] and the four others. 5a Four provinces have already been handed back to Chosŏn. The Koreans must respond to this by sending a prince and a high minister to Japan as hostages. 6a Two Chosŏn princes of admirable disposition were taken as hostages last year by the Japanese army. They will be treated as a separate case from the terms of the peace treaty and entrusted to Shen Weijing [a Chinese peace representative who had been dispatched to Japan by the Ming army] and returned to Chosŏn. 7a The chief ministers of the king of Chosŏn will write oaths stating their obedience to Japan henceforth. The four bearers of this document will explain the particulars of the above to the envoys of the Emperor of Great Ming. 28th day, 6th month of Bunroku 2 [1593] Hideyoshi (sealed in vermilion) Ishida Mitsunari Mashita Nagamori Ōtani Yoshitsugu Konishi Yukinaga8 Popularly known as “Hideyoshi’s seven articles,” the contents can be categorized under three headings: (i) three demands on China; (ii) two demands on Chosŏn; and (iii) Japan’s two obligations: i

Demands on China: 1a Ming princess to wed Japanese emperor; 2a Resuscitation of Japan–Ming tally trade;

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3a Exchange of vows between Ming China and Japan confirming diplomatic relations. ii

Demands on Chosŏn: 5a A prince as hostage; 7a A vow of repentance.

iii Japan’s obligations: 4a Northern half of Chosŏn and the capital to be offered to the king of Chosŏn; 6a Katō Kiyomasa’s captives, Prince Imhae and Prince Sunhwa, to be returned. Hideyoshi sought diplomatic relations and trade with Ming China but not with Chosŏn for which he claimed administrative responsibility. Declaring himself ruler of Chosŏn, he offered the northern half to the king of Chosŏn and kept the southern half for himself. He also demanded written oaths and hostages as proof of Chosŏn’s submission. The Japanese were already in possession of two princes, but Hideyoshi felt that a clearer demonstration of Chosŏn’s submission was needed. He would return the captive princes but demanded that Chosŏn take the initiative by delivering hostages. From 1590 Hideyoshi was led to believe that the Chosŏn congratulatory embassy came bearing the king’s submission, and he had been under the illusion that the whole of Chosŏn was subject to his authority. The Japanese forces immediately fulfilled their part of the promise – the princes were returned and the Japanese army withdrew from all but the southern, coastal region. Using Hideyoshi’s seven articles of 1593 as a guide, Yukinaga entered into peace negotiations with Shen Weijing, the peace representative dispatched from the Ming military. Since Shen took the liberty of arbitrarily changing article 1a, substituting 300 horses for the Ming princess,9 Yukinaga focused on articles 2a and 3a, the tally trade and the re-establishment of diplomatic relations with Ming China. The tally trade was a trade arrangement between the emperor of Ming China and the kings of neighboring countries. Under this system only those recognized (J. sakuhō) as king by the Ming emperor could trade with China. There were significant advantages for the kings in being part of this exclusive trade network centered on China. The tally was proof of permission to trade with Ming China and that permission was issued only to the kings of countries. As well as the economic profit of being able to trade with China, other powers within a country were excluded, enabling the local king to take a superior position in internal politics. Hideyoshi was ignorant of the fact that trade with Ming China was conditional on him being recognized by the Ming court. It appears that Hideyoshi used the term “kangō” (tally trade) merely to indicate a resumption of trade between Japan and China. Yukinaga, on the other hand, knew that it was necessary to request recognition before entering into trade with Ming China.

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Therefore, he forged a document that stated Hideyoshi’s capitulation, and had it delivered to the Ming court. Of course, condemnation of the Japanese invasion of Chosŏn was rife within the Ming government, but officials decided to follow the example of 1402, when the title “King of Japan” had been conferred on the retired shōgun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu. The court planned to bring the war to a swift conclusion by bestowing the title of “King of Japan” on Hideyoshi. A conclusion to the fighting would have meant that no further troops would be dispatched, a financial concern, and recognition of a king would have meant that all diplomatic questions would be settled. Thus the Ming government viewed matters in a traditional framework.10 Ming China accused Chosŏn of causing the outbreak of war, saying that it had refused to mediate Hideyoshi’s request for recognition, despite the fact that he was keen to receive the Ming court’s recognition. Admittedly, Ming China was fully aware of the falsity of such an accusation, but they now had Hideyoshi’s written capitulation. This prompted the Ming court to dispatch an envoy, who carried with him the authority to grant the title “King of Japan” to Hideyoshi as well as to confer a state letter and a gold seal. However, in the first month of 1595, the Ming court set three conditions by which Hideyoshi should abide, if he were to accept recognition: 1b Trade will not be allowed. 2b Japan and Chosŏn will conclude a peace. 3b Troops must be withdrawn completely from Chosŏn. Although Yukinaga could accept recognition of the “King of Japan” as a precondition for trade, he found it very difficult to accept only recognition and no trade and resisted these conditions.11 In the end, Yukinaga’s envoy accepted the terms 1b and 2b in Beijing. It is likely that Yukinaga accepted the Ming government’s offer, however reluctantly, because he thought that Hideyoshi’s requests to China would more or less be honored. Horses would replace the princess; the gold seal would look as if it could be used as a tally; and the state letter could be construed as an oath. For the time being then, Yukinaga accepted the offer of recognition. It seems peculiar that Hideyoshi would accept Ming recognition when he had launched an invasion to conquer Ming China. Reviewing the circumstances of the time, though, it appears that Hideyoshi himself had in fact accepted recognition by 1595. This hypothesis is supported by the following statement made by Yukinaga’s rival, Katō Kiyomasa, on hearing about the content of the peace negotiations. Kiyomasa appealed to Hideyoshi in the following terms: It is lamentable that we are now about to become Ming’s subjects when the original plan was to make them our subjects. This year or next year – an immediate invasion may not be possible, but if we stay in Chosŏn for

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a decade or so and then attack Ming, that should enable us to carry out our original objective.12 Despite Kiyomasa’s entreaty, there is no evidence to suggest that Hideyoshi was shocked or that he made any attempt to suspend Yukinaga’s peace negotiations at the time. The Toyotomi regime no longer had the reserve forces with which to resume the war against China and Korea. It is plausible that there was no other option left for Hideyoshi but to agree to let Ming China confer on him the title of king and then enter into a peace treaty with China.

Withdrawal from Chosŏn as a condition for recognition In the fifth month of 1595, Yukinaga briefly returned to Japan to make a progress report to Hideyoshi on the peace negotiations.13 Hideyoshi issued the terms below to Yukinaga. Hideyoshi’s Second Set of Terms for Peace between Great Ming, Chosŏn, and Japan (signed Hideyoshi) … 1c) I have received information that Shen Weijing appeared at Konishi Yukinaga’s camp at Ungch’ŏn in southern Chosŏn and relayed the Great Ming terms for peace. I have decided to obey the Ming Emperor’s orders and forgive Chosŏn’s treachery provided the following conditions are met: i) Chosŏn must send one prince to Japan as my servant; ii) of the eight provinces of Chosŏn, four will be annexed to Japan, as prescribed previously; iii) when the prince comes to Japan, two ministers will accompany him and attend on the prince in alternate shifts. 2c) On the arrival of Shen Weijing and the Chosŏn prince at the Ungch’ŏn camp, ten of the fifteen fortresses built by the Japanese will be destroyed immediately. 3c) We are prepared to forgive Chosŏn its rebellion and make peace, because the Ming Emperor has so strongly urged us to do so. The [Ming] state letter will be delivered to Japan by Ming’s Imperial Envoy. Henceforth, all diplomatic and trade ships between the two countries will be recognized by a tally stamped with a gold seal. 22nd day, 5th month Bunroku 4 [1595] Hideyoshi (sealed in vermilion) Konishi Yukinaga Terazawa Hirotaka14 Of the seven terms originally proposed in 1593 (see above), articles 2a (tally trade) and 3a (establishment of relations) towards Ming China and 4a (cession of four provinces) and 5a (hostage prince) towards Chosŏn have been preserved in this version from the fifth month of 1595. Article 6a deserved no mention, because Japan had already returned the two Chosŏn princes. Apart

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from the omission of article 1a about the Ming princess, Hideyoshi’s original conditions remained unchanged, despite the unfavorable progress of the war. Non-compliance with the request for the Ming princess has often been cited as one of the reasons for the collapse of the peace negotiations. Shen Weijing, however, maintained that Ming China had approved the imperial wedding, but because the princess died en route, 300 horses were being sent as a substitute.15 It is difficult to imagine that Hideyoshi would have believed such a story, but the fact that the demand disappears from his 1595 terms and the fact that the “princess” issue was never raised in 1597 at the time when the peace negotiations ruptured indicate that the matter had been long excised from Hideyoshi’s conditions. In the tally trade of the Muromachi period, Japanese ships travelled to China carrying a tally bestowed on the “King of Japan” by the Ming emperor. It is possible to conclude from article 3c, however, that Hideyoshi intended to control maritime trade in East Asian waters by having each vessel carry a certificate stamped with a gold seal by either Japan or Ming China.16 The Ming court never authorized official trade with Japan, but in reality there was much private commerce between the two countries. It appears that Yukinaga explained to Hideyoshi that the gold seal would be given to him to be used to produce his vermilion-sealed documents, which controlled the sea traffic. As regards diplomatic relations between China and Japan, there is a notable difference in Hideyoshi’s attitude between 1593, when he spoke of “the ministers’ written oaths,” and the revised conditions two years later, when he awaited the arrival of an imperial envoy to deliver the state letter. We may conclude from the above that at the time the terms were written in 1595, Hideyoshi had no real reason to halt the peace process. On the other hand, Japan had still not complied with one of the three terms presented to them by Ming China – the complete withdrawal from Chosŏn (3b). It is likely that Yukinaga did not make this demand clear to Hideyoshi. In this connection, Hideyoshi’s 1595 terms for peace (1c–3c above) eased his military deployment in the occupied southern territory by authorizing the demolition of ten out of the fifteen Japanese fortresses and gave consent to the return to Japan of his generals in Korea. The news of Hideyoshi’s “evacuation” from Chosŏn territory reached the Chosŏn government via Yukinaga, who held back the vital truth that this was no more than a reduction of deployments.17 Ming China was equally misguided in the matter when they heard that Hideyoshi was “eliminating ten of his own fortresses and awaiting the arrival of an envoy from Ming,” and that this was “the beginning of a complete withdrawal.”18 The Ming government responded to this news by dispatching an envoy for recognition from Beijing and ordered him to wait in Hansŏng until the withdrawal was completed. With the stories of Japanese fortresses being razed and a comprehensive military evacuation under way, Yukinaga intended to deceive China into believing that Japan was yielding to their demands of withdrawal. Just before the demolition of the fortress on Kŏje Island, Yukinaga sent a directive to

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the keeper of the fortress, Shimazu, saying, “I will send one of Shen Weijing’s associates, because we need a Chinese to witness this.”19 Although it was from Chosŏn that Japan was making their military retreat, Yukinaga did not verify the demolition of Japanese fortresses with any Chosŏn official. This evidence suggests that Yukinaga and the Ming court both believed that a Japan–Ming peace could end the war, and neither considered the war-torn and occupied Chosŏn to be a participant in the peace. Hideyoshi’s intention, as made clear in the 1595 peace terms, was to demolish the fortresses after a prince was delivered as hostage, but Yukinaga and Shen predicted that Chosŏn would refuse to part with a prince and requested that only an envoy be sent. By the ninth month of 1595, ten fortresses out of sixteen in the possession of the Japanese army had been razed. The Chosŏn court judged that Japan’s withdrawal was real: the taxation on Japanese occupied land fell from 50 percent to 30 percent, rice was transported to Japan instead of being stored for later use, and there was a visible reduction in the number of Japanese ships in the ports.20

Putting recognition before withdrawal Before Hideyoshi’s evacuation project was discovered to be only a partial evacuation, Yukinaga and Shen Weijing urged the Ming army to send the recognition envoy to Japan. The Ming Minister of War, Shi Xing, was enthusiastic about the negotiations, because he desired the Ming army’s withdrawal from Chosŏn. He ordered the recognition envoy to leave Hansŏng without delay and proceed to the Japanese camp.21 The chief Chinese envoy, Li Zongcheng, was alarmed to hear an order contradicting the directives he had been given in Beijing. He stopped at Namwŏn and Miryang along the way and refused to enter the Japanese camps. He said that until all the Japanese fortresses were destroyed, he would not set foot in Yukinaga’s camp in Pusan. He asserted, “If Katō Kiyomasa can refuse to withdraw after a year, I need not move forward for a year.”22 Li’s resistance ended when his messenger sent to Beijing to report on the withdrawal situation returned to Miryang with Shi Xing’s orders on the eighteenth day of the eleventh month, 1595: Li was to leave Miryang and enter the Japanese camp in Pusan. This order was issued because Shen Weijing complained to Shi that Kiyomasa and his army were holding their positions, and the reason was that the Ming recognition envoy was refusing to enter the Japanese camp. The desire to accelerate the peace process made both Shi and Shen act against Beijing’s policy. Both the chief envoy Li Zongcheng and the Chosŏn court were of the opinion that the Japanese would probably break their promise of full evacuation if the recognition envoy should enter the Japanese camp before the Japanese withdrew. When King Sŏnjo heard that Li had entered the Japanese camp at Pusan on the twenty-second day of the eleventh month on Shi’s command,23

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he felt anxious about the realization of peace.24 Just as he feared, Japan’s withdrawal was discontinued. Despite this, Shen and others at Pusan began planning the travel arrangements to Japan for the recognition envoy. Li repeatedly reported to the Ming court that the withdrawal process was not progressing. He even wrote of resigning his post because it seemed inconceivable that Hideyoshi could ever be recognized. A debate arose within Ming government councils over the anomaly that an official date for a visit by a recognition envoy should be discussed when Japan still held five camps and Kiyomasa was still in Korea. Some said that even if recognition should come first, the envoy must remain in Pusan until evacuation was completed.25 Withholding from the government information on Li’s wish for resignation, and using the fact that Japan was willing to bear all expenses for the cost of travel for the Chinese envoy’s visit to Japan, Shi insisted that Japan’s desire to be recognized was unchanged and that problems did not exist. The Ming government eventually accepted Shi’s assertions and ordered the chief envoy to commit to his duty with dignity on behalf of his country. No reason was left for the Ming court to review their ideas about the peace process with Japan. Isolated, Li feared that he might be coerced into entering Japan to perform a recognition ceremony, despite the fact that Japan had not withdrawn. On the third day of the fifth month, 1596, he donned a disguise and escaped from the Japanese camp at Pusan with the state letter from the emperor and the gold seal and returned to China under the auspices of the Chosŏn government. This was Li’s last attempt to oppose developments; he had sent numerous reports to his government expecting responsible answers, but his hopes were dashed each time by the interference of Shi in the Ministry of War. Shen and Yukinaga handled Li’s defiant escape as “flight resulting from intimidation by false rumors.” The state letter got lost along the way, later to be found in a meadow at Kimhae near Pusan,26 and as it was stained, a fresh copy was later reissued in Beijing. The gold seal, which he was believed to have taken, was found back in his quarters. On his return to China, Li was interrogated as a fugitive who had damaged Ming China’s reputation by running away alone and neglecting the state letter and the gold seal. Li’s abandonment of his post led to the promotion of Yang Fangheng, the deputy envoy and an adherent of Shi’s, to the position of chief envoy. Shen became deputy envoy. They then travelled to Japan without settling article 3b of the Ming terms for peace – the complete withdrawal of Japan from Chosŏn.

Collapse of the peace negotiations On the first day of the ninth month, 1596, the recognition ceremony was completed without disruption in audience with Hideyoshi at Ōsaka Castle. Hideyoshi was presented with the state letter and the gold seal, which together symbolized his recognition. He was also given a ceremonial robe with cap. The state letter, the gold seal, the written appointments (Ch. zhafu) issued by

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the Ming Ministry of War, which were distributed to the daimyō appointing them as “subjects of the King of Japan,” all remained in Japan even after the breakdown of the peace negotiations. It is clear that Hideyoshi and his daimyō happily accepted the Ming government’s official appointments. For the recognition envoy, however, there was still the problem of article 3b or Japanese evacuation. Yang Fangheng and Shen Weijing had prioritized recognition over evacuation, but they would have disobeyed the emperor had the evacuation not been total. They must have expected that the Japanese troops would be out of Chosŏn by the time they returned to Ming China to appear before the emperor. Another problem was that Hideyoshi refused to see the Chosŏn envoys. In Hideyoshi’s terms of 1593 and 1595, he demanded that a Chosŏn prince come as hostage to Japan, and he was still anticipating a prince’s arrival in the intercalary seventh month of 1596.27 By the eighth month, Hideyoshi became irate because a Communication Embassy (K. T’ongshinsa) had arrived from the Chosŏn government instead of a prince. Yukinaga and others concealed Hideyoshi’s desire to have a Chosŏn prince, instead pressing for the dispatch of a Chosŏn embassy. The Chosŏn court was opposed to a Ming–Japan peace in the first place and had been refusing to send an embassy, arguing that “we cannot live in the same world with them.” In the absence of an official directive from the Ming court, the Chosŏn court felt that they could not respond to a personal appeal from Shen and refused to send a Communication Embassy.28 The Japanese negotiator, Yanagawa Shigenobu, offered himself as a hostage to the Koreans in exchange for an embassy,29 and in the fifth month of 1596 he told an official interpreter that anyone from the government would suffice, even a “fake” envoy.30 The persistence of the appeals, and the fear that their refusal to comply may well be reported by Shen to the Ming Ministry of War as an obstruction of the peace process, led the Chosŏn court to agree reluctantly to send an embassy bearing a state letter to Japan. Hideyoshi became furious when he learned that it was not a prince who had arrived from Chosŏn. He said to Yukinaga and others, “The fact that the Chosŏn envoy arrived later than the recognition envoy from Ming, together with their failure to dispatch a prince, show that they are making a mockery of me.” This, however, did not result in the peace process being terminated. Instead, Hideyoshi planned first of all to meet the Ming envoy, and consult with the Ming Ministry of War about the situation. Afterwards, he would then finally meet the Chosŏn envoy.31 Just as he had talked about peace with Chosŏn – “I have decided to obey the Ming Emperor’s orders and forgive Chosŏn’s treachery” (Hideyoshi’s 1595 terms for peace, 1c) – he thought that Ming China was responsible for Chosŏn’s conduct. Thus, Hideyoshi sought to take control of Chosŏn territory not by invasion or by negotiations with Chosŏn but by diplomatic talks with the Ming court: the northern four provinces to be given to the Chosŏn king while the southern four provinces were to be held by Japan. At the banquet for the Ming envoys on the second day

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of the ninth month, Shen Weijing asked Hideyoshi to meet with the Chosŏn envoys, but Hideyoshi refused.32 On the fourth day of the ninth month, Hideyoshi sent the deputy (J. bugyō) in charge of Kyōto, Maeda Gen’i, and a priest in charge of foreign correspondence to Shen’s quarters for a discussion about a letter of reply to the Ming court. Yukinaga was also present.33 It is said that, on this occasion, Hideyoshi sent an extremely cordial note to the recognition envoy, stating: “If you have any requests, feel free to make them heard.”34 Finding courage in Hideyoshi’s amiable missive and gaining Gen’i’s understanding, Shen replied to Hideyoshi regarding both the problem of military withdrawal and a meeting with the Chosŏn embassy.35 The Chosŏn ambassador, Hwang Shin, despite being present in Shen’s quarters at this time, was not able to participate in the meeting. Clearly, the Chosŏn court was completely excluded from the Japan–Ming peace negotiations. The joint effort by Shen and Yukinaga to convince Hideyoshi ended in total failure. The following day, Yanagawa Shigenobu told Hwang Shin the following: Today, Yukinaga took Shen Weijing’s letter to Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi became furious and said, “I have been tolerant for a while, because the Ming envoy had accorded me recognition, but Chosŏn’s behaviour is deplorable. Peace shall now cease and I will attack again. On top of everything, they ask me to consider military withdrawal, which is outrageous. The Ming envoy might as well depart for home tomorrow and the same goes for the Koreans. I will prepare my troops, and after the winter has gone, they will attack Chosŏn.” And thus, the negotiations ended in rupture. Luis Frois, a Jesuit resident in Japan at the time, left a similar record. According to Frois, Hideyoshi erupted with rage when he arrived at the section in Shen Weijing’s letter that covered the destruction of his fortresses.36 On the seventh day of the ninth month, Hideyoshi made a public announcement to his daimyō declaring the termination of the peace negotiations and the initiation of a second invasion of Chosŏn. He gave his reason: “because the Chosŏn prince failed to arrive in Japan.”37 According to one daimyō, however, The peace talks broke down because the Ming envoy did not address Hideyoshi properly. Hideyoshi got angry because Chosŏn failed to deliver their prince on time. The prince should have paid his respects to Hideyoshi before the arrival of the Ming envoy.38 Hideyoshi had been dissatisfied with Chosŏn’s refusal to submit to Toyotomi authority, but Shen’s request to have his entire army withdrawn proved to be the final test of the Japanese ruler’s patience. Neither Ming China’s failure to deliver the princess nor the recognition matter were responsible for the collapse

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of the peace or Japan’s renewed invasion of Korea. Chosŏn, which did not send a prince as hostage, refused effectively to submit to the Toyotomi regime. Ming China, which asked for a complete withdrawal of Hideyoshi’s troops from Korea, refused to recognize his control of Chosŏn. Confronting these two facts, Hideyoshi had to acknowledge the impossibility of attaining control over Chosŏn Korea through diplomatic talks alone. For Hideyoshi, peace with Ming China was now pointless. By 1593, the invasion of China (J. Kara iri), which had begun with the intention to absorb Chosŏn into the Toyotomi regime, had seen merciless combat only to end in failure. Hideyoshi looked for ways to end the war by continuing diplomatic relations with the Ming government. He eventually agreed to be part of the Chinese diplomatic structure, but he showed a different attitude towards Chosŏn. His domestic strategy for unification – “disobedience shall be forgiven as long as I can detect the intention of allegiance, which will guarantee you a position within the regime” – resulted in fettering Hideyoshi himself. In the end, he could never bring himself to treat Chosŏn as a foreign country outside his domain of control.

Notes Translated by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne with James B. Lewis. 1 Tokutomi Sohō, Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi, 1921; Nakamura Hidetaka, Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, 1969; Ishihara Michihiro, Bunroku-Keichō no eki, 1963; Kitajima Manji, Chōsen hinikki, Kōrai nikki, 1984; Miki Seiichirō, “Kanpaku gaikō taisei no tokushitsu ni tsuite,” 1987; Kitajima Manji, Toyotomi seiken no taigai ninshiki to Chōsen shinryaku, 1990. 2 “Yoshino Jingozaemon oboegaki,” p. 379. 3 Fujiki Hisashi, Toyotomi heiwarei to sengoku shakai, 1985, pp. 1–76. 4 Hideyoshi shuinjō (1592.4.22). 5 Hideyoshi shuinjō utsushi (1592.4.25). 6 Hideyoshi shuinjō (1592.11.10). 7 A very informative book on the Battle of Chinju, which became the focus of Korean “revolts,” is Sai Kan (Choi Kwan)’s Bunroku-Keichō no eki, 1994. 8 Nanzen kyūki, last volume, pp. 1–7, numbering inserted by author. 9 Zhuge Yuansheng, Liangzhou pingranglu, riben, p. 81. 10 Okano Masako, “Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku to Chūgoku,” 1977. 11 Shenzong shilu, 282: 6a–6b (1595.2.12). 12 “Nanjung shillok,” Vol. 2, in Taedong yasŭng, Vol. 6, pp. 4–6. 13 Sŏnjo shillok, 63: 10a, p. 496 (1595.5.10); Sŏnjo shillok, 64: 28a–28b, p. 516 (1595.6.22); Hideyoshi shuinjō (1595.4.16). 14 Dai Min Chōsen to Nihon wahei no jōmoku, pp. 1–3; numbering inserted by author. 15 Sŏnjo shillok, 74: 19b–21a, pp. 677–8 (1596.4.10). 16 Tanaka Takeo, Taigai kankei to bunka kōryū, 1982, pp. 82–91; Fujiki Hisashi, Toyotomi heiwarei to sengoku shakai, 1985, p. 243; Miki Seiichirō, “Kanpaku gaikō taisei no tokushitsu ni tsuite,” 1987; Kitajima Manji, Toyotomi seiken no taigai ninshiki to Chōsen shinryaku, 1990, p. 189. 17 Sŏnjo shillok, 64: 28a–28b (1595.6.22). 18 Sŏnjo shillok, 65: 20b (1595.7.14). 19 For “Konishi Yukinaga–Terazawa Masanari shojō” (1595.8.28), see Kyūki zatsuroku: Kōhen, Vol. 2 (1587), 1986.

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Sŏnjo shillok, 67: 31b (1595.9.28); Sŏnjo shillok, 70: 21a–21b, p. 616 (1595.12.23). Sŏnjo shillok, 69: 3b–4a (1595.11.3). Sŏnjo shillok, 69: 30a–31a (1595.11.30). Sŏnjo shillok, 70: 14a–14b (1595.12.12). Sŏnjo shillok, 70: 1a (1595.12.1). Shenzong shilu, 294: 9b–10b (1596.2.24). Sŏnjo shillok, 74: 50b–54a (1596.4.23). “Natsuka Masaie shojō,” in Kijima monjo (1596 intercalary 7.11). Sŏnjo shillok, 71: 1a–2b (1596.1.1). Sŏnjo shillok, 74: 41b–44a (1596.4.17). Sŏnjo shillok, 75: 4b–5a (1596.5.2). Hwang Shin, Ilbon wanghwan ilgi, entry for ninth month sixth day, pp. 11–12. Ruisu Furoisu nenpō, hoi, 16~17 seiki Iezusu kai (1596.12.28), p. 320. Hwang Shin, Ilbon wanghwan ilgi, entry for ninth month fifth day, p. 11. “Ruisu Furoisu nenpo, hoi,” in 16~17 seiki Iezusu kai, p. 321. Hwang Shin, Ilbon wanghwan ilgi, entry for ninth month fifth day, p. 11 “Ruisu Furoisu nenpo, hoi,” in 16~17 seiki Iezusu kai, p. 321. Hideyoshi shuinjō (1596.9.7), p. 375. For “Kobayakawa Takakage shojō” (1596.9.7), see Kyūki zatsuroku: Kōhen, Vol. 3, 107, 1986, pp. 41–2.

References Dai Min Chōsen to Nihon wahei no jōmoku (Dai Min, Chōsen to Nihon no kōwa jōken) (大明朝鮮与日本和平之条目 [大明, 朝鮮と日本の講和条件]). Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo, tōshabon (東京大学, 史料編纂所, 謄写本). Fujiki Hisashi (藤木久志). Toyotomi heiwarei to sengoku shakai (豊臣平和令と戦国社 会). Tōkyō: Tōkyō daigaku shuppankai, 1985. Hideyoshi shuinjō (秀吉朱印状) (1592.4.22), in Takeda Katsuzō (武田勝蔵). “Hakushaku, Sō-ke shozō: Hōkō (Toyotomi Hideyoshi) monjo to Chōsenjin (伯爵 宗家所蔵豊公[豊臣秀吉]文書と朝鮮陣),” Shigaku (史学) 8 (1925): 383–440. Hideyoshi shuinjō utsushi (秀吉朱印状写) (1592.4.25), in Kuroda monjo (黒田文書), Vol. 10. Tōkyō: Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo, tōshabon (東京大学史料編纂 所, 謄写本). Hideyoshi shuinjō (秀吉朱印状) (1592.11.10), in Matsumoto Sumio (松本寿三郎), ed., “Katō monjo, 14(加藤文書, 14),” Kumamoto-ken shiryō shūsei: Kumamoto-ken shiryō chūseihen (熊本県史料集成,熊本県史料中世編), Vol. 5, Kumamoto-ken, 1966, pp. 154–5. Hideyoshi shuinjō (秀吉朱印状) (1595.4.16), in “Nabeshima-ke monjo, 80 (鍋島家文 書, 80),” Saga-ken shiryō shūsei: Komonjo-hen (佐賀県史料集成,古文書編), Vol. 3. Saga: Saga kenritsu toshokan, 1972, pp. 359–60. Hideyoshi shuinjō (秀吉朱印状) (1596.9.7), in “Nabeshima-ke monjo, 104 (鍋島家文 書, 104),” Saga-ken shiryō shūsei: Komonjo-hen (佐賀県史料集成,古文書編), Vol. 3. Saga: Saga kenritsu toshokan, 1972, p. 375. Hwang Shin (黃愼). Ilbon wanghwan ilgi [J. Nihon ōkan nikki] (日本往還日記). Seikyū gakusō (青丘学叢) 11 (1933). [Translator’s note: translated and republished as Kō Shin (黄慎, 1560–1617), trans. by Wakamatsu Minoru (若松 実). Nihon ōkan nikki: Jinshin Waran-Bunroku no eki ni okeru Minkoku sakuhōshi-Chōsen Tsūshinshi no washin kōshō no nikki (日本往還日記: 壬辰倭乱 ዘ文禄の役に於け る明国冊封使 ዘ朝鮮通信使の和親交渉の記録). Nagoya: Nitchō kyōkai Aichiken rengōkai (日朝協会愛知県連合会), 1989.]

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Ishihara Michihiro (石原道博). Bunroku-Keichō no eki (文禄-慶長の役). Tōkyō: Hanawa Shobō, 1963. Kitajima Manji (北島万次). Chōsen hinikki, Kōrai nikki (朝鮮日々記·高麗日記). Tōkyō: Soshiete, 1984. Kitajima Manji (北島万次). Toyotomi seiken no taigai ninshiki to Chōsen shinryaku (豊 臣政権の対外認識と朝鮮侵略). Tōkyō: Azekura shobō, 1990. “Kobayakawa Takakage shojō (小早川隆景 書状)” (1596.9.7), in Kyūki zatsuroku: Kōhen (旧記雑録, 後編), Vol. 3, 107. Kagoshima: Kagoshima-ken Ishin Shiryō Hensanjo, 1986. “Konishi Yukinaga and Terazawa Masanari shojō (小西行長 ዘ寺沢正成書状)” (1595.8.28), in Kyūki zatsuroku: Kōhen (旧記雑録, 後編), Vol. 2, 1587. Kagoshima: Kagoshima-ken Ishin Shiryō Hensanjo, 1986. Miki Seiichirō (三鬼清一郎). “Kanpaku gaikō taisei no tokushitsu ni tsuite (関白 外交体制の特質について),” in Tanaka Takeo (田中健夫), ed., Nihon zenkindai no kokka to taigai kankei (日本前近代の国家と対外関係). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1987. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村栄孝). Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū (日鮮関係史の研究, 中), Vol. 2. Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1969. “Nanjung shillok (乱中実録),” in Taedong yasŭng (大東野乗), Vol. 2. Keijō: Chōsen kosho kankōkai, 1911. Nanzen kyūki, ge (南禅旧記,下). Kokuritsu kōbunshokan, Naikaku bunko, shozō (国 立公文書館内閣文庫所蔵). “Natsuka Masaie shojō (長束正家書状),” in Kijima monjo (木島文書). Okano Masako (岡野昌子). “Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku to Chūgoku (秀吉の朝 鮮侵略と中国),” in Minshinshi ronshū (明清史論集). Tōkyō: Ryōgen shoten, 1977. Ruisu Furoisu (Luis Frois) nenpō, hoi (ルイスٜフロイス年報, 補遺), in 16~17 seiki Iezusu kai Nihon hōkoku shū (十六~七世紀イエズス会日本報告集), dai 1 ki, dai 2 maki (第１期, 第２巻), trans. by Matsuda Kiichi (松田毅一監) et al. Kyoto: Dōhōsha, 1998. Sai Kan (Choi Kwan, 崔官). Bunroku-Keichō no eki, Imjin-Waeran: Bungaku ni kizamareta sensō (文禄-慶長の役:壬辰-丁酉倭乱: 文学に刻まれた戦争). Tōkyō: Kōdansha, 1994. Shenzong shilu (神宗実録). Zhongyang yanjiuyuan, lishi yuyan yanjiusuo chuban (中 央研究院, 歴史語言研究所出版). Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖実録). Tanaka Takeo (田中健夫). Taigai kankei to bunka kōryū (対外関係と文化交流). Tōkyō: Shibunkaku, 1982. Tokutomi Sohō (徳富蘇峰). Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi: Toyotomi jidai Chōsen eki, ge (近世日本国民史:豊臣時代朝鮮役,下). Tōkyō: Meiji shoin, 1921. “Yoshino Jingozaemon oboegaki (吉野甚五左衛門覚書),” in Zoku-Gunsho ruijū (続 群書類従), Vol. 23. Zhuge Yuansheng (諸葛元声). Liangzhou pingranglu, riben (両朝平攘録, 日本), in Beijing daxue Chaoxian wenhua yanjiusuo et al., eds. (北京大学朝鮮文化研究所等 主編). Renchen zhiyi shiliao huiji, xia (壬辰之役史料匯集, 下).

6

Post-war domain source material on Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea The wartime memoirs of Shimazu soldiers Murai Shōsuke (村井章介)

Introduction The Imjin Waeran was a war of aggression mounted by the Japanese army against Korea at the end of the sixteenth century. Devised by the Japanese warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi, this conflict had the conquest of China as its final aim. Not only is this war considered pivotal to Japan’s transition from medieval to early-modern times and a milestone in the development of the early-modern state (J. bakuhansei kokka), it is also a major watershed in Korea’s history, dividing early Chosŏn from later Chosŏn, and an event remembered as visiting extreme devastation on the country. It also has a significant place in Chinese history, being regarded as one of the key incidents that played a decisive role in the Ming–Qing dynastic changeover in 1644. The war became a concern not only for those directly involved but also for Europeans. East Asia had by this time experienced half a century of European presence in the region. European concern with the invasion is demonstrated by records left by Christian missionaries resident in Japan, such as Luis Frois, who made careful observations of ongoing events. Because the war assumed such global dimensions, information on the subject is both plentiful and varied. There are extant records in Japan, Korea, China, Ryūkyū, Portugal, Spain, and Italy. Not only is a comprehensive collection of these records yet to be compiled, but we have not yet exhausted our search for information.1 More emphasis needs to be placed on the collection and analysis of primary sources preliminary to building a clearer picture of the war. This chapter will focus on a topic that has received little attention: the war memoirs, or jūgun oboegaki, written at the behest of their domains by Japanese soldiers more than a decade after their service. This survey will limit itself to Satsuma domain, which expended more energy than any other domain on collecting war memoirs. The following considers the special character of the memoirs as historical records, and looks briefly at where they can be found. Furthermore, extracts from the most illuminating of all the Satsuma war memoirs, Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, is introduced.

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The origin of the war memoirs: the jūgun oboegaki The following six documents, as the diaries and records of combatants, are considered valuable as research materials and are frequently cited: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Kōrai nikki (Koryŏ Diary) by Tajiri Akitane, vassal of Nabeshima Naoshige; Chōsen hinikki (Korean Days) by the monk Keinen, Ōta Kazuyoshi’s field doctor; Chōsen nikki (Chosŏn Diary) by Ōkōchi Hidemoto, another of Ōta’s vassals; Yoshino nikki (The Yoshino Diary) by Matsuura Shigenobu’s vassal, Yoshino Jingozaemon; Kōrai nikki (Koryŏ Diary) by Shimazu Yoshihiro’s field priest, Omodaka Renchōbō; Seisei nikki (The Western Conquest Diary) by Konishi Yukinaga and Sō Yoshitoshi’s field priest, Tenkei.

There is another set of war tales compiled years later that are frequently cited. These are: 1 2 3

Kiyomasa Kōraijin oboegaki (Kiyomasa’s Korean War Memoirs), about Katō Kiyomasa; Tachibana Chōsenki (Tachibana’s Korean Record), about Tachibana Muneshige; Utsunomiya Kōrai kijin monogarari (The Story of Utsunomiya’s Return from the Korean War), about Utsunomiya Kunitsuna who accompanied Konishi Yukinaga.

These are examples of war tales that were clearly compiled to highlight the military achievements of individuals. They have a common descriptive style, are easy to read, and often quoted. There is yet another type of record simply called oboegaki, or memoirs, written retrospectively by ordinary soldiers some years after their service. The vast majority of surviving oboegaki that we know about apparently come almost solely from Satsuma domain. Their usage tends to be very limited because the events are often described without coherence and the style is stilted. Kitajima Manji makes a rare reference to these oboegaki in his work: And even among the vassals of the daimyō who participated in the invasion of Korea, oboegaki were written with a view to making their individual exploits known. In the case of the Shimazu clan, the vassals submitted their oboegaki as proof of their participation in the war. Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku Kōraijin oboegaki (Itō Gentaku’s Korean War Memoir),

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Murai Shōsuke Ōshige Heiroku Kōrai oboegaki (Ōshige Heiroku’s Korea Memoir), Chōsa Hikozaemon oboegaki (Chōsa Hikozaemon’s Memoir), Oshikawa Rokubee mōshide (A Report by Oshikawa Rokubee), Hishikari Kyūbee Chōsen hōkō oboe (Hishikari Kyūbee’s Memoirs of Service in Korea), and Eda Tōemon oboegaki (Eda Tōemon’s Memoir) are all of this type and are kept in the Kagoshima Prefectural Library. These memoirs formed the basis for the Shimazu clan’s Seikanroku (Records on the Korean Conquest).2

As some of the six oboegaki mentioned above are particularly brief, it can hardly be said that these are fully representative. It should also be noted that the copies held at Kagoshima Prefectural Library are only transcripts of the Tamazato Bunko editions held in the Kagoshima University Library. Furthermore, as will be discussed below, it is incorrect to say that selfglorification was the reason for writing the oboegaki, such as was the case with Kiyomasa Kōraijin oboegaki and others mentioned above. In brief, due to the deficiency of interest in these records, current research lacks a common understanding of elementary facts. This does not mean, however, that these records have little value as historical sources. Admittedly, as a resource to determine the chronology of wartime events, there are problems in both the writing style and the level of accuracy of the authors’ memories, and these two aspects pose enormous limitations on the user. That said, the vivid portrayal of the war through the eyes of the soldiers who were directly involved is absent from other sources, and in that respect, the oboegaki excel.3 There are various types of records left to us, with various motivations for their production. In the afterword to Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, which will be more extensively introduced below, the author explains his purpose in writing the memoir. [I wrote] the preceding in response to a request by the Office of Letters (ofumidokoro).4 The events I described, however, happened over sixty years ago, so you may find that some stories do not all appear in the correct chronological order. I am also eighty-two, so you will have to pardon me for [leaving some matters uncertain]. Year of the Boar (1659, Manji 2), Fifteenth day of the eighth month, Oku Sekisuke, retired monk Clearly, Oku Sekisuke was under considerable pressure from his domain to write his memoir, which he eagerly constructed by recalling events that had happened more than sixty years ago. As the author admitted himself, he attributed the lack of accuracy to faded memories. There seems to be no evidence, however, of Sekisuke intentionally distorting the truth. The afterword alone does not exclude the possibility that the memoirs may have been written to stress the author’s valor and exploits in the war. If such were the case, it would mean that the domain had its soldiers write their oboegaki to carry out

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a survey of individual military accomplishments. This hypothesis fails in the face of the opening section of the Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki.5 The Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki opens by quoting a letter addressed to Fuchinobe Kazuemon, dated the seventeenth day of the eighth month of the Year of the Boar (1659, Manji 2). The letter reads: “You are summoned by the Records Office [same as the Office of Letters above] regarding the Korean invasion. Attend today at the residence of the records officer, Hirata Seiemon.” This is followed by a list of sixteen points that Hirata Seiemon made to Fuchinobe Kazuemon on the following day. The fourteenth request, which states that Kazuemon must provide a description of the day when Shimazu Yoshihiro withdrew his troops from Sach’ŏn Castle, demonstrates that the domain was not necessarily asking for a list of Fuchinobe Kazuemon’s war-time activities or achievements. They wanted Kazuemon to give a detailed description of the actions taken by Shimazu Yoshihiro during the Keichō campaign or the second Korean invasion of 1597. At the time Kazuemon received his summons, the Records Office was headed by Shimazu Hisamichi (1604–74), a domain elder (J. karō), who, in the autumn of his life, became editor-in-chief of Seikanroku (The Record of Korean Conquest). Oku Sekisuke and Fuchinobe Kazuemon received their instructions from the domain when the compilation of the Shimazu clan history was in progress under the guidance of Hisamichi. The central task in producing this chronicle was to collect pieces of information, particularly those that involved Shimazu Yoshihiro and Shimazu Tadatsune (the first daimyō of Satsuma domain, later renamed Iehisa, 1576–1638), which would be helpful to create a clear picture of the Keichō campaign. These pieces of evidence demonstrate that the oboegaki are records written by soldiers of all ages and ranks and are not a homogeneous collection. Diversity is a primary feature of the jūgun oboegaki. Because there is a gap of about sixty years between the occurrence of the war and when these oboegaki were written, the authors were all old men who had served in the war when they were around 20 years of age. The greatest number of oboegaki were written by these old men who had been young soldiers serving closely under Yoshihiro and Tadatsune and witnessing them in action. Given their youth and the gap between events and recording, it was not uncommon for discrepancies to occur between different observers of the same events. To take an example, in 1598, Itō Gentaku crossed the channel to Korea to enter the services of Shimazu Tadatsune at the age of fourteen, engaging in such tasks as taking drinking water to his lord and carrying his lord’s spare sword. Some time before 1660, he was approached by Shimazu Hisamichi to describe the second Korean invasion in writing. The extant Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku mōshide was the outcome.6 After reading Oku Sekisuke oboegaki in 1660, however, Gentaku realized that there were a number of discrepancies between his description of the war and Sekisuke’s description, and he produced a revised version, dated the seventh day of the eleventh month (in 1660). This revised work is longer than the first work and is found in volume 43 of the Sappan

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kyūki zatsuroku kōhen (The Sequel to the Miscellaneous Ancient Records of Satsuma domain) under a different title, Itō Iki nyūdō Gentaku oboegaki (The Memoir of a Lay Iki Priest, Itō Gentaku). In 1664, Itō Gentaku also wrote Itō Gentaku yuishogaki (Itō Gentaku’s Writings on Historic Matters). Since 1999, I have been engaged in the task of locating such historical documents as the Shimazu clan oboegaki. The majority of the documents are held in the following three libraries: the Kagoshima University Library, Tamazato Collection (the entire collection was bequeathed to the university by the Shimazu family who had kept the documents at their Tamazato residence); the Historiographical Institute at the University of Tōkyō, where the most important documents related to the Shimazu clan are found; and the Kagoshima Prefectural Library, where archivists collect materials related to Kagoshima prefecture.

Introducing Oku Sekisuke oboegaki Many documents can be classified under the heading oboegaki, but in reality very few are truly representative of the oboegaki form in terms of the length of the document. Of the seventy or so that I have located, I consider only about five to qualify fully as oboegaki: the three written by Itō Gentaku – Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku mōshide, Itō Iki nyūdō oboegaki, and Itō Gentaku yuishogaki; Oku Sekisuke’s Oku Sekisuke oboegaki; and Fuchinobe Kazuemon’s Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki.7 Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki is contained in Zoku gunsho ruijū under the title Shimazuke Kōraijin hiroku. Itō Iki nyūdō oboegaki, included in Sappan kyūki zatsuroku kōhen, was typeset and included in the Kagoshima-ken shiryō compilation. Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku mōshide has been introduced in an earlier study.8 Although it still awaits typesetting, it is plausible to think that Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, which has the highest number of extant manuscript copies, was widely read at the time.9 Oku Sekisuke oboegaki and Kōrai nikki, listed separately in Kokusho sōmokuroku (The Comprehensive Catalogue of Japanese Publications), are, in fact, the same document under different titles. It appears that the story of the tiger hunt, which appears in the first half of Oku’s memoir, aroused particular interest. This was excerpted and published as a separate book by Tamazato Bunko under the title, Toragari no ki. The Shimazu family at Miyakonojō owns a folding screen with a painting of scenes from the tiger hunt story. There is insufficient space to introduce Toragari no ki in its entirety, so I will restrict myself to presenting a section, not included elsewhere, that I feel best portrays the character of Oku’s writing. Excerpts from Toragari no ki … Later on, orders came from Kyoto assigning certain daimyō to take part in the tiger hunt. Lord Shimazu was one of those who were chosen. He immediately set sail from Karashima [Kŏje Island] and participated in the

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hunt at a place called Ch’angwŏn in the Akaguni [“Red Country,” or Chŏlla Province]. Two tigers were caught that day. The story goes that earlier in the morning, a tiger had appeared, out of the blue, at the hunting lodge where Yasuda Jirobee, an attendant of Shimazu Moriemon, was keeping a watch. Unable to escape, Jirobee placed his hand on his two-shaku, nine-sun-long [approx. 0.88 m] sword at his waist. Just at that moment, the tiger pounced on him and Jirobee plunged his sword into the tiger’s chest, missing the heart. The tiger collapsed on the ground with the sword half embedded in its torso. Just then, the two lords [Shimazu] Yoshihiro and Tadatsune happened to pass by on horseback. Lord Yoshihiro saw the tiger and barked out an order, “What’s happened here?” Lord Tadatsune, still on horseback, went nearer to observe the scene. Beppu Toneri and Oku Sekisuke were, once again, their footmen on that occasion. Lord Tadatsune asked Yasuda Jirobee directly to give him a detailed description of the ordeal. When he heard how Jirobee defended himself from the attacking tiger, Lord Tadatsune said, “If what you say is true, it is quite a deed!” and presented Jirobee with his own superb Bizen Kanemitsu sword, two shaku and five sun long [approx. 0.75 m], a prized Shimazu family treasure. This is what happened on the plain. The two lords proceeded with their journey through a field that seemed to stretch forever. Just then, a group of watchmen approached them with the news of a tiger lurking in the mountain ahead. The two lords asked, “Are you quite certain of that?” and the watchmen answered, “Yes, we are certain.” The two lords then asked, “Will the tiger emerge?” and one by one they said, “It has not yet come out.” The tiger was hiding somewhere among the three or four rocky summits that were visible from where they were. Letting the watchmen take the lead, men of both high and low status approached the mountains and scattered all over, encircling the area. The tiger was hiding in the tallest of the mountains. Staying on the plain, the two lords positioned themselves on horseback about twenty-three ken [approx. 42 m] from the foot of the mountain, and between twelve to thirteen ken [approx. 22–4 m] from where the watchmen were. The sky that day was shrouded in white clouds, and rain fell intermittently. The tall mountain was covered with withered pampas grass, dotted here and there with red pines. It was a mountain full of summer trees, with chestnut, cherry, and sumac. Lord Yoshihiro sent a swift courier with the message, “If you let the tiger escape because you were distracted by the deer, my two guards will slit your stomachs open.” The courier came running back saying, “I have communicated your wishes firmly to every single one of them.” Lord Yoshihiro then said sternly, “Knowing what people are like in Satsuma, I am almost certain that they will be too absorbed by the deer to keep an eye out for the tiger. That’s why I sent you. Now, go and tell the archers to leave their bows unstrung and the gunmen to leave their fuse cords unlit. Don’t come back until you have carried out this task thoroughly.” After two or three hours, the messenger returned. He said, breathless from running, “I have communicated your wishes to each and every one of them.” Then Lord Yoshihiro said,

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“The rain is probably keeping the tiger from emerging. It is approaching dusk now, so go and tell them to leave their positions and go into the mountain.” The two messengers who were dispatched came back after a while and said, “We have communicated your wishes to each and every one of them.” They waited for quite a long time but no one left their position and went into the mountain. This made Lord Yoshihiro very angry and he said, “In the old days, a samurai was prepared to die in the name of duty before his master’s very eyes!” Lord Tadatsune, equally irate, added, “We have so many men at our disposal, but no one dares to venture into the mountain. What accounts for this display of disobedience when both my father and I are here watching!” An attendant called Ueno Gon’emon was holding the right harness of Lord Tadatsune’s horse. Lord Tadatsune addressed Gon’emon directly, “Gon’emon, you go and flush out the tiger.” Gon’emon answered, “Your wish is my command,” and abandoned the harness. Walking away from the two lords to their right, he climbed the mountain behind a few watchmen. About two-thirds of the way up, he walked across a field for twelve to thirteen ken [approx. 22–4 m]. To those watching from below, Gon’emon’s figure disappeared into the field. Gon’emon entered a vast withered field of tall pampas grass. Everyone who waited down below, from lord to valet, saw the movement of the pampas grass as Gon’emon waded through it. When he had progressed about twelve to thirteen ken, the tiger, perched on top of a summit, spotted Gon’emon and howled. Everyone was completely dumbstruck as if the earth had moved. With one giant leap, the tiger pounced on Gon’emon and bit him to death. The tiger threw Gon’emon’s body about two to three hiro [approx. 3.6–5.4 m] up in the air, from where it fell to the ground. The tiger then sprang back up to the summit where it had originally stood. The tiger must have made a leap of at least a hundred ken [180 m] when he pounced on Gon’emon. The troops said to each other, “It couldn’t have been less than that.” Was the tiger injured by Gon’emon? A vertical cut about 3 sun long [approx. 9 cm] stretched above the center of the tiger’s right eye. Stealing the moment when the tiger was suffering from pain, first Chōsa Rokushichi and then Fukunaga Sukejūrō and Nagano Rokubē pounced on the tiger and managed to hold it down and stab it to death. Chōsa Rokushichi was bitten on his thighs and acquired four teeth marks from which ran not Rokushichi’s own blood, but the tiger’s saliva. Rokushichi was carried down and presented to the two lords, while twelve or thirteen men carried in the dead tiger. The men reported to the two lords, “An inspection of Gon’emon’s corpse confirms that he was ravaged by the tiger.” Continuing, they said, “We found only an empty sheath on Gon’emon’s waist; there was no sword.” Chōsa Rokushichi died that evening on board ship. Both tigers were skinned and gutted, their insides packed with salt, and their skins stretched back on the bodies before they were shipped off to Kyōto. Not many mountains could rival in magnitude the north-facing mountains that the tigers had inhabited. The story of the two lords and their tiger hunt spread throughout the three countries [of China, Korea, and Japan].

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In the following year [1597], the two lords left their camp at Kadŏk Island to advance to a camp on the mainland. They landed at the Hadong River in the Akaguni [Chŏlla Province], thirty-odd ri [approx. 118 km10] from Namwŏn. That day, they covered roughly eight to nine ri [31–5 km] before reaching a place called Hadong and both lords set up camp there that evening. Three days had elapsed when they received a messenger from Shimazu Nakatsukasa reporting, “Resistance has broken out at Namwŏn city and daimyō from near and far are all joining in the attack. Come quickly.” The two lords set off the following day, crossing treacherous mountains and advancing as much as fourteen to fifteen ri [55–9 km] daily. This gave glory to the troops. Namwŏn fell on the fifteenth day of the eighth month at the eighth hour, three days after the arrival of the two lords. Enemy soldiers plummeted from the castle walls down in front of the Japanese camp, and the soldiers of the Shimazu forces cut down every one of them. That evening, when they counted the number of heads they had amassed, it came to just over four hundred and thirty. After the fall of the city, each daimyō followed the instructions given to them, and they either advanced to the front or returned to their previous positions. After two days, the two lords reached Chŏnju. They had been there for five days when a directive was delivered from the Bizen Chūnagon [Lord Ukita Hideie] that said, “Thirty men of ranks high and low have gathered here all professing to be the best swordsman in the world. Please come and observe their skills.” They went to watch a runner being cut down. The swordsmen slashed away hoping to get a sword as a reward from the two [Shimazu] lords. They left camp the following day to advance inland. After four days, they reached the ruined city walls of Haenam. There they stayed for three days before they broke camp once again, this time to cross into the Aoguni [“Blue Country,” or Ch’ungch’ŏng Province]. They reached an exceptionally wide river, which they crossed in a ferry to Hansan. Four or five days later, they reached the city walls of Sŏch’ŏn, which was on the south-facing coast. There they stayed for eight to nine days. Sŏch’ŏn city walls encompassed one square ri [3.9 square km] in size. Life within its boundary seemed very secure, and many houses had their roofs covered with tiles. The two lords took up residence there and clan members high and low also garrisoned there. Within the complex, there were seven tile-roofed storehouses, all of which were twelve to thirteen ken [22–4 m] in size. The first storehouse was packed tightly with woven straw sacks containing flour, so much so that the eaves creaked and a person could not squeeze through its two doors. The second storehouse was equally full, but with casks and bottles containing sesame oil. The third and fourth storehouses were so packed with casks and bottles of bees’ honey that the eaves squeaked. The fifth storehouse was packed with straw bags containing huge salted fish seven to eight shaku [2.1–2.4 m] long. The sixth storehouse was crammed with bags of salt. The seventh storehouse contained bags of superior, white rice, crammed

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in enough to split the eaves apart. Inside the city walls they also reared goats, sheep, pigs, and chickens. Because there were no prohibitions to stop them, men of all ranks helped themselves to what they liked. They retraced their route back to Haenam and set up camp in the ruined city. They stayed there for thirty to forty days. Seven to eight hundred wooden plaques, seven to eight bu [2.1–2.4 cm] in width by eight sun [24 cm] in length, were produced using cypress. Inscribed on the front was the name “Shimazu Sagami,” and on the back was the date. Seven to eight interpreters went to the foot of the mountain to hand out the wooden plaques to the local people. As a result, seven to eight hundred sarumi [Koreans] came down the mountain with their wives and children to show their support. They laid out paddy fields in Haenam and took in a harvest. Nine plaster-walled storehouses, seven to eight ken [12.7–14.5 m] in size, were built within the city walls and bags of rice were stored there. Time flew by. There was a settlement one ri [3.9 km] away from Haenam that had a population of one hundred and fifty or sixty men and women. Despite possessing the aforementioned wooden plaques, they remained where they were in idle seclusion. Messengers were sent regularly suggesting that they erect a storehouse and store their harvest there, but the villagers never appeared before the two lords. The messengers were tenacious, going five times, only to be lied to by the villagers who never came to pay their respects. On their fifth visit they were told by the villagers, “We will definitely make an appearance before the lords tomorrow.” The lords waited but the villagers never came, showing their disrespect. Naturally, this made Lord Tadatsune very angry. He left alone for Lord Yoshihiro’s camp, leaving Toneri and Sekisuke trailing behind him. Lord Tadatsune told his father exactly what had happened. Lord Yoshihiro’s response was, “It is deplorable, as you say, but I suggest you send one more messenger and if that has no effect, then it would be absolutely right to punish them.” When Lord Tadatsune returned to his camp, he dispatched a messenger and an interpreter. The villagers firmly replied once again saying, “We will definitely present our humble selves before you tomorrow.” He waited till the following day, but they still had not appeared when the seventh hour came. Lord Tadatsune became even more furious at their lying. He went to Lord Yoshihiro’s camp once again and complained bitterly. When he heard his son’s story, Lord Yoshihiro said, “That is unforgivable behavior. Have them cut down immediately.” Lord Tadatsune returned to his camp and said, “I don’t need any horsemen, but I will take thirty or so soldiers with me.” They set off from camp at the seventh hour the following morning. Dawn broke when they were just three chō [approx. 327 m] away from the village. When they saw Tadatsune approaching their village with his soldiers, women and children scattered into the mountains behind the village, like white herons flying away. Lord Tadatsune observed this scene from horseback. Realizing that he and his army had already been spotted, he shouted an order, “If you attack them without my command, I will punish you.” When Tadatsune was

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two chō or so [approx. 218 m] away from the village, ten men appeared to greet them. The one who looked like an official dressed all in black prostrated himself at the front, groveling and twitching. The rest followed suit five or six ken [9–11 m] behind him. As soon as Lord Tadatsune’s horse came abreast of the man, the Lord swiftly dismounted and in one motion unsheathed his sword and cut him in half, slashing aslant across the shoulder. When Lord Tadatsune saw the remaining eight or nine men fleeing in all directions from this sight, we were given the order to “cut them down quickly!” All nine were put to death on the spot. Then Lord Tadatsune proceeded into the village on horseback where he issued an order to kill the entire male population; fifty-three were executed. He did not, however, permit the killing of women or children. Strictly enforcing the law from that morning, he then departed for his lodgings.

Notes Translated by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne with James B. Lewis. 1 A research team that includes Kitajima Manji and myself have produced an index to historical sources in Taigai kankeishi sōgō nenpyō. References are indicated for all materials. 2 Kitajima, Chōsen hinikki, 1982, p. 356. 3 Murai, “Shimazu shiryō,” 2000, p. 25. 4 Ofumidokoro was Satsuma domain’s editorial bureau for historical matters. 5 This oboegaki, the only one to be typeset, is found in Zoku gunsho ruijū (in the section on battles) under the title Shimazuke Kōraigun hiroku. There are, however, errors in the text such as using the wrong Chinese characters for the author’s given name (Chūuemon instead of Ryōuemon), but because the attached title does not reflect the content accurately, regrettably, it has not been adequately exploited as a historical source. 6 Murai, “Shimazu shiryō,” 2000. 7 See Document List I for the locations of these oboegaki. 8 Murai, “Shimazu shiryō,” 2000. 9 Document List II shows the documents whose location has been confirmed in the course of my research. Documents marked with * are noted in the Kokusho Sōmokuroku. 10 Translator’s note: Distances have been calculated according to a Japanese ri or 3.927 km per ri.

References Kitajima Manji (北島万次). Chōsen hinikki, Kōrai nikki: Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku to sono rekishiteki kokuhatsu (朝鮮日々記ٜ高麗日記: 秀吉の朝鮮侵略とその歴史 的告発). Tōkyō: Soshiete-kan, 1982. Murai Shōsuke (村井章介). “Shimazu shiryō kara mita Sach’ŏn (J. Shisen) no tatakai (島津史料からみた泗川の戦い),” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴史学研究) 736 (2000): 25. Taigai kankeishi sōgō nenpyō henshū iinkai, ed. (対外関係史総合年表編集委員会編). Taigai kankeishi sōgō nenpyō (対外関係史総合年表). Tōkyō: Yoshikawa kōbunkankan, 1999.

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Document list I A. Kagoshima Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan, Tamazato Bunko (鹿児島大学附属図書 館玉里文庫). I. 『諸旧記S上』所収 天－５仁/92/1 (Shokyūki, jō [catalogue: ten – 5in/92/1]). a. 淵辺量右衛門朝鮮陣覚書 (淵辺元真, 万治２＝1659, 続群書類従本「島津家高麗 軍秘録」) (Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki (Fuchinobe Motozane, Manji 2\1659, Zoku Gunsho Ruijūbon, “Shimazu-ke Kōraigun Hiroku”)). b. 出水衆中伊東玄宅申出 (万治３＝1660以前) (Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku mōshide [pre Manji 3\1660]). c. 伊東玄宅由緒書 (寛文４＝1664) (Itō Gentaku yuishogaki [Kanbun 4\1664]). II. 『有馬原城覚書他七部合本』所収 天－５仁／85–91 (Arima Harajō oboegaki hoka shichibu gappon [catalogue: ten – 5shin/85–91]). a. 虎狩之記 (「奥関助覚書」の抜粋) (Toragari no ki [extract from “Oku Sekisuke oboegaki”]). B. Tōkyō Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo (東京大学史料編纂所). I. 写本 ዘ謄写本 (Shahon/tōshabon). a. 高麗日記 (「奥関助覚書」に同じ, 都城島津家本) 2040.5/48 (Kōrai nikki [same as “Oku Sekisuke oboegaki,” Miyakonojō Shimazuke-bon] 2040.5/48). b. 朝鮮軍覚書 (「淵辺量右衛門覚書」に同じ, 都城島津家本) 2040.5/53 (Chōsengun oboegaki [same as “Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki,” Miyakonojō Shimazukebon] 2040.5/53). II. 『群書合輯』第６冊所収 島津家本さ I-12-33-323-(6) (Gunsho gasshū, issue 6, Shimazu-ke hon sa I-12-33-323-(6)). a. 玄宅由緒書并高麗入覚書 (「伊東玄宅由緒書」に同じ) (Gentaku yuishogaki narabi ni Kōrai-iri oboegaki [same as “Itō Gentaku yuishogaki”]). III. 『旧典類聚』所収 写本4140.1/34およびその転写本2040.1/27 (Kyūten ruiju [shahon 4140.1/34; tenshabon 2040.1/27]). a. 奥関助覚書 (第５冊) Oku Sekisuke oboegaki (issue 5). IV. 『薩藩旧記雑録後編』所収 (『鹿児島県史料』旧記雑録後編II ዘIIIで活字化) (Sappan kyūki zatsuroku kōhen [typeset as “Kagoshima-ken shiryō” kyūki zatsuroku kōhen, vols. II and III]). a. 伊東壱岐入道覚書 III-639 (Itō Iki nyūdō oboegaki III-639). C. Kagoshima Kenritsu Toshokan (鹿児島県立図書館). I. 『古雑史』所収 (福島家旧蔵本) 9410043085 (Kozatsushi (Fukushimake kyūzōbon) 9410043085). a. 奥関介高麗陣覚書之事 (「奥関助覚書」に同じ) (Oku Sekisuke Kōraijin oboegaki no koto [same as “Oku Sekisuke oboegaki”]). b. 其(玄)宅由緒書并高麗入覚書 (「伊東玄宅由緒書」に同じ) ([Gen]taku yuisho narabi ni Kōrai iri oboegaki [same as “Itō Gentaku yuishogaki”]). II. 『高麗入并虎狩奥関助覚書』 (福島家旧蔵本, 「奥関助覚書」に同じ) 9410022475 (Kōrai iri narabi ni toragari Oku Sekisuke oboegaki [Fukushimake kyūzōbon, same as “Oku Sekisuke oboegaki”] 9410022475). III. 『高麗軍覚』 (福島家旧蔵本, 「淵辺量右衛門覚書」に同じ) 9410064152 (Kōraigun oboe [Fukushimake kyūzōbon, same as “Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki”] 9410064152).

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Document list II Documents marked with * ̪are noted in the Kokusho Sōmokuroku. (1) 都城島津家所蔵「高麗日記」(東京大学史料編纂所̪ ዘ京都大学文学部図書 室̪に謄写本がある). Kōrai Nikki in the possession of the Miyakonojō Shimazu family; copies held at Tokyo Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo* and Kyoto Daigaku Bungakubu Toshoshitsu.* (2) 鹿児島大学附属図書館玉里文庫所蔵「奥関助覚書」(『諸旧記』上所収). Oku Sekisuke Oboegaki in the Shokyūki, preserved in Kagoshima Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan Tamazato Bunko. (3) 同所蔵「虎狩の記」(『有馬原城覚書他七部合本』所収. Toragari no ki, held at Kagoshima Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan Tamazato Bunko in Arima Harajō oboegaki hoka nanabu gappon, extract from item (2) of the passages extending from Tadatsune’s arrival in the capital to his tiger-hunting expedition in Korea. (4) 鹿児島県立図書館所蔵「高麗入并虎狩奥関助覚書」(福島虎嘯旧蔵本)̪. Kōrai iri narabi ni toragari Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, held at Kagoshima Kenritsu Toshokan in the Fukushima Koshō Kyūzōbon.* (5) 同所蔵「高麗陣奥関助入道休安覚書之事」(『古雑史』所収)̪. Kōraijin Oku Sekisuke nyūdō Kyūan oboegaki no koto, held at Kagoshima Kenritsu Toshokan in the Kozasshi.* (6) 同所蔵「奥関助覚書」 (『朝鮮役及関ヶ原役ニ於ケル井上主膳覚書外二十六 名申出聞書自記日記上申状』所収. Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, held at Kagoshima Kenritsu Toshokan in the Chōsen Eki oyobi Sekigahara eki ni okeru Inoue Shuzen oboegaki no hoka 26 mei mōshide kikigaki jiki nikki jōshinjō. This is a revised version of item (2) with the inclusion of katakana usage. (7) 東京大学史料編纂所所蔵「奥関助覚書」(『旧典類聚』巻５所収)̪. Oku Sekisuke oboegaki, held at Tokyo Daigaku Shiryō Hensanjo in Kyūten ruijū (Vol. 5).* (8) 「奥関輔入道差出書」(『碩田叢史』巻12所収)̪. Oku Sekisuke nyūdō sashidashigaki, in Sekiden sōshi (Vol. 12).* (9) 京都大学附属図書館所蔵「奥関助入道休安覚書」(『橘園叢書』巻56所収)̪. Oku Sekisuke nyūdō Kyūan oboegaki, at Kyoto Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan in Tachibanaen sōsho (Vol. 56).* (10) 同所蔵「奥関輔入道差出書」『碩田叢史』巻 ( 12所収)̪. Oku Sekisuke nyūdō sashidashigaki, at Kyoto Daigaku Fuzoku Toshokan in Sekiden sōshi (Vol. 12).* (11) お茶の水図書館成簣堂文庫所蔵 (書名未確認)̪. Title unconfirmed, held at Ochanomizu Toshokan Seikidō Bunko.*

7

The role of the Chosŏn navy and major naval battles during the Imjin Waeran Yi Min’ung (蝗敏雄)

Introduction Japan started the Imjin Waeran in the fourth month of 1592 by invading Chosŏn with the ultimate motive of conquering Ming China and thereby launched an international war in Northeast Asia. The invasion posed the greatest national crisis for a country that had become accustomed to peace over the previous two centuries. Due to the lack of defensive preparations, Chosŏn suffered successive defeats on land in the early phase of the war, including the fall of the capital city. However, in the wake of resistance by volunteer guerrilla armies across the country and the naval victories successfully orchestrated by Yi Sunshin, Chosŏn managed to turn the situation around and eventually defeat the Japanese. Research on the Imjin Waeran in Korea, inaugurated by scholars such as Han Ugŭn and Ch’oe Yŏnghŭi in the 1950s, has seen the publication of over 300 articles and over 150 books. As the volume steadily rose, Yi Changhŭi and others surveyed the history of research on the Imjin Waeran conducted from the 1970s to 2000.1 Yet, among those works surveyed, histories of naval battles are relatively scarce and those that are included suffer methodological problems. The main problem is that they pay undue attention to the person of Yi Sunshin at the cost of ignoring the naval battles themselves. Undoubtedly a hero makes history, but history also makes a hero. It is my belief that a great man or woman is, after all, a creature of their historical circumstance. For this reason, research on Yi Sunshin cannot be done properly unless it is first grounded on a thorough historical analysis of the period. Korean scholars are not an exception to the oft-observed pattern that people have tended to look at victorious battles and ignore the failures. Or some naval battles, deserving attention for their scope and military significance alone, have however failed to attract careful analysis of the historical circumstances and their implications. For example, there has not even been a devoted study of the Ch’ilch’ŏllyang battle in the early days of the 1597 invasion in which Japan inflicted a fatal blow on the Chosŏn navy, nor has there been extensive research on the battles at Myŏngnyang or Noryang.

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Reflecting on such limitations, this chapter aims at surveying the background, the conduct, and the historical significance of naval battles during the Imjin Waeran. For this purpose it looks into the entire period of the Imjin Waeran and examines each naval battle within the flow of the war. I will eschew the existing approaches marked by extolling individual heroism and patriotic martyrdom and instead try to throw light on the objective reality of the war. I will refer to existing studies on naval combat, where necessary, but I will also explore topics that have received little attention. For convenience, I divide the Imjin Waeran into three periods: the early phase (1592–1593.4); the peace negotiation phase (1593.5–1596); and the second invasion and end of the war (1597–8). Each of the following parts of the chapter corresponds to these periods. The second section examines the major naval engagements during the early phase of the invasion; the third examines the activities of both naval powers during the peace negotiations. The fourth section examines the background, the process, and the historical implications of major battles such as those at Ch’ilch’ŏllyang, Myŏngnyang, and Noryang during the second invasion.

Naval battles in the early phase of the Imjin Waeran (1592) Continuous invasions of Chosŏn’s southern regions by Japanese pirates from the end of Koryŏ until the early Chosŏn period provided momentum for the systematic development of a navy. During the first century of Chosŏn the navy secured special favor from the kings, who strengthened it as an aspect of national security. Such policies included the dispatch of a naval commanderin-chief (K. sugun chŏltosa) to each province to prepare a unified naval organization and take command of warships and sailors. At the same time, all battleships in Chosŏn were unified and categorized into small, medium, and large with specifications for the crew size and the kinds of weapons to be installed on each ship.2 There are two crucial aspects in an account of the Chosŏn navy during the early period: the development of firearms and the appearance of the p’anoksŏn battleship. Recognition of the importance of firearms and their development began from the time of King T’aejong (r. 1400–18). The king laid the foundation for firearm development by appointing Ch’oe Haesan, one of Ch’oe Musŏn’s sons, and establishing the Office for the Manufacture and Control of Gunpowder (K. Hwayak kamjoch’ŏng). Inheriting King T’aejong’s policy of a strong defense, King Sejong also made significant contributions to the development of firearms. Of particular importance under Sejong were the expansion of gunpowder production and the improvement of its performance. However, from the reign of King Sejo, progress and retreat alternated. A Japanese pirate raid of 1555 (Ŭlmyo Waebyŏn), in the tenth year of King Myŏngjong’s reign, spurred the casting of large guns (K. ch’ongt’ong) with the marks: heaven, earth, black, and yellow. Hŏ Sŏndo estimates that by 1563

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more than 100,000 kŭn (about 60,000 kg) of copper had been consumed for this purpose.3 The 1555 pirate incident was a critical point for the development of the p’anoksŏn battleship. The existing battleship designs (K. maengsŏn) were abandoned and the p’anoksŏn design adopted, because of the appearance of newly enlarged Japanese ships fortified with added panels around the exterior. These panels drastically reduced the impact of cannon fire from Chosŏn battleships. P’anoksŏn were distinctive in that, while retaining the structure of existing flatboat design (K. p’yŏngjŏsŏn), the ship itself was fortified by the use of thick planks and was double-decked for the separation of combat soldiers from non-combatants. Turning from the Chosŏn navy, we should consider the Japanese case on the eve of the invasion. This issue requires a survey of Japanese pirates, out of which the Japanese navy arose. The Waegu, who had inflicted great harm on Chosŏn and Ming in the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, are essential to the history of the Japanese navy at the end of the sixteenth century. The evolution of one from the other is hinted at in the constitution of the Japanese navy that fought during the Imjin Waeran. The pirate bands of the Sengoku period either had come under direct control of Toyotomi Hideyoshi or became the navies or direct vassals (J. kashin) under the command of regional daimyō.4 Because of this two-tier structure, Japan did not possess a national, systematic, naval organization at the time of the Imjin Waeran and could not advance beyond ad-hoc fleets patched together as the need arose. Japan deployed two types of military ships during the Imjin Waeran, the atakebune and the sekibune. The differences in these two vessels were the size and whether or not they had a multi-storied command post on the deck. Both types possessed v-shaped hulls, used thin, cedar planking, and were structurally weaker than the p’anoksŏn.5 Atakebune, the larger of the two, had a distinctive two- or three-story building, which became a primary target of the p’anoksŏn cannon in battles. The arquebus, first introduced to Japan in 1543, spread rapidly and by the end of the 1570s was being used at sea as well. However, the shot was unable to penetrate the thick p’anoksŏn panels and thus posed no serious threat to seamen, unlike the land battles.6 From the start of the invasion on the thirteenth day of the fourth month of 1592, the Japanese navy concentrated on the transportation of armies and supplies rather than seeking direct engagements with the Chosŏn navy. Continuous victories on land and a withdrawal from naval combat may explain the avoidance of engagement, but a more likely reason is the absence of any overall plan geared to defeating Chosŏn’s naval power and securing mastery of the seas. Japanese naval forces showed no particular interest in further campaigns after capturing the Left Naval Command of Kyŏngsang Province (K. Kyŏngsang chwasuyŏng) and adjacent military installations. For a period of more than two weeks, Wŏn Kyun, the Right Naval Commander of Kyŏngsang Province (K. Kyŏngsang ususa), was able to report the situation to

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the court and request reinforcements. Yi Sunshin, the Left Naval Commander of Chŏlla Province (K. Chŏlla chwasusa), was able to rally and put order into the ranks of the naval forces under his command.7 Chosŏn’s first naval campaign was led by the forces of the Chŏlla Left Naval Command under the direction of Yi Sunshin and began on the fourth day of the fifth month, some twenty days after the start of the war. It consisted of three consecutive battles at Ok-p’o and Hap-p’o (Ok Harbor and Hap Harbor, both on the seventh day, fifth month), and Chŏkchin-p’o (eighth day). Yi’s fleet, at Wŏn’s repeated requests for urgent support, received permission from the court to engage the Japanese navy and set out to war with twenty-four battleships. In the very first encounter on the waters off Ok-p’o he destroyed a small fleet of twenty Japanese ships and thus started off with a victory. In the afternoon on the same day, he sank five ships at Hap-p’o, and the next morning a further thirteen ships at Chŏkchin-p’o.8 I wish to take this opportunity to correct a widely circulated error in the scholarship. The Hap-p’o battle and the Chŏkchin-p’o battle were not fought off present-day Hap-p’o, Masan City, South Kyŏngsang Province or Chŏktŏk, Kwangdomyŏn, T’ongyŏng City, as has been traditionally believed, but near Hapkae Village, Wŏnp’o-dong, Chinhae City, and Kudang village, Kŏryumyŏn, in Kosŏng County.9 After he defeated over forty ships in three battles, Yi Sunshin’s fleet returned to the base of the Chŏlla Left Naval Command on the ninth day of the fifth month. Intelligence information that the Japanese were about to attack Chŏlla Province in a joint land–sea maneuver led the Chosŏn navy to open a second campaign that lasted continuously for eleven days between the twenty-ninth day of the fifth month and the tenth day of the sixth month. Altogether the navy fought four battles at Sach’ŏn (twenty-ninth day, fifth month), Tang-p’o (first day, sixth month), Tanghang-p’o (fifth day, sixth month), and Yul-p’o (seventh day, sixth month). In these encounters, just as in the first campaign, the Chosŏn navy faced small numbers of Japanese ships. In the first battle at Sach’ŏn, Yi was shot in the shoulder, but he managed to sink thirteen Japanese ships. At Sach’ŏn, the kŏbuksŏn (turtle ship) was put into action for the first time. On the next day at the Battle of Tang-p’o, in which Yi’s fleet again took a decisive role, twenty Japanese ships were sunk. On the fourth day of the sixth month, the day before the third Tanghangp’o battle, the fleet led by Yi Ŏkki, the Right Naval Commander of Chŏlla Province (K. Chŏlla ususa), joined with Yi Sunshin’s fleet, thereby doubling the latter’s military strength. The next day, the combined fleet lured the Japanese ships anchored at Tanghang-p’o into a trap and destroyed twentysix ships at sea. On the seventh day the combined fleet pursued and sank seven ships in the sea near Yul-p’o. In the end the second campaign saw continuous success in destroying Japan’s small fleets with the number of sunken ships totaling sixty-seven.10 The second campaign has important implications from the perspective of military tactics: that is, for the first time the Left and Right Naval Commands of Chŏlla Province and the Right Naval Command

5. 7

5.7

5.8

Battle of Ok Harbor

Battle of Hap Harbor

Battle of Chŏkchin Harbor

1

Kosŏng and Tangdong Bay

Japan

Same

13 ships

5 ships

Warships: 28 30 ships Assisting ships: 17

Chosŏn

Comparative force deployment

Ungchŏn and Same Hap Harbor

Kŏje Island and Ok Harbor bay

Date Place (1592)

Campaign Name of Battle

Table 7.1 Sea battles of 1592

Unknown

Unknown

Tōdō Takatora and Horinouchi Ujiyoshi

Japanese commander’s affiliation People, etc.

Notes

Large ships: 13, Many Complete Medium ships: casualties victory at the 6 and others, beginning Total: 26 ships of the war, Kyŏngsang Province Right [Naval Command] destroyed 5 ships Large ships: 4, Many Japanese ships Small ships: casualties escaped, battle 1, Destroyed of pursuit and by fire attack Large ships: 9, Grains Altogether 44 Medium ships: captured ships destroyed 2 and others, by fire Total: 13 ships

Warships

Chosŏn victory results

6.1

6.5

Battle of Tang Harbor

Battle of Tanghang Harbor

Battle of Angol Harbor Battle of Pusan Harbor

9.1

7.10

Great victory 7.8 of Hansan Island

Battle of Yul 6.7 Harbor

5.29

Battle of Sach’ŏn Unknown

Large ships: 12, Many kŏbuksŏn Others: 1, casualties (turtle boat) Total: 13 ships participated in battle, Yi Sunshin wounded Sea off Tang Same 21 ships Kamei Shigenori Large ships: 9, Many Harbor Medium ships: casualties 12, Total: 21 ships Harbor Warships: 51 26 ships Kato Kiyomasa’s Large ships: 9, 43 heads Lured the enemy entrance to Assisting navy Medium ships: taken into battle, Tanghang ships: 50 4 and others, and many combined fleet Harbor (est.) Total: 26 ships casualties took shape Near sea off Same 7 ships Kitajima Large ships: 5, Enemy Altogether 67 Yul Harbor Tōshiaki Medium ships: general ships destroyed 2 and others, killed by fire Total: 7 ships and many casualties In the waters Warships: 59 73 ships Wakisaka Large ships: 35, More than Wakisaka around Assisting Yasuharu Medium ships: 340 heads Yasuharu Hansan ships: 50 17 and others, taken and 14 ships Island (est.) Total: 59 ships and many escaped casualties Harbor entrance Same 42 ships Kuki Yoshitaka More than 20 Many Altogether 79 to Angol and Katō ships destroyed casualties ships destroyed Harbor Yoshiaki by fire by fire In the region Warships: 81 More than Japanese Main More than 30 Many Altogether, more of Pusan Assisting Squadron Ships, More casualties than 130 ships 470 Harbor ships: than 100 destroyed large more than destroyed by and 92 fire small ships

Sea off Sach’ŏn Warships: 26 13 ships Assisting ships: 20 (est.)

Sources: Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o; Yi Hyŏngsŏk, Imjin chŏllansa, 1967.

4

3

2

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of Kyŏngsang Province formed a combined fleet that proved highly successful in the subsequent two battles. The fleet chased the Japanese navy from Chŏlla’s seas as far as the waters off Kyŏngsang Province and sank their ships one by one. At the news of defeats in a row, Toyotomi Hideyoshi ordered his forces to attack the Chosŏn navy. He directed the naval commanders Wakisaka Yasuharu (1554–1626), Kuki Yoshitaka (1542–1600), and Katō Yoshiaki (1563–1631), who had been fighting on land, to launch a naval campaign. The Chosŏn navy obtained this intelligence and moved to engage the enemy for a third campaign. The fight lasted for eight days between the sixth and the thirteenth day of the seventh month. The Battle of Hansan-do (Hansan island) that opened on the eighth day of the seventh month was, both in name and reality, a struggle between Chosŏn’s largest combined fleet and the elite of the Japanese navy. On this day, Yi avoided the narrow straights of Kyŏnnaeryang and lured the Japanese into an open area of sea near Hansan island where he closed on Wakisaka Yasuharu’s large fleet with the famous Crane Formation (K. hag’ikchin). Only ten or so Japanese ships managed to escape. More than sixty battleships perished in flame, and many thousands of sailors were killed.11 The Hansan-do success was followed by another victory on the tenth at Angol-p’o where a surprise attack by Yi’s combined fleet destroyed twenty ships of the elite navy led by Kuki Yoshitaka and Katō Yoshiaki, the loss being roughly about half of their forces. No longer able to resist, the rest of the Japanese force fled before the dawn.12 The Battle of Hansan-do, one of the three great battles won by Chosŏn during the Imjin Waeran, carried great import, because Chosŏn’s forces now came to dominate the southern seas. After Hansan-do Hideyoshi ordered the Japanese navy to avoid direct engagement with the Chosŏn navy and instead station itself in fortifications along the coast to defend important sea lanes. The fourth and the last sea campaign in the first year of the war lasted for eight days between the twenty-fourth of the eighth month and the second of the ninth month. The most important encounter was the Battle of Pusanp’o on the first of the ninth month. It is important in the history of Chosŏn naval warfare, since it was the only sea battle, out of the ten fought during the year, in which Chosŏn attacked the Japanese naval base with relatively inferior firepower. In spite of the loss of Chŏng Un, one of Yi’s staff who was shot during the battle, Yi achieved an enormous victory in sinking over 100 ships in this one battle alone. As winter crept in, the two parties found naval operations impossible and rode at anchor for the duration of the season.13 The Chosŏn navy’s success in all ten battles during the Imjin year (1592) exercised a large influence over the course of the entire invasion. Sea victories compensated for land defeats. The Japanese army had advanced deep into the country, but Chosŏn’s domination of the seas around the south coast frustrated Japan’s efforts to integrate naval and ground campaigns and

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posed a serious threat to the sea-borne logistics that supported the Japanese land forces. Table 7.1 shows an outline of the sea battles in the first year of the war.

The two navies during the period of peace negotiations (1593–6) With the dawn of a new year, the war situation saw drastic changes. It became even more international when Ming China joined the war. Chinese involvement triggered the start of a long and complicated peace process. The depletion of food in Chosŏn forced the three parties to give up any further military engagement. The peace talks started in earnest from the fourth month of 1593. This was about the time when fighting went into a lull after the recovery of P’yŏngyang by the allied Chosŏn–Ming forces and after the defeat of the Ming army at Pyŏkchegwan. We need to look at the situation of the three countries briefly. The war inflicted direct damage on Chosŏn’s agriculture, which consequently led to a serious depletion of the grain stock. The crisis went beyond a food shortage for soldiers. It extended to under-nourishment and death from starvation for the civilian population together with the spread of infectious diseases. The predicament was aggravated by the need to feed the Ming army stationed in Chosŏn prior to consumption by the people of Chosŏn, which only reduced the already waning war capacity of the Chosŏn forces. As for Japan, from the summer of 1592, the most urgent task was to maintain intact the long logistics lines that had been subject to threat by the rise of volunteer guerrilla armies and the victories of the Chosŏn navy in the southern seas. Failure to supply food from the occupied areas also aggravated the situation, forcing its army to scale down consumption. Particularly, the defeat at P’yŏngyang in the first month of 1593 meant a considerable loss of troops, and the subsequent retreat from P’yŏngyang amidst the wintry cold and a food shortage inflicted more hardship. After that, the Japanese army assembled its forces in the capital at Hanyang and planned the next battle, but the failure to secure sufficient provisions left the Japanese no option but to retreat further and engage in peace talks. The Ming army just managed to save its dignity by defeating Japan in P’yŏngyang, but that achievement came at the expense of many elite soldiers among the casualties. Soon after the Battle of P’yŏngyang, the Ming forces were defeated by the Japanese at the Battle of Pyŏkchegwan at the end of the first month. They lost their will to fight and retreated to P’yŏngyang. The army was also hounded by an epidemic that killed over 10,000 military horses. With its operational power seriously degraded, Ming had to be content with only having deterred the Japanese army outside the Chinese border. Peace talks appeared to be the only choice.14 The talks that began in these circumstances thus augured a mismatch of peace conditions and a breakdown from the very beginning. The second Battle of Chinju, fought during the early phase of the talks, boosted the

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positions of the anti-peace factions in the Chosŏn and Ming courts.15 However, the pro-peace factions in both countries kept the negotiations rolling by resorting to fabricating Hideyoshi’s capitulation. While conducting a unilateral evacuation, the Ming army demanded that the Japanese quit Chosŏn completely. The negotiations continued through many twists and turns until the second invasion in 1597. There was the Ming court’s coercion of Chosŏn to permit Japan to offer tribute (fifth to seventh month, 1594). There was the demand that Chosŏn dispatch a Communication Embassy (T’ongshinsa) to accompany the Ming investiture envoy (fourth month of 1595 to the sixth month of 1596). There was the flight of the Ming investiture envoy (fourth month of 1596). In the ninth month 1596, Hideyoshi noticed that the conditions for peace contradicted his own intentions and thus declared another invasion of Chosŏn for 1597.16 As it was noted earlier, shortages of food became so severe from spring 1593 that starvation began to spread in Chosŏn with the collateral spread of diseases.17 The collective nature of military camp life, particularly long-term residence in the small spaces of ships, made sailors more susceptible to contagious diseases than land armies. A report composed immediately after the operations at Ungch’ŏn in the second and third months of 1593 is the first report we have on contagious diseases in the Chosŏn navy. Outbreaks of disease stemmed from the physical exhaustion of the sailors that followed a long military operation in combination with malnutrition attributable to the shortage of provisions. The military strength of the Left Naval Command of Chŏlla Province was decimated with deaths of up to 10 percent of the 6,000 or so sailors.18 Disease became more intense from 1594. A report by Yi Sunshin in the fourth month of 1594 reveals that 10 percent of his force was already dead, and because infection had reached another 20 percent of the whole force, this meant that about one-third of his army was by then ill or dead. The epidemic lasted for more than a year after that. An important point to note is that the majority of the victims were the elite, combat-experienced sailors. By the second month of 1595, when a recovery of strength had begun, force levels were up to 4,190 and six months after that to 5,480, which accounted for about 20 to 30 percent of strength levels at their height. Death associated with food shortages and contagious diseases was the main cause of the loss of military strength. In addition, we can assume that a part of the loss was also due to the unavoidable release of ailing soldiers and to the willful abandonment of posts by those who were bold enough to risk the death penalty. In spite of such adverse conditions, the Chosŏn navy continued to carry out operations over 1593–4 following orders from the court. During this period, Yi developed his tactical principles of a land–sea combined attack and the interdiction of sea routes. He pursued such tactics as a second-best choice,19 because active assaults were out of the question in the circumstances. Thereafter he adhered to these tactics.

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Yet, even in such adverse circumstances, Yi unceasingly worked to boost the combat strength of his forces. Let us briefly consider these efforts in terms of ship-building, recruitment of soldiers, securing grains, training, and firearms manufacturing. While naval operations continued in 1592, the number of battleships in the combined fleet kept growing. Particularly, from the winter of the same year, Yi planned to build a fleet consisting of 250 ships, and he allocated a specific number of ships to be manufactured in each provincial base. The original plan did not come to full fruition, but the battleships constructed during this period constituted the backbone of a large fleet, estimated to comprise over 180 ships, that fought the Japanese during the second invasion. Second, he endeavored to maximize recruitment. For this purpose, he expended great efforts on many fronts. He persuaded the court and other high officials to stop the transfer of soldiers from sea to ground forces. He strictly applied the penal code to deserters. He incorporated volunteer guerrillas and monk soldiers into the navy. He rewarded and punished regional recruitment officers according to their performance, and he collected refugees to augment his military strength. As a result, even in straightened circumstances, he was able to maintain his strength levels at 4,000 to 5,000 men. Third, securing provisions was as important a task as recruiting soldiers. He had some garrison rice fields (tunjŏn) under his direct control for this purpose, and he requested that Chŏng Kyŏngdal, the former Magistrate of Sŏnsan, be made his assistant and from whom he received much help.20 Yi spared no opportunity to increase the stock of provisions. He traded in fish and salt and appointed clerks and stewards (kyewŏn yusa) throughout the territory under his control to collect provisions. Finally, Yi also developed firearms such as cannons and conducted intensive military training. Having witnessed the power of cannons during battles in 1592, he ordered his officers to manufacture gunpowder, and he made cannons (K. chŏngch’ŏl ch’ongt’ong) modeled on various sorts of large guns and arquebuses. Records on the military training are somewhat vague, but at least there is documentary support for the fact that he carried out military training. Yi himself practiced archery daily, because he believed that the bow was an essential individual weapon for both officers and soldiers. Such efforts produced some good results. By the time Wŏn Kyun replaced him as commander-in-chief (K. T’ongjesa) at the end of the second month of 1597, the navy was prepared for future military contingencies with battleships, provisions, and weapons. The only thing it lacked was manpower. On the other hand, following a series of defeats at sea in 1592, Hideyoshi prohibited his forces from engaging with the Chosŏn navy, and instead issued orders to build fortified ground bases around the southern coast and on Kŏje Island to defend the coast from the land and secure important sea routes.21 In obedience to the decree, the Japanese navy avoided battles and instead concentrated on improving its war capacity while the peace talks were conducted. These efforts focused on improving its general strength by building

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battleships, developing tactics and strategies to counter the Chosŏn navy, and conspiring to remove Yi from his command. Aware of the notable decline in his naval strength and in the number of crew members on his transport ships, Hideyoshi incorporated various daimyō from around the coast, such as Chōsogabe Motochika, into the navy. Moreover he conscripted more soldiers from his personal jurisdictions to create a navy that would be directly responsible to him. At the same time, he expanded the number of sailors by assigning specific recruitment quotas to each daimyō and implementing measures to strengthen conscription at the national level.22 As for the construction of battleships, in both Hideyoshi’s personal domains and those of the various daimyō battleships were manufactured throughout the country with special emphasis on the atakebune designed by Kuki Yoshitaka. Of particular note is the direct order given to Toyotomi Hidetsugu, who had been appointed by Hideyoshi to the latter’s own position of Kanpaku. Hidetsugu was directed to supervise the construction of ships all over Japan.23 The number of ships launched cannot be ascertained, but Japan is thought to have produced so many that the majority of the Japanese navies were in possession of atakebune.24 The Japanese navy reflected on the causes of their crushing defeat in the first year of the war and sought tactics and strategies that would enable them to overcome Chosŏn’s navy. This is confirmed in the report by Hwang Shin who traveled to Japan just before the second invasion of 1597. The important points mention night-time surprise attacks, encirclement and attack, boarding and fighting, and joint water–land operations.25 In addition, the Japanese side initiated a subterfuge from the first year of the war to have Yi Sunshin removed from his command of the Chosŏn navy. Konishi Yukinaga and Sō Yoshitoshi used the interpreter Yoshira to leak false information on Katō Kiyomasa’s naval movements in an attempt to entrap Yi. The plot was surprisingly successful in that Yi was relieved of his command and arrested, while Wŏn Kyun took his place as commanderin-chief.26 One problem that plagued the Chosŏn navy was the rivalry between Yi and Wŏn. This was a serious issue, since the conflict meant a schism within the command structure of the navy. The enmity began as early as the ninth month of 1592, when they worked together in a combined fleet. Mistrust had already developed even before Yi was appointed naval commander-in-chief in the tenth month of 1593.27 Japanese research of the colonial period and after generally holds the view that the two men were associated with rival factions at court, and that the rivalry resulted from the Easterner and Westerner factions competing to install their own man as commander-in-chief; in other words, the conflict was interpreted as a result of factional rivalry.28 A careful investigation of the period shows that this interpretation is untenable. The East–West factional conflict did not involve these two men. This is demonstrated by the fact that, while Chŏng Tak of the Southerner faction supported Wŏn, the Westerner

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Yun Tusu and his brother took the opposite position and recommended that Yi be appointed commander-in-chief in early 1597.29 If factional conflict had little relation to the matter, why was there a change of naval commanders at that crucial moment? Due to worsening circumstances after Yi became commander-in-chief, he was not able to engage aggressively in naval battles. Because Yi was not on the attack, King Sŏnjo began to wonder aloud if Yi had become lazy, and the mistrust deepened as time progressed. In contrast, Wŏn Kyun was regarded as a courageous and devoted soldier. It was against the background of such contrasting perceptions held by the king that successive incidents detrimental to Yi sprang up. These include the Japanese conspiracy to disparage Yi mentioned above and the arson attack on the Japanese camp in Pusan. It appears that these events led to an explosion of doubt in the king’s mind. Sŏnjo was now determined to arrest, interrogate, and punish Yi. At this time, the Border Defense Council (K. Pibyŏnsa) sought to defuse the crisis by beseeching the king not to be hasty and instead appoint both men as commander-in-chief. But the king’s will prevailed and he changed his commander-in-chief, a move that later was to become one of the main reasons for the Chosŏn defeat at the Battle of Ch’ilch’ŏllyang.30

The three great naval battles during the second invasion (1597–8) The course and the significance of the Battle of Ch’ilch’ŏllyang Wŏn Kyun assumed the post of the naval commander-in-chief on the twenty-fifth day of the second month of 1597, but he failed to consolidate his power as commander-in-chief and faced isolation, having not won the trust of people above and below him. He was at loggerheads with Governor (K. Ch’ech’alsa) Yi Wŏnik and Kwŏn Yul, the Commanding General (K. Towŏnsu), over strategy and tactics.31 Whereas the latter two preferred the interdiction of sea lanes, Wŏn followed Yi’s thinking that they should opt for a combined water–land operation and the army should first attack the Japanese naval base at Angol-p’o.32 In addition, Wŏn’s unbending character yielded a cruel command over his subordinates, and they lost all respect and trust for their commander.33 The primary responsibility for what was to come lay with King Sŏnjo and the court, who had changed commanders, but Wŏn carries enormous responsibility because he failed to establish the authority required of a commander-in-chief. After lengthy discussions, interdiction was adopted in opposition to the recommendation of the commander-in-chief, and Wŏn Kyun was ordered to intercept the Japanese fleet in the seas off Pusan. Thus, the Battle of Ch’ilch’ŏllyang began. On the fourteenth day of the seventh month of 1597, Wŏn’s combined fleet sailed out in front of Pusan, but suffered difficulties from the outset: the sailors suffered exhaustion from chronic disease and a part of the fleet was scattered by strong winds.34 On the fifteenth, bad weather

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forced him to move his fleet to Ch’ilch’ŏllyang. That night the course of the fleet was detected by the Japanese navy, which launched a surprise attack. The battle started from dawn of the sixteenth day and lasted until midday. The Japanese implemented encirclement and boarding tactics.35 In particular the Japanese strategy of combined water–land operation meant the appalling slaughter of many Chosŏn sailors who fled to the coast. The battle ended in the sinking of the majority of Chosŏn warships and the death of the highest commanding officers.36 The reasons for the defeat at Ch’ilch’ŏllyang probably lay in the inadequacy of Wŏn Kyun’s command, the adoption of flawed tactics, and the collapse of the line because sailors fled. The defeat meant a loss of control over the southern seas and the inability to stop Japan’s advance on water and land. An inability to stop the advancing Japanese would result in the loss of Chŏlla Province and pose the danger that the three southern provinces would collapse. On hearing the news, the court decided to reinstate Yi Sunshin and immediately inform Ming China of the defeat.37 Immediately after the defeat at Ch’ilch’ŏllyang, Yi put a request to Kwŏn Yul to allow him to visit the battlefield and devise a plan to rehabilitate the navy. Yi was given permission.38 On the other hand, the victorious Japanese navy did not extend its campaign towards the west, but instead it ceased operations until the end of the seventh month to refresh its forces. Early in the eighth month, it landed at Tuch’ijin on the lower reaches of the Sŏmjin River and participated in the attack on Namwŏn.39 Hence the Japanese navy had been inactive for more than a month after the Ch’ilch’ŏllyang battle, during which time Yi was able to reassemble a fleet and prepare for the next battle. During this period, the Japanese army imposed a brutal occupation policy of slaughter and pillage, driving most commoners to flee. Those with resources sailed to coastal islands to hide.40 These escapees wandered about at sea seeking safety from pursuit and pillage by the Japanese navy. When they heard about Yi’s reappointment as commander-in-chief, a good number of refugee vessels gathered around Yi’s base. By this time, the Ming court was predicting a second invasion and decided to dispatch its navy as a countermeasure. On hearing the news of the Ch’ilch’ŏllyang, Namwŏn, and Chŏnju defeats and the Japanese intention to occupy Chŏlla Province, the Ming court attributed the worsening situation to Chosŏn’s loss of control over the sea and moved to dispatch its own navy. The Myŏngnyang battle and the reconstruction of the Chosŏn navy The Myŏngnyang battle, fought on the sixteenth day of the ninth month, 1597, was an important naval battle in which a Chosŏn force destroyed the Japanese navy as it capitalized on its victories at the beginning of the second invasion and attempted to advance into the West Sea. We know from existing research that, having been planned and implemented by Yi, who

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was reappointed commander-in-chief, the battle was fought against a fleet ten times more powerful and the Chosŏn navy took advantage of the narrow passage at Myŏngnyang and its tidal changes.41 Before the battle and after Yi was restored to his former command, he had been moving around the coast collecting forces. Under his command gathered not only those who were then serving officers but also forces that had formerly served under him, seasoned by volunteer guerilla soldiers from the adjacent regions. These elements all contributed to raising the battle capacity of the small fleet, which then consisted of only thirteen ships.42 On the nineteenth day of the eighth month, Yi took transfer of command over the fleet from Pae Sŏl at Hoeryŏng-p’o. While continuing to move to the southwest, he encountered the Japanese navy for the first time on the twentyeighth day. From that day, the Japanese fleet pursued Yi, while his forces navigated westward. In the end, Yi anchored at Pyŏkp’ajin on Chindo island for a fortnight, chose the Strait of Myŏngnyang as a battle scene, and moved his camp to Usuyŏng a day before the Myŏngnyang battle.43 The Myŏngnyang battle started from the morning on the sixteenth day of the ninth month. The enemy fleet had over 300 battleships of which only 133 sekibune came into the straits for attack. Because the straits were too narrow and shallow, the atakebune stood by in the distance.44 At the start of the battle, the Chosŏn navy was overwhelmed by the strength of the Japanese fleet and did not engage. Only Yi’s ship struggled alone for some time surrounded and beleaguered by the enemy. After a while, answering Yi’s call, the remaining twelve ships began to engage with the enemy. Helped by the timely change in the direction of tide, the Chosŏn fleet was able to destroy thirty or so ships in a short time. The Japanese fleet withdrew to the opposite side of the straits and continued confronting the Korean ships until completely retreating on the evening tide.45 In the end, Yi’s thirteen-strong fleet defeated ten times that number of Japanese ships. The defeat not only frustrated Japan’s advance to the West Sea but also gave Chosŏn a respite to rebuild the navy. Yi’s victory at Myŏngnyang can be credited to his combat tactics, the construction of a small and yet powerful fleet, and the participation of refugee civilians and refugee ships in the battle. The participation of the kŏbuksŏn warship and the installation of iron chains across the straits have been offered as additional explanations, but much of these arguments have arisen from later tales of heroes and myths and cannot be taken as reflecting historical events.46 Quiet on the naval front after the Myŏngnyang battle was due to the onset of winter weather. After moving north as far as Kogunsan Island after the battle, Yi’s fleet turned southward to winter at Koha Island off Mok-p’o. Yi’s efforts to reconstitute the navy saw some fruition in grain stocking and shipbuilding, owing to financial help from the refugees living at sea and strenuous efforts from the military leaders in surrounding areas.47 On the seventeenth day of the second month in 1598, Yi moved his camp from Koha Island to Kogŭm Island, which provided a better strategic position

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and a more favorable socio-economic base for provisioning.48 In particular, the island was well positioned to counter the naval activities of Konishi Yukinaga’s fleet that had been stationed at Yegyo fort in Sunch’ŏn county. On Kogŭm Island, Yi pursued a naval development program similar to the one he had conducted in his previous term as commander-in-chief. As a consequence, just before the Noryang battle, his fleet was probably more powerful than it was in his days on Hansan Island. We can estimate that Yi managed to secure over eighty ships and 10,000 sailors during this period. The formation of the Chosŏn–Ming combined fleet and the Noryang battle The aforementioned decision by Ming to dispatch its navy to the war front began in the eleventh month of 1597 with the entry into Chosŏn of 3,000 troops led by Ji Jin. However, rather than conducting naval operations, his army landed in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province to prevent the rescue of Konishi Yukinaga’s army in Ulsan.49 Any massive dispatch of the navy did not start until the Ming court synchronized the dispatch of naval forces with an increase in land forces from the spring of 1598 to implement a strategy of advancing on four fronts (K. saro pyŏngjin, Ch. silu bingjin). Originally the strategy was to advance on three fronts (K. samno pyŏngjin, Ch. sanlu bingjin), but concluding that the defeat at the Battle of Ulsan at the end of 1597 was due to the failure to prevent support of the Japanese army by sea, Ming devised plans to add in naval forces.50 Thereupon, the Ming navy, totaling 13,000 sailors, including 5,000 led by Chen Lin, and forces under the command of other generals arrived continuously before the start of the Battle of Noryang. Combined operations began properly on the sixteenth day of the seventh month in 1598 when Chen Lin’s main forces arrived at Kogŭm Island.51 However, Chen Lin and his sailors earned notoriety for their violent behavior from the time of their arrival, and in particular Chen Lin periodically asserted his military authority over the entire fleet to deter independent operations by Yi Sunshin.52 Meanwhile, Yi continued to improve the combat capacity of his navy, on the one hand, and on the other hand he credited to Chen Lin all the hard-won victories achieved in the several battles fought before the introduction of the four-front strategy as a way of winning his favor.53 In this way Yi won acknowledgment of his abilities from Chen Lin, and at the decisive moment Yi was able to induce Chen Lin to join battle. The Battle of Noryang was the final battle of the war, and was also the only great success that we can attribute to the four-front strategy. Just prior to the battle, the joint Chosŏn–Ming fleet, which was the Naval Route Army (K. Surogun, Ch. Shuilujun), began by launching a water–land dual attack on Konishi’s main base in Yegyo castle in coordination with the Western Route Army (K. Sŏrogun, Ch. Xilujun).54 Let us briefly outline the results of the four-front strategy. First, the Eastern Route Army (K. Tongnogun, Ch. Donglujun), led by Ma Gui, charged Katō Kiyomasa at Ulsan, but he withdrew to Kyŏngju because its defense was

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sound. Dong Yiyuan of the Middle Route Army (K. Chungnogun, Ch. Zhong lujun) was bloated with self-confidence after his initial victories and attacked Sach’ŏn in great haste only to suffer great defeat and lose more than 10,000 soldiers. His defeat handed Liu Ting of the Western Route Army a good excuse to step back. After this, Liu Ting, for inexplicable reasons, threw away a good opportunity that had opened up as a result of the coordinated land– sea operations with the Naval Route Army. In the end, he had to withdraw with massive damage inflicted on his men and resources.55 After the early part of the tenth month, Chen Lin, who had focused on the battle for Yegyo castle with Liu Ting’s Western Route Army, and the Chosŏn– Ming combined fleet had to go their separate ways. Yi Sunshin subsequently developed a plan whereby he would isolate the Japanese army in Yegyo before destroying them through attacks from both land and sea.56 When Hideyoshi died on the eighteenth day of the eighth month in 1598, the war took a completely different course. Japan’s Gotairō (Five Great Elders)57 decided to call off the war and ordered the Japanese army stationed in Korea to make peace and to return to Japan by the middle of the eleventh month.58 Accordingly, Konishi Yukinaga made a peace with Liu Ting and tried to withdraw his army, but the Naval Route Army blocked the retreat. Subsequently he sued for peace with Chen Lin and Yi Sunshin; but Chen Lin rejected the proposed conditions for peace and Yi rejected the peace itself. In the end Yukinaga requested aid from the adjacent Japanese armies, and a battle took place at Noryang between a Japanese army led by Tōdō Takatora and Shimazu Yoshihiro mobilized from Pusan and Namhae and the Chosŏn– Ming combined fleet. The Noryang battle, which opened from dawn on the nineteenth day of the eleventh month, was the last and largest battle fought during the Imjin Waeran. The first encounter happened at the sea entrance to Noryang when the two fleets faced each other, and the combined Chosŏn–Ming fleet was able to inflict serious damage on the Japanese navy by fire attack taking advantage of the northwesterly wind. Chased by the Chosŏn–Ming fleet, the Japanese fleet stumbled into a cul-de-sac by mistaking the mouth of Kwan’ŭm-p’o port for an open sea route, only to realize at dawn that they were trapped in a port. There followed a fierce battle between the Japanese desperately seeking to escape the port and the Chosŏn–Ming fleet on the attack. In the end the sea battle ended in a great victory for the combined Chosŏn–Ming fleet with its superior firepower and weaponry, having destroyed more than 200 Japanese ships.59 As is well known, Yi Sunshin was killed in this battle together with over ten other generals, which demonstrates how fiercely the battle was fought. In short, the Battle of Noryang was the last battle in the Imjin Waeran and was a splendid achievement that blocked retreat and delivered a blow to the Japanese army during their withdrawal. Moreover, Noryang has ornamental historical significance as a defeat of the Japanese forces that were trying to evacuate quickly because of sudden political changes at home. After having triggered an unjustified war, the Japanese wanted to retreat, but the battle of Noryang stands as a victorious finale for the defenders.

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Conclusion As has been shown above, the Chosŏn navy played a very important role in overcoming the national crisis brought on by the Imjin Waeran. In short, at the beginning of the war there were successive victories over the Japanese navy in the sea war, unlike the land war. During both invasions, with decisive victories at sea over the Japanese, the Chosŏn navy changed the war situation. That carried strategically important military and historical significance. I would like to conclude this chapter by summarizing the factors that led to the victories by the Chosŏn navy. First, we should take note of the superior weaponry, of which the p’anoksŏn and the ch’ongt’ong are representative. As it is true even today, weapon systems are indeed the basic factor that decide victory or defeat in naval battles. The development of the P’anoksŏn and the production of the ch’ongt’ong, which had been prepared a century earlier, were important background factors to victory at sea during the Imjin Waeran. Second, we should point to the role of Yi Sunshin, who was both an outstanding strategist and manager of the Chosŏn navy in bringing victory at sea. Not only did he achieve distinguished service through victory in all of the ten battles fought in the first year, but he continued to enhance the war capacity of the navy even in difficult moments such as when disease spread through his ranks while the peace talks were ongoing. Even after he was relieved and then reinstated in 1597, he again won three major battles of the second invasion and thereby played an important role in overcoming the national crisis. Finally, there was support from a number of staff who stayed close to him, and the role of loyal anonymous sailors and civilians resident in the coastal region. The serious extent of damage to civilians was often seen in the many villages along the coast that were burnt to ash, and it is not an exaggeration to say that it was the sacrifice of those people that kept the Chosŏn navy going. Due to such experience in the war, every time national defense was discussed in the post-war period, emphasis was given to the role of the navy, and prominence to the theory of naval defense that emphasizes stopping the enemy on the high seas. It was due to the influence of the naval victories of the Imjin Waeran that, together with the strength of this theory, the systemization of the regional naval defense for Kyŏnggi and the lower three provinces was centralized in a unified command (t’ongjeyŏng) with a single base camp (t’ŏng’ŏyŏng).

Notes Translated by Chi Young-hae with James B. Lewis. 1 Yi Changhŭi, “Imjin Waeran,” 1976; Ha Ubong, “Sadae kyorin kwangye wa yangnan,” 1995; O Chongnok, “Imjin Waeran Pyŏngja horan sigi kunsasa yŏn’gu ŭi hyŏnhwang kwa kwaje,” 1999; Cho Wŏllae, “Imjin Waeran-sa yŏn’gu ŭi ch’ui wa kwaje,” 2000.

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2 Kyŏngguk taejŏn, “Pyŏngjŏn,” Chedo pyŏngsŏnjo; Pang Sanghyŏn, Chosŏn chŏngi sugun chedo, 1991. 3 Hŏ Sŏndo, Chosŏn sidae hwayak pyŏnggisa yŏn’gu, 1994; Ch’ae Yŏnsŏk, Chosŏn ch’ogi hwagi yŏn’gu, 1981. 4 Miki Seiichirō, “Chōsen eki ni okeru suigun hensei ni tsuite,” 1968; Udagawa Takehisa, Nihon no kaizoku, 1983. 5 Kim Chaegŭn, “Imjin Waeran chung Cho-Il-Myŏng gunsŏn ŭi tŭksŏng,” 1991, pp. 271–6. 6 Udagawa Takehisa, Higashi Ajia heiki kōryūshi no kenkyū, 1993, pp. 208–12. According to Udagawa Takehisa, there was a large iron cannon (J. dai teppō) that was able to penetrate outside planks and destroy oars, which appears to have been a greater threat than arquebuses. 7 The major naval battles described below are from Yi Min’ung, “Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa yŏn’gu,” 2002, pp. 35–61. See also: Yi Min’ung, Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa, 2004. 8 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1592.5.10. See Map 3 for a general picture. 9 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1592.5.10; Kim Illyong, “Imjinnan Chŏkjin-p’o haejŏn,” 1995, pp. 153–76. 10 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1592.6.14; Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1592.5.29, 1592.6.10. 11 Chŏng Chinsul, “Hansando haejŏn yŏn’gu,” 1993, pp. 159–94. 12 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1592.7.15. 13 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1592.9.17. 14 Sŏnjo shillok, 35 (1593.2.6); Shin Kyŏng, Chaejo pŏnbang-chi, 2 (1593.1). 15 Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 2 (1593.6). Photolithographic reproduction by the Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 1977, p. 87. 16 Yi Min’ung, “Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa yŏn’gu,” 2002, pp. 74–81. 17 Kim Pok, “Tong’ŭi pogam p’yŏnchan ŭi yŏksa-chŏk paegyŏng kwa ŭihangnon,” 2000, pp. 40–3. 18 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1593.4.6. 19 Yi Sunshin, Imjin changch’o, 1593.2.17, changgye. 20 Chŏng Kyŏngdal, Pansan sego, “Pan’gok Nanjung ilgi,” “Pan’gok nyŏn’gi,” photolithographically reproduced by Asea Munhwasa, 1987. 21 Japan, Rikugun, Sanbō honbu, Nihon senshi Chōsen eki, “Honhen,” 1924, p. 219. 22 Miki Seiichirō, “Chōsen eki ni okeru sugun hensei ni tsuite,” 1968, pp. 280–4. 23 Watanabe Yosuke, “Chōsen eki to waga zōsen no hatatsu,” 1935, pp. 576–9. 24 Japan, Rikugun, Sanbō honbu, Nihon senshi Chōsen eki, “Hoten,” no. 114, “Katō Yoshiaki no kigai,” 1924, p. 150. 25 Sŏnjo shillok, 83 (1596.12.21); Hwang Shin, Ch’ubo-chip, fascicle 2, “T’ongshin hoehwan-hu sŏgye.” 26 Yu Sŏngnyong, Chingbirok, 1991; Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1597.2.11). 27 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1593.8.7: “In the evening, Kyŏngsang Naval Commander Pak Ch’igong came and reported on the bandit ships’ withdrawal saying that, although Naval Commander Wŏn and his officers are usually good, [their] selfserving reports cannot be trusted.” 28 Tokutomi Iichirō, Chōsen no eki, Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi, 1921–2, pp. 452–3; Kitajima Manji, Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku, 1995, pp. 183–7. 29 Translator’s note: Yun Tusu was a member of the Westerner faction. 30 Yi Tŭkyŏl, Yanghodang ilgi, 1597.2. 31 Translator’s note: In 1595, Yi Wŏnik was made governor of four provinces. 32 Sŏnjo shillok, 87 (1597.4.19); 87 (1597.5.8); 87 (1597.6.11). 33 Sŏnjo shillok, 99 (1598.4.2).

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34 Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1597.7.16); Yu Sŏngnyong, Chingbirok, fascicle 2, 1991, p. 611. 35 Satō Kazuo, Umi to suigun no Nihonshi, 1995, p. 300. 36 Haeso shilgi, Vol. 1, 1987. 37 Sŏnjo shillok, 90 (1597.7.22); Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.8.3. 38 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.7.19 and 25. 39 Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1597.8.6). 40 Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1597.8.8 and 9); Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.9.17 and 20. 41 Cho Sŏngdo, “Myŏngnyang taech’ŏp yŏn’gu,” 1987. 42 Cho Wŏllae, “Imnan haejŏn,” 1987, pp. 79–82; “Ch’ungmu Yi Kong Sunshin tongsun chegong sashil – Ch’amchwa chegong sashil”, 1990. 43 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.9.15. 44 Japan, Rikugun, Sanbō honbu, Nihon senshi Chōsen eki, “Honhen,” 1924, pp. 368– 9; Sŏnjo shillok, 126 (1600.6.15). 45 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.9.16. 46 Yi Min’ung, “Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa yŏn’gu,” 2002. 47 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1597.12.5 and 10. 48 Yi Pun, “Haengnok.” 49 Shin Hŭm, “Ch’ŏnjo chosa changshin sŏnhu kŏrae sŏngmyŏnggi”; Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1597.12.23). 50 Sŏnjo shillok, 95 (1597.12.30). 51 Yi Pun, “Haengnok.” 52 Sŏnjo shillok, 104 (1598.9.8). 53 Sŏnjo shillok, 103 (1598.8.4 and 13). 54 Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi,1598.9.15 and 10.3. 55 Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1598.10.2 and 3). 56 An Pangjun, “Noryang kisa.” 57 Translator’s note: These were Tokugawa Ieyasu, Maeda Toshiie (later Toshinaga), Ukita Hideie, Uesugi Kagekatsu, and Mōri Terumoto. 58 Yi Hyŏngsŏk, Imjin chŏllansa, 1967, pp. 1137–43. 59 An Pangjun, “Noryang kisa”; Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok, 3 (1598.11.19); “Kishil sang.”

References An Pangjun (安邦俊). “Noryang kisa (緦粱記事),” in Ŭnbong chŏnsŏ (隱峰全書), fascicle 7. Ch’ae Yŏnsŏk (蔡蕙錫). Chosŏn ch’ogi hwagi yŏn’gu (朝鮮初期 火器硏究). Seoul: Iljisa, 1981. Cho Kyŏngnam (趙慶男). Nanjung chamnok (綧中雜錄). Photolithographic reproduction by Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 1977. Cho Sŏngdo (趙成都). “Myŏngnyang taech’ŏp yŏn’gu (鳴梁海戰 硏究),” in Haenam munhwawŏn (海南文化院), ed., Myŏngnyang taech’ŏp ŭi chaejomyŏng (鳴梁大捷㦮 再照明). Kwangju: Haenam munhwawŏn, 1987. Cho Wŏllae (趙湲來). “Imnan haejŏn ŭi sŭng’in kwa Chŏlla yŏnhaemin ŭi hangjŏn (㧚⧖䟊㩚㦮G㔏㧎ὒG㩚⧒㡆䟊⹒㦮G䟃㩚),” in Haenam munhwawŏn (海南文化院), ed., Myŏngnyang taech’ŏp ŭi chaejomyŏng (鳴梁大捷㦮 再照明). Kwangju: Haenam munhwawŏn, 1987. Cho Wŏllae (㫆㤦⧮). “Imjin Waeran-sa yŏn’gu ŭi ch’ui wa kwaje (㧚㰚㢲⧖㌂G㡆ῂ㦮G 㿪㧊㢖G ὒ㩲),” in Kang, Man’gil, compiler, Chosŏn hugi-sa yŏn’gu ŭi hyŏnhwang

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kwa kwaje (㫆㍶䤚₆㌂G 㡆ῂ㦮G 䡚䢿ὒG ὒ㩲). Seoul: Ch’angjakkwa Pip’yŏngsa, 2000, pp. 123–49. Chŏng Chinsul (鄭鎭述). “Hansando haejŏn yŏn’gu (閑山島海戰 硏究),” in Haegun kunsa yŏn’gu (海軍軍史硏究), ed., Imnan sugun hwaldong yŏn’gu nonch’ong (壬亂水 軍活動硏究緰叢). Seoul: Haegun kunsa yŏn’gu-shil, 1993, pp. 159–94. Chŏng Kyŏngdal (丁景達). Pansan sego (盤山世稿), “Pan’gok Nanjung ilgi (盤谷綧 中日記),” “Pan’gok nyŏn’gi (盤谷年記).” Photolithographic reproduction by Asea Munhwasa, 1987. “Ch’ungmu Yi Kong Sunshin tongsun chegong sashil—Ch’amchwa chegong sashil (忠武蝗公舜臣同殉諸公事實಺參佐諸公事實)” in Chŏlla namdo Imnan saryo p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (㩚⧒⋾☚G㧚⧖㌂⬢䘎㺂㥚㤦䣢) ed., Honam chibang Imjin Waeran saryojip 4: Honam chorŭirok (湖南地方壬辰倭亂史料集 4 湖南節義錄), Kwangju: Chŏlla namdo, 1990. Ha Ubong (䞮㤆⽟). “Sadae kyorin kwangye wa yangnan (㌂╖ᾦⰆGὖἚ㢖G㟧⧖),” in Han’guk yŏksa yŏn’guhoe (䞲ῃ㡃㌂㡆ῂ䣢), ed., Han’guk yŏksa immun, 2, Chungse p’yŏn (䞲ῃ㡃㌂㧛ⶎ, 2㭧㎎䘎). Seoul: P’ulpit, 1995. Haeso shilgi (海蘇實記), Vol. 1, in Yŏngch’ŏn munhwa yŏnguso (㡗㻲ⶎ䢪㡆ῂ㏢), ed., An, Chaejin (安在珍), trans., Kugyŏkbon Haeso shilgi ([ῃ㡃⽎]海蘇實紀). Yŏngch’ŏn: Yŏngch’ŏn chŏnt’ong munhwa yŏn’guso, 1987. Hŏ Sŏndo (許善道). Chosŏn sidae hwayak pyŏngisa yŏn’gu (朝鮮時代 火藥兵器史 硏 究). Seoul: Ilchogak, 1994. Hwang Shin (黃愼). Ch’ubo-chip (秋浦集), fascicle 2, “T’ongshin hoehwan-hu sŏgye (通信回還後書啓).” Japan, Rikugun, Sanbō honbu (日本陸軍參謀本府), ed. Nihon senshi Chōsen eki (日本 戰史 朝鮮役), “Honhen (本編),” 1924. Japan, Rikugun, Sanbō honbu (日本陸軍參謀本府), ed. Nihon senshi Chōsen eki (日 本戰史 朝鮮役), “Hoten (補傳),” no. 114, “Katō Yoshiaki no kigai (加藤嘉明の氣 槪),” 1924. Kim Chaegŭn (ₖ㨂⁒). “Imjin Waeran chung Cho-Il-Myŏng gunsŏn ŭi t’ŭksŏng (壬 辰倭亂㭧 朝-日-明 軍船㦮G䔏㎇),” in Haegun kunsa yŏn’gu (海軍軍史硏究), ed., Imnan sugun hwaldong yŏn’gu nonch’ong (壬亂水軍活動硏究緰叢). Seoul: Haegun kunsa yŏn’gu-shil, 1991, pp. 271–6. Kim Illyong (紼一龍). “Imjinnan Chŏkjin-p’o haejŏn (㧚㰚⧖G㩗㰚䙂䟊㩚G),” in Che 10 hoe Chŏn’guk hyangt’o munhwasa yŏn’gu palp’yo susang charyo-jip (㩲10䣢 全國鄕土文化史 硏究發表 㑮㌗㧦⬢㰧). Chŏn’guk munhwawŏn yŏnhaphoe (㩚ῃⶎ䢪㤦㡆䞿䣢), 1995, pp. 153–76. Kim Pok (紼澔). “Tong’ŭi pogam p’yŏnchan ŭi yŏksa-chŏk paegyŏng kwa ŭihangnon (東醫寶鑑 編纂㦮 歷史的 背景ὒ 醫學論),” Ph.D. dissertation, Seoul National University, 2000. “Kishil sang (紀實上),” in Yi ch’ungmugong chŏnsŏ (蝗忠武公全書), Vol. 9, Appendix 5. Kitajima Manji (北島万次). Toyotomi Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku (豊臣秀吉の朝 鮮侵略). Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1995. Kyŏngguk taejŏn (經國大典), “Pyŏngjŏn” (兵典), Chedo pyŏngsŏn-jo (諸道兵船條). Miki Seiichirō (三鬼淸一郞). “Chōsen eki ni okeru sugun hensei ni tsuite (朝鮮役に おける水軍編成について),” in Utsunomiya Kiyoyoshi (宇都宮清吉) et al., eds., Nagoya daigaku bungakubu 20 shūnen kinen ronshū (名古屋大學文學部二十周年記 念緰集). Nagoya: Nagoya daigaku, 1968.

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O Chongnok (吳宗錄). “Imjin Waeran ~ Pyŏngja horan shigi kunsasa yŏn’gu ŭi hyŏnhwang kwa kwaje (壬辰倭亂~丙子胡亂時期 軍事史 硏究㦮 現況ὒ 課題),” in Kukpang kunsa yŏn’guso (國防軍史硏究所), ed., Kunsa (軍史) 38 (1999): 135–60. Pang Sanghyŏn (方相鉉). Chosŏn chŏngi sugun chedo (朝鮮初期 水軍制度). Seoul: Minjok munhwasa, 1991. Satō Kazuo (佐藤和夫). Umi to suigun no Nihonshi (海と水軍の日本史), Vol. 2. Tokyo: Hara Shobo, 1995. Shin Hŭm (申欽). “Ch’ŏnjo chosa changshin sŏnhu kŏrae sŏngmyŏnggi (天朝詔使將 臣先後去來姓名記),” in “Sangch’onjip (象村集),” fascicle 57, in Sangch’on sŏnsaeng chip (象村先生集). Seoul: Seoul National University, Kyujanggak. Shin Kyŏng (申炅). Chaejo pŏnbang-chi (再造藩邦志), fascicle 2 (1593, 癸巳), 1st month. Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實錄). Tokutomi Iichirō (德富猪一郞). Chōsen no eki, Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi (朝鮮役-近世 日本國民史-), Vol. 2. Tokyo: Minyūsha, 1921–2. Udagawa Takehisa (宇田川武久). Nihon no kaizoku (日本の海賊). Tokyo: Seibundō shinkōsha, 1983. Udagawa Takehisa (宇田川武久). Higashi Ajia heiki kōryūshi no kenkyū: jūgo~jūshichi seiki ni okeru heiki no juyō to denba (東アジア兵器交流史の研究: 十五¥十七世紀 における兵器の受容と伝播). Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1993. Watanabe Yosuke (渡辺世祐). “Chōsen eki to waga zōsen no hatatsu (朝鮮役と我が 造船の發達),” Shigaku zasshi (史學雜誌) 46:5 (1935): 576–9. Yi Changhŭi (㧊㧻䧂, 蝗章熙). “Imjin Waeran (㧚㰚㢲⧖),” in Han’guksaron (䞲ῃ㌂⪶) 4. Kwach’ŏn: Kuksa p’yŏch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1976, pp. 1–11. Yi Hyŏngsŏk (蝗炯錫). Imjin chŏllansa (壬辰戰亂史), Vol. 2. Seoul: Seoul National University Press, 1967. Yi Min’ung (蝗敏雄). “Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa yŏn’gu (壬辰倭亂 海戰史 硏究),” Ph.D. dissertation, Seoul National University, 2002. Yi Min’ung (㧊⹒㤛). Imjin Waeran haejŏnsa: 7 nyŏn chŏnjaeng, pada esŏ kŏdun sŭngni ŭi kirok (㧚㰚㢲⧖G䟊㩚㌂: 7⎚G㩚㨗, ⹪┺㠦㍲GỆ⚪G㔏Ⰲ㦮G₆⪳). Seoul: Ch’ŏngŏram midiŏ, 2004. Yi Pun (蝗芬). “Haengnok (行錄),” in Yi ch’ungmugong chŏnsŏ (蝗忠武公全書), Vol. 9, Appendix 1. Yi Sunshin (蝗舜臣). Imjin changch’o (壬辰蟳草). Yi Sunshin (蝗舜臣). Nanjung ilgi (綧中日記). Yi Tŭkyŏl (蝗德悅). Yanghodang ilgi (養浩堂日記). Yu Sŏngnyong (蛢成龍). Chingbirok (懲毖錄), in Sŏae chŏnsŏ pyŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (西厓全書䘎㺂㥚㤦䣢), ed., Sŏae chŏnsŏ (西厓全書). Seoul: Sŏae sŏnsaeng ki’nyŏm saŏphoe, 1991.

8

Righteous army activity in the Imjin War Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之)

Introduction In the fourth month of 1592, the Toyotomi regime declared an expedition to subjugate Ming China and launched an invasion of neighboring Korea. The Korean army, which had grown accustomed to peace over the two centuries from the founding of the kingdom, collapsed in the face of more than 150,000 incomparably fearless Japanese troops. With the breakdown of the ruling structures, Korean society fell into extreme chaos. Members of the Korean social classes adopted various behaviors. There were those who rebelled against their overlords, those who surrendered and cooperated with the Japanese military (K. bu-Wae, J. fu-Wa), officials and troops who abandoned their posts, and those who left their villages and fled deep into remote mountains. There were also those who faced the crisis to the kingdom, took up weapons, and turned to confront the Japanese invasion. In Korea, the armed groups that spontaneously arose from the populace are called “righteous armies” (K. ŭibyŏng). Their activities were such that, wherever the Japanese forces were, there also appeared guerrilla resistance. Even though they are all referred to as righteous armies, their circumstances are various and complex: where and when they appeared; how they resisted the Japanese; and their relations with the court, the regular army, and the populace. I have spent many years examining the Korean resistance to the 1592 invasion. In this chapter, I will consolidate individual regional studies, consider an overall picture of resistance activities from a national viewpoint, and reconstruct the historical significance of the resistance. All references used in the chapter derive from my published works and will be noted at the end of the chapter.

Righteous army activities in Kyŏngsang Province Among the righteous armies in the country, the earliest and most diverse resistance was offered by guerrillas in Kyŏngsang Province. The reasons are largely that Kyŏngsang Province was the closest Korean province to Japan

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and the site of the longest historical exchange with Japan: (1) it was the entry point of the invasion; (2) it was where the invasion reached its fullest scope; (3) it was where the Japanese troops were stationed the longest; (4) as a fertile grain-producing region centered on rice production, its population was large and it held an attraction for Japanese military control; (5) finally, it occupied the southern tip of the Korean peninsula. Nevertheless, Kyŏngsang Province also possessed the special characteristic that the Naktong River interposed itself down the middle to create a “left” Kyŏngsang Province to the east and a “right” Kyŏngsang Province to the west with different forms of guerrilla resistance.1 Righteous armies in western Kyŏngsang Province The sudden Japanese invasion wrenched the Chosŏn kingdom’s ruling structure from its base and tossed society into extreme confusion. The inhabitants of Kyŏngsang Province were freed from the restraints of the existing ruling order and engaged in various activities. Court records speak of the collapsing order and that all people in the province followed the bandits. Although few at the beginning of the war, some appeared who led local people in resistance against the Japanese forces. They styled themselves as righteous armies to make clear that these private military forces were not rebels. Guerrilla leaders were local yangban. The majority of them were former officials or Confucian scholars (yusaeng or candidates for office) and at the center of the local ruling order as local landlords. Kwak Chaeu (1552–1617) of Ŭiryŏng, the first to organize a guerrilla band in Korea, was known to be from a local, eminent, and wealthy family. His father had risen to become a provincial governor (Jr. 2), and the clan was well known for producing many high-ranking officials. Kwak Chaeu himself had competed in the civil service examinations when young, but failed, and he had gone back to live the life of a country gentleman in Ŭiryŏng. When he undertook to raise an army, he invested his family’s wealth and provided provisions and weapons at his own expense. When Chŏng Inhong (1535–1623) of Hapch’ŏn and Kim Myŏn (1541–93) of Kŏch’ang raised troops, they also paid to arm their forces. The guerrilla leadership that arose in western Kyŏngsang, including the three just mentioned, were students of Cho Shik (1501–72, pen name Nam Myŏng). The local people who were led by them had been influenced by Cho Shik’s philosophy in their everyday life through the community compacts (hyangyak, hyang’an, hyanggyu, tongyak) authored by yangban of the Nam Myŏng School. Cho Shik was a great Confucianist of the mid-Chosŏn period, and with Yi Hwang (1501–70, pen name T’oegye) brought Korean Neo-Confucianism to completion. Simply put, Cho Shik’s educational doctrine was an ideology of kyŏng’ŭi (“respect for righteousness”) and sangmu (“esteem the military”). Cho Shik and Yi Hwang’s disciples were known as the Yŏngnam (Kyŏngsang) school or the sarim, at that time performing brilliantly in capital politics. In the center, they had formed the Easterners’ faction (tong’in). In the provinces,

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they had firmly established themselves in a position of leadership. Later, the Easterners split into the Cho Shik group, known as the Northerners (pug’in) and the Yi Hwang group, known as the Southerners (nam’in). In short, the righteous army (ŭibyŏng) fighters in western Kyŏngsang were an armed local group united by Cho Shik’s philosophy. The Japanese vanguard saw the capital Hansŏng (modern Seoul) in Kyŏnggi Province as their goal and quickly overran Kyŏngsang and Ch’ungch’ŏng provinces. The Japanese generals, who occupied Hansŏng early in the fifth month, planned to make all of Korea into Japanese territory and set about dividing the regional governance of Chosŏn’s eight provinces among the powerful daimyō. Governance of Kyŏngsang Province was turned over to the 30,000man Eighth Army led by Mōri Terumoto (1553–1625). As soon as Mōri’s army landed at Pusan in the middle of the fourth month, he headed towards the capital on the west road through Yŏngsan, Ch’angnyŏng, Hyŏnp’ung, and Mugye to reach the military stronghold (kŏjin)2 at Sŏngju and established his headquarters at Kaeryŏng in north Kyŏngsang Province. The location sat astride an important transport route and was an attractive site to construct a defensive fortification. The righteous armies of Kyŏngsang Province simultaneously opened guerrilla attacks on the Japanese forces stationed in strategic locales in the province as well as those forces coming and going between Pusan and Hansŏng. When Kwak Chaeu in Ŭiryŏng heard of the Japanese invasion, on the twentyfirst day of the fourth month, he gathered about sixty local men and launched his righteous army. Kwak was a yangban, a Confucian scholar, and rural landlord. He appealed to the local people to rise up, and together with appeals to come to the aid of king and country in the crisis, he also advocated a defense of local scholars from the ravages of the enemy. He included the defense of local scholars, because he would not have been able to mass together the people who directly suffered injury from the Japanese armies if it were only a matter of the relations between sovereign and subject. At the same time, he indicted Kim Su (1537–1615), the governor of Kyŏngsang Province, for not preventing the passage of Japanese forces within the province. Of course, that invited the animosity of Kim Su and Kwak’s righteous army was ordered to disband, but with mediation by Kim Sŏng’il (1538–93), the recruiting officer (ch’oyusa) for the guerrillas, Kwak’s righteous army was permitted to exist. Because the object of the Japanese vanguard was the occupation of Hansŏng and Ŭiryŏng was slightly off the path of advancement, Ŭiryŏng sustained no attack from the Japanese vanguard. In this circumstance, Kwak’s force came down the Namgang River, appearing and disappearing along the shores of the Naktong River and staging guerrilla attacks on Japanese military ships attempting to navigate the river. Also, Kwak imposed harsh judgment on collaborators (bu-Wae) as people plotting internal division. In a similar fashion, when Kim Myŏn captured Chirye castle, he viewed the captured Korean women as collaborators and burned all of them at the stake. At the beginning of the war, as a means of preventing territories from surrendering to

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the Japanese, the court issued an edict of “[if] captured by the enemy, all die” (Hamjŏk kaesalbŏp). In the case of Kyŏngsang Province, because the injury caused by the Japanese forces was severe, the treatment of those who surrendered and cooperated was also severe. On the tenth day of the fifth month, Chŏng Inhong, the former Third Inspector (changnyŏng, Sr. 4) of Hapch’ŏn, and Kim Myŏn, the former Assistant Section Chief (chwarang, Sr. 6) of Koyŏng, simultaneously raised armies. Both of them were disciples of Cho Shik and, after retiring from office, they had returned to their birthplaces and engaged in the training of disciples. When news went out that they were raising a resistance, scholars loyal to Cho Shik’s teachings led local people into their camps. Chŏng Inhong’s troop numbers grew to 1,000. U Paesŏn (1569–1621) of Hwawŏn County, who had been recruited into Chŏng’s righteous army, brought in eighty-nine local militiamen. Various counties in Kyŏngsang and Chŏlla provinces had prepared for Waegu (J. Wakō, C. Wokou) attacks that struck repeatedly in the past and had reserve defense units consisting of local militia; these came forward. The righteous armies consisted of family and clan members, students from Confucian academies, local people, scattered soldiers, regular army units, and nobi. They were tied together by locality or kinship in village associations, and their esprit de corps was strong. Of course, this was not the only reason they joined the righteous armies. To prevent surrender and cooperation with the Japanese forces, the court had promised an elevation in social status for those who presented the government with grain or the heads of the enemy. Yangban aspired to be appointed as government officials, commoners as yangban, and the sons of concubines and other low-born as commoners. Participation in a righteous army was a prime opportunity to break out of a fixed social position. Mōri Terumoto’s army established a string of fortified bases in the various towns along the Naktong River, engaged in mopping-up operations of the surrounding regions, and began serious efforts to govern the province. The guerrillas in western Kyŏngsang Province engaged in local defense, obstructing the movements of the Japanese forces on the western road to the capital and along the Naktong River, raided the areas occupied by the Japanese within the province, and sought to recapture the fortifications at Sŏngju and Kaeryŏng, which were the Mōri army bases. In the sixth month, a large force under Kobayakawa Takakage (1533–97), which had been given the task of governing Chŏlla Province, moved southwards from Hansŏng into the northern borders of Kyŏngsang Province and entered the walled city of Kŭmsan on the border with Kyŏngsang Province. To reinforce this army, Ankokuji Ekei (?–1600) moved his forces northwards from Pusan along the western road to the capital. To obstruct the Japanese entry into Chŏlla Province, the righteous armies of Kyŏngsang, Ch’ungch’ŏng, and Chŏlla provinces, beginning with the Kyŏngsang forces, attacked the Kŭmsan fortress in waves. Guerrillas from the western part of the province – Kim Myŏn’s forces based in Kŏch’ang, various forces from the Chŏnju area, the Ko Kyŏngmyŏng (1533–92) righteous

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army from Chŏlla, the Cho Hŏn (1544–92) and Yŏnggyu (?–1592) forces from Ch’ungch’ŏng Province – attacked in succession. The righteous armies took great losses with every attack, but in the end, Kobayakawa’s forces abandoned the invasion of Chŏlla Province and withdrew to Hansŏng from Kŭmsan. Entering the eighth month, offensive operations against the Japanese by the guerrillas in the western part of the province became increasingly frequent, and control of the province by the Mōri forces became relatively more difficult. Kwak Chaeu’s militia in Ŭiryŏng grew to more than 1,000, and it left Ŭiryŏng to capture successively the Japanese fortifications along the Naktong River at Hyŏnp’ung, Ch’angnyŏng, and Yŏngsan. Chŏng Inhong’s force coordinated with Kim Myŏn and attacked Mōri’s base at Sŏngju. The offensive and defensive battles at Sŏngju were extremely violent, and the attacks by the Korean righteous armies were repulsed each time by powerful Japanese forces, ending in failure. However, the order of battle with the Japanese became reversed for the first time in the war: the Korean forces were now attacking Japanese positions. Control of Kyŏngsang Province by Mōri became a matter of barely maintaining a defense of a string of fortresses in a line along the middle route to the capital. In the same month, Chŏng Inhong was appointed Senior Quartermaster to the Royal Chambers (cheyonggam chŏng, Jr. 4);3 Kim Myŏn was appointed Magistrate of Hapch’ŏn (kunsu, Jr. 4), and Kwak Chaeu was appointed Superintendent of Post Stations (ch’albang, Jr. 6) for Yugok. In the tenth month, a Japanese force in excess of 20,000 opened operations against the Chinju fortress, because Hideyoshi’s hands had been burned by the activities of the righteous armies and he had concluded that Chinju was a righteous army base. In fact, the defensive force at Chinju was only 3,800, and the fortress walls sheltered a large number of refugees. In the battle, by request of the recruiting officer Kim Sŏng’il, the righteous armies from the west of Kyŏngsang Province participated. The Korean forces inside and outside the city walls acted in concert and attacked the Japanese army, repelling it after a ten-day battle. The significance of the victory was great, because this was the first large-scale Korean victory on land with joint operations by regular and irregular forces. After the victory, the court advocated the unification of regular and irregular forces, which had not cooperated before. The court appreciated the combat strength of the guerrillas and expanded military qualifications to the low-born. Since the founding of the state, military service had been limited to commoners. The expansion was indicated by the newly established rosters recording the recruitment of local militiamen (sog’ogun).4 By limiting the war front, the fighting strength of the righteous armies from the western part of Kyŏngsang Province increased and even the regular army came under their command. Chŏng Inhong’s forces and Kim Myŏn’s forces grew ever stronger. At this point, both Chŏng Inhong and Kim Myŏn were given commissions as “Great Generals of the Righteous Army” (ŭibyŏng taejang) and appointed Magistrates of Sŏngju (moksa, Sr. 3) and Provincial

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Military Commanders of Western Kyŏngsang Province (Kyŏngsang-do u’pyŏngsa, Sr. 3). Kwak Chaeu was appointed Defending General (chŏlch’ung changgun) and Assistant Defensive General (chobangjang), both Sr. 3 rank. The righteous armies successively occupied fortifications along the western road to the capital and Mōri was forced to gather his forces inside the fortifications at Sŏngju and Kaeryŏng and concentrate on the defense of these two cities. The Kyŏngsang Province righteous armies were augmented by regular troops and merged with the Chŏlla Province righteous armies. The Korean forces focused their attacks on Sŏngju and Kaeryŏng and early in the second month of 1593 occupied both cities and secured the western road to the capital and the transport routes of the Naktong River, frustrating Mōri’s attempts to control Kyŏngsang Province. In the fourth month of the same year, that frustration became the reason for the withdrawal of Japanese forces to Pusan from Hansŏng. After the war, when Kwanghaegun, who was under the sway of the Kyŏngsang Province Northerner faction (the western righteous armies), came to the throne, Chŏng Inhong was made Chief State Councilor (yŏngŭijŏng, Sr. 1), shouldering the heavy responsibility for post-war reconstruction. East Kyŏngsang Province In the sixth month, Mōri’s forces established their headquarters in Kaeryŏng and began mopping-up operations. Mōri Motoyasu (1560–1601), a subordinate clansman, led a force of 3,000 and was given the job of governing the region. Motoyasu left Sŏnsan and quickly captured various county seats in the east of the province, such as Sangju, Ŭisŏng, and Andong. Together with expanding his area of control, he took in vast amounts of grain for his military. At the same time, an 8,000-man Mōri force under Kitsukawa Hiroie (1561–1625) that was billeted in Mun’gyŏng began operations towards Yech’ŏn. Motoyasu, who delighted in an orderly progress in gaining control of the region, posted the following edicts on roadside placards for the Korean populace: (1) quickly return to your homes and work hard in the fields; (2) if Japanese soldiers take your wives or children, they will be punished; (3) those who obstruct the movements of Japanese soldiers will be punished. Nevertheless, in this region, as well, a sporadic anti-Japanese guerrilla war began. A full-scale righteous army effort did not begin until the middle of the sixth month with the appearance of resistance activities by the former Stewards (pongsa, Jr. 8)5 Kwŏn Ŭngsu (1546–1608) and Chŏng Taeim (1553–94) of Shillyŏng. The Recruiting Officer Kim Sŏng’il immediately recognized these private forces as righteous armies and appointed Kwŏn Ŭngsu as a commander. Following them appeared Han Hyosun (1543–1621) and Yu Chonggae (1558–92) of Yŏngch’ŏn, Kim Yunmyŏng (1541–1604) of Andong, Kim Hae (1555–93) of Yean, and Kim Ho (?–1592) and Chu Chaho (?–?) of Kyŏngju. At the end of the seventh month, Kwŏn Ŭngsu and Chŏng Taeim’s forces attacked the Japanese garrison at Yŏngch’ŏn, and after three days of heavy fighting, the Japanese forces withdrew to Kyŏngju. Riding on that victory,

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the guerrillas recaptured Japanese garrisons at Ŭisŏng, Andong, Yech’ŏ, and P’ungsan. In the eighth month, a joint effort by regular and irregular forces aimed to recapture the Japanese stronghold at Kyŏngju, on the east road to the capital, but the attack failed. Nevertheless, in the middle of the eighth month, Motoyasu’s forces concluded that the maintenance of control in the interior of the eastern part of the province had fallen into difficulty and withdrew to Sŏnsan, along the middle road to the capital. Because of righteous army activity in the eastern part of Kyŏngsang Province, the eastern road to the capital became dangerous for the Japanese. In response to the guerrilla activity in the eastern part of the province, the court appointed Kwŏn Ŭngsu as t’ongchŏng taebu (a civil post, Sr. 3) and Chŏng Taeim as the Magistrate of Yech’ŏn.6

Righteous army activities in Chŏlla Province Because Chŏlla Province was geographically removed from the invasion route taken by the Japanese vanguard forces, it did not suffer direct damage at the opening of the war. For this reason, in contrast to Kyŏngsang Province, the existing ruling structure remained relatively preserved, and the living circumstances of the Korean populace and their morale remained relatively stable. However, the people heard a drumbeat of news about the steady advances of the Japanese military and the crushing defeats of the Korean regular forces. The governor (kwanch’alsa)7 of Chŏlla Province, Yi Kwang (1541–1607), led a regular force of several tens of thousands with the intention of defending the capital but returned without once engaging the Japanese. At the beginning of the sixth month, with Ko Kyŏngmyŏng of Kwangju and Kim Ch’ŏn’il (1537–93) of Naju as advocates, a declaration inciting the creation of a Chŏlla righteous army was circulated in the province. Both men were yangban. Ko Kyŏngmyŏng had been the Magistrate of Tongnae (Jr. 3), and Kim Ch’ŏn’il had been the Magistrate of Tamyang (Jr. 3). Both men had retired from office and were living secluded lives in their home villages. In proposing the creation of guerrilla forces, they clearly insisted that the irregular forces were to rescue king and country from the crisis. Moreover, Kim Ch’ŏn’il denounced Governor Yi Kwang’s incompetence, and this statement supplied the force of the argument advocating attack, as suggested by Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s counsel. Powerful yangban throughout the province led their recruits and gathered under Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s and Kim Ch’ŏn’il’s righteous army tents. After Ko Kyŏngmyŏng announced that he was putting together a force, he quickly attracted about 6,000 men. Kim Ch’ŏn’il’s personal force numbered 700. When they launched their efforts, they dispatched representatives to the king’s temporary refuge (kahaeng chaeso) at Ŭiju in P’yŏng’an Province and requested recognition of their righteous armies.8 If they had not received recognition by the court, then they would have been no different from an army of rebellion. The court considered the raising of irregular troops in Chŏlla Province and concluded that, without titles, the maintenance

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of the forces would become difficult. They appointed Ko Kyŏngmyŏng as a ch’ot’osa and Kim Ch’ŏn’il as ch’angŭisa.9 These titles contrast with the titles given to Kwak Chaeu in the west of the province. As illustrated by the saying that “young men and nobi [were led forward] to recruit,” yangban volunteers across the province led local men and gathered in the camps of powerful righteous army commanders who exercised great attractive power. In Chŏlla Province as well as Kyŏngsang Province, an anti-Waegu defensive force still functioned, and the righteous army recruits sought an elevation of their social status. The righteous army soldiers in Chŏlla Province were from the entire social spectrum. The declaration of the Kŏbu guerrillas details the target occupations called on for recruits and lists: “high and low-born, old men, Confucian scholars, idle commoners, monks, post-station attendants, nobi, kuryu,10 and miscellaneous.” Righteous army recruits were “men of will” and accepted unconditionally with no regard to social status. Their treatment within the military unit was decided on the basis of real strength and achievement. Those with merit in battle received higher social status and rewards. The object of the Chŏlla Province righteous army leaders was to march on the capital, recapture it from the Japanese, and restore the king. Kim Ch’ŏn’il’s righteous army went ahead of Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s force, moved north, entered Kanghwa Island in Kyŏnggi Province, and confronted the Japanese military. Kim Ch’ŏn’il’s appearance in Kanghwa Island awakened an anti-Japanese sentiment among the people of the Hansŏng and Kyŏnggi Province region. In the middle of the sixth month, Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s forces left their Kwangju base and moved northwards. When they reached Yŏsan in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, news arrived that a large force under Kobayakawa Takakage had opened an invasion of Chŏlla Province by entering Kŭmsan, at the northern tip of Chŏlla Province. Ko Kyŏngmyŏng himself wanted to move north, but his officers and men from Chŏlla Province strongly desired to defend their home villages. Ko Kyŏngmyŏng was sympathetic to his soldiers’ wishes and turned his force to attack Kŭmsan. The leaders’ purpose in raising righteous armies in Chŏlla was to rescue king and country, but the desire to defend their homes was strong among the rank and file. In the Kŭmsan campaign, general Ko Kyŏngmyŏng and the greater part of his officers and men died, and the siege failed. Before that outcome, though, Kobayakawa’s main force left Kŭmsan fortress and fought a fierce battle with Korean regular and irregular forces at Ungji, very close to Chŏnju, a capital of Chŏlla Province. In Kobayakawa’s absence, Kŭmsan came under attack from Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s righteous army. A detached force from Kobayakawa’s army fought with and was detained by a regular force led by Kwŏn Yul (1537–99) at Ich’i on the way to Chŏnju. Kobayakawa Takakage abandoned the capture of Chŏnju and pulled back to the Kŭmsan fortress. In the middle of the seventh month, Takakage was called to a meeting of the Japanese generals in Hansŏng, where he went and was caught up in providing a defense of Hansŏng against the Ming army,

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never to return to Kŭmsan. Ankokuji Ekei was left in charge of the Kŭmsan fortress, but his forces were attacked in waves by guerrillas from Chŏlla, Ch’ungch’ŏng, and Kyŏngsang provinces. Setting aside the question of governing Chŏlla, even the defense of Kŭmsan was endangered, and he found that he had to withdraw to Kyŏngsang Province. The heroic deaths of Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s righteous army troops stirred the sympathy of the people of Chŏlla Province, and righteous armies appeared one after the other to carry on the dying wishes of Ko Kyŏngmyŏng: Im Kyeyŏng (1528–97), a former Bailiff (hyŏn’gam, Jr. 6) of Posŏng; Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe (1532–93), a former Magistrate (Jr. 3) of Nŭngsŏng; and Kim Tŏngnyŏng (1567–96), a Confucian scholar from Tamyang. Im Kyeyŏng’s and Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe’s guerrillas operated beyond Chŏlla Province, merging with the west Kyŏngsang Province righteous army camp, which had seen the intensity of the damage wrought by the Japanese invasion. They came under the command of the west Kyŏngsang guerrilla leaders Chŏng Inhong and Kim Myŏn and saw intense fighting. Chŏlla supplied troops and army provisions to the frontline in Kyŏngsang Province and generally acted as a supply base. The supply arrangement illustrated the national strategic picture of “losing Yŏngnam (Kyŏngsang) means the destruction of Honam (Chŏlla).” The special characteristic of the Chŏlla guerrillas was that, from their initial mobilization, they rid themselves of their regionally exclusive character, which had been a defect of the righteous armies. The Chŏlla righteous armies also prevented the Japanese army from entering Chŏlla at all.11

Righteous army activities in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province Because the three roads to the capital cut across the center of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, it became an objective for the Japanese armies seeking to take Hansŏng. At the beginning of the war, of the fifty-eight counties in the province, eighteen along the roadside were attacked. In the middle of the fifth month, guerrillas rose up in the counties that had suffered intense damage. Guerrillas appeared in so many places that the numbers are said to have reached from thirty to more than fifty camps. There were more than twenty commanders, among whom were Cho Hŏn, the monk Yŏnggyu, Shim Sugyŏng (1516–99), Han Myŏng’yun (1542–93), and Hong Kyenam (?–?). Their motivation for resistance can be seen in their pleas for recruitment. As the region abuts Hansŏng, they spoke first of the recovery of Hansŏng and the return of the king to his capital and then of local defense. The promoters of the righteous armies were yangban and other local powerful people. Their leaders were largely government officials. At the top of the list was Third State Councilor (uŭijŏng, Sr. 1) Shim Sugyŏng, followed by County Magistrate (Jr. 4) Han Myŏng’yun (1542–93), tosa (Jr. 5)12 Cho Hŏn, and Superintendent of Post Stations (ch’albang, Jr. 6) Pak Ch’unmu (1568–1646). Others came from many different social classes: the military officials Cho Ung and Hong Ŏnnam of the Ch’ungŭiwi;13 the Confucian scholars awaiting bureaucratic

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appointment, Yi Pong (?–?), Han Hyŏn (?–1596), and Yi Hae (?–?); monks under Yŏnggyu; and a man who appears to have been Hong Kyenam’s second son (sŏja). There were guerrillas who became commanders based on results and not social status. Cho Hŏn and Shim Sugyŏng commanded more than 1,000 men; Hong Kyenam had more than 500. Japanese appointments of governance for the region deployed six daimyō with 25,000 men, beginning with Fukushima Masanori’s (1561–1624) Fifth Army. The Japanese established a series of fortifications with the objective of governing Ch’ungch’ŏng Province and protect the supply route from Pusan to Hansŏng. The most impressive of the Ch’ungch’ŏng Province righteous armies were the Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu contingents. Cho Hŏn came from a yangban household of humble origin and in his youth received his education from the famous Confucianist Sŏng Hon (1535–98). He sought office through the examinations, but rejected official life and retreated to Okch’ŏn in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province to spend a life training disciples, working, and pursuing intellectual interests. He was known as a man of principle. He was troubled by the pre-war, national situation, and in front of the king’s palace called for a firm posture towards Japan in numerous memorials. Yŏnggyu was chief priest of a mountain temple in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province near Kongju. Yŏnggyu came into contact with a written appeal for resistance from his former teacher Sŏsan Taesa (1520–1604?) and responded. He gathered monks and created a righteous monk army (ŭisŭngbyŏng). The monks took up sickles and joined with Cho Hŏn’s force. Cho Hŏn, together with raising an army, severely criticized the governor of Ch’ungch’ŏng Province, Yun Kukhyŏng (1543–1611), as being responsible for the easy advancement of the Japanese army through Ch’ungch’ŏng Province. In the eighth month, Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu attacked the important Japanese stronghold at Ch’ŏngju, fought intensely, and captured the fortress. As the Japanese abandoned the fortification and withdrew from the city, they were made to lament: “the guerrillas (ŭibyŏng) cannot be compared to the regular army (commanded by Yun Kukhyŏng); they risk death and advance. There is no defense against that.” Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu’s aim was to reach the capital, but the staff officers and men asked to attack the Japanese fortification at Kŭmsan on the provincial border. The guerrillas heard of the Chŏlla leader Ko Kyŏngmyŏng’s death in battle at Kŭmsan, and Cho Hŏn acceded to his soldiers’ request. From the beginning, within Cho Hŏn’s force it was said that “even without the whip, Cho Hŏn’s soldiers obey orders well.” From this, we have a hint of the atmosphere inside Cho Hŏn’s camp. In the regular army, it was habitual practice to lash troops into obeying orders. To encourage soldiers to fight, extreme measures were taken such as beheading deserters and detaining families. Morale was low. By contrast, it seemed that soldiers would desert the regular army, join the local militias, and become brave in battle. The righteous armies were not disorderly mobs and undisciplined bands. Rather, as a fighting corps, they possessed a stricter discipline than the regular troops. The following rules are an example of the military discipline

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within the Ch’ungch’ŏng Provincial leader Yi Pong’s force: (1) those who flee from the battlefield will be beheaded; (2) those who pledge to fight and then desert will be beheaded; (3) those who disobey the commander’s order will be beheaded; (4) those who spread rumors with the intent to deceive will be punished. Compliance with this strict military order arose from acceptance and determination. Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu’s forces produced a glorious military achievement in taking back the fortress at Ch’ŏngju. That victory exacerbated the jealousy Governor Yun Kukhyŏng directed at Cho Hŏn and provoked interference with the activities of the righteous army: “those who are registered with the regular army and conspire with Cho Hŏn’s guerrillas will be punished” and “the parents, wives, and children of Cho Hŏn’s guerrilla confederates will be arrested.” When Cho Hŏn’s militia was launched, he had more than 1,000 men, but because of interference by the commanders of the regular army, the desertions multiplied and the number fell to around 700. At that time, Ankokuji Ekei, commanding officer of the Kobayakawa army, planned to establish a stronghold at Kŭmsan and govern the region. At the end of the eighth month, after the Battle of Ch’ŏngju, Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu’s righteous armies aimed to retake the capital and advanced to Onyang, but the staff officers pleaded to attack Kŭmsan for the defense of Chŏlla. Cho Hŏn and Yŏnggyu’s forces turned and decisively moved to attack Kŭmsan, but they were overwhelmed and most were killed in battle, including the two leaders. When people heard of their refusal to surrender and honorable deaths there was a general mourning. A stonemason, of his own initiative, erected a stele to leave a record of their heroic deeds to later generations. In the middle of the eighth month, the court praised Cho Hŏn’s efforts and invested him as the Ch’ungch’ŏng Province Righteous Army Commander, Fourth Secretary of the Office of Sacrificial Rites (pongsangshi ch’ŏmjŏng) (Jr. 4), but before he heard of his appointment he had died in battle. The late Yŏnggyu was restored to secular life with the social status of commoner and given posthumously an appointment as t’ongchŏng taebu (a civil post, Sr. 3). He was resecularized because the conservative bureaucracy adhering to Confucianism within the court could not consent to conferring title on a man with the social status of a Buddhist monk. From 1594 to 1596, large popular revolts broke out one after another in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province. The revolts were largely against bad governance and incompetent officials and sparked by unfair rewards to the “righteous armies,” severe exploitation, and the lack of measures to cope with famine and pestilence. Popular participation in the righteous armies had surely taught people the power of social outburst. The leaders and supporters of the rebels who created the largest revolts were people who had personal experience of the righteous armies. After the suppression of the revolts, the aforementioned leaders of the righteous armies, such as Kwak Chaeu, Kim Tŏngnyŏng, Hong Kyenam, and Ko Ŏnbaek, came under suspicion and were arrested, but all were falsely charged as supporters of the revolts. Their treatment was an

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indication of the suppression being extended by powerful conservative interests facing the newly emergent power of the righteous armies. As one policy to quell the revolts, the court abolished the corvée and tribute taxes in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province and introduced a uniform grain tax. After the war, this policy brought about a unified, national tax structure and developed into a system that greatly lightened the tax burden on the populace known as the Uniform Land Tax Law or the Taedongbŏp.14

Righteous army activities in Hamgyŏng Province In the sixth month, the Japanese invasion of Hamgyŏng Province began. About 20,000 Japanese troops in the Second Army, led by Katō Kiyomasa (1562–1611) and Nabeshima Naoshige (1538–1618), were assigned control of Hamgyŏng Province. Hamgyŏng differed from other provinces in that it was alienated from the Chosŏn monarchy. Hamgyŏng suffered from discriminatory measures: severe exploitation, local clans had their qualifications for the civil examinations revoked, and it was regarded as a destination for banishment and exile. When the Japanese invasion of Hamgyŏng began, many in the local populace had already fomented rebellion against the local government. Official granaries were seized and local officials were punished and handed over to the Japanese military. A remarkable example was the arrest and deliverance to Katō Kiyomasa’s camp of two princes (Imhaegun, 1574–1609, and Sunhwa’gun, 1580–1607) and their entourage who had come to Hamgyŏng Province to raise a resistance. From this incident, we can see the deep resentment towards the court by the local populace. The court was forced to lament that “all the people of Hamgyŏng have become rebels.” The Japanese army was welcomed as a liberator. Kiyomasa and his comrades were helped by the popular revolt and swept over the province quickly, even advancing across the country’s border into Jurchen territory.15 Benefiting from cooperation from lower officials, local clans, and the populace, Japanese army rule of Hamgyŏng Province proceeded favorably, even to the point of drawing up a cadastral survey that would form the foundation of governance. The survey recorded details of grain yields, field sizes, and village population numbers for each county. At the end are the names of the local, lower government officials and clerks who managed the investigations. In this way, the survey was accomplished with the practical and long-term cooperation of local government officials. The completion of a land survey was unique in the Japanese military control of Korea. Katō Kiyomasa established his headquarters in Anbyŏn in south Hamgyŏng Province and deployed his subordinates in a string of fortifications in the northern part of the province: Pukch’ŏng, Iwŏn, Tanch’ŏn, Sŏngjin, and Kilju. The fortifications north of these were entrusted to the leaders of the rebellions as Japanese military puppets. Kiyomasa’s colleague, Nabeshima Naoshige, made Hamhŭng his base and aimed to control the region with a string of

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forts at Tŏg’wŏn (near Wŏnsan), Munch’ŏn, Yŏnghŭng, Chŏngp’yŏng, and Hongwŏn. However, after months of rule by the Japanese military and their puppets, the Korean populace began to show tendencies towards rebellion against the coercive completion of the cadastral survey and the avaricious extraction that accompanied that process. Additionally, rumors of righteous army uprisings in other provinces began to arrive. The first call for a righteous army uprising in Hamgyŏng Province came from Chŏng Munbu (1565–1624). Chŏng was born in Haeju in Hwanghae Province. His father rose to become a high-ranking official as a County Magistrate (Sr. 3). Chŏng passed the civil service examinations and was appointed to Kyŏngsŏng in Hamgyŏng Province as North Army Aide in the Provincial Military Administration (pukp’yŏngsa, Sr. 6). As a result of the popular uprisings that appeared when the Japanese military entered Hamgyŏng Province, danger came personally close to Chŏng as well, but his habitual good deeds were to prove fortunate. He was sheltered by his disciples and lived for some time hiding in a remote area. In the ninth month, Chŏng made a recommendation regarding leadership of a righteous army to two local men of powerful clans, Chi Talwŏn (?–?) and Ch’oe Paech’ŏn (?–?). The two gathered local men and joined Chŏng’s force. When Chŏng’s militia formed, they attacked Kyŏngsŏng, where the puppet Kuk Se’p’il was installed, and recaptured the city. Chŏng, who had a victory at the opening of the conflict, extended leniency towards all but the leading collaborators. With a strategy towards the populace of “no pursuit of past crimes,” Chŏng issued a broad appeal for recruitment to his righteous army. This was a necessary measure to turn the tide of large-scale opposition in Hamgyŏng Province to the Korean court towards support of the guerrillas. In the ninth month, the court abolished the edict “[if] captured by the enemy, all die” (Hamjŏk kaesalbŏp), promulgated at the beginning of the conflict, but Chŏng had already dealt realistically with the matter by his own judgment without the new law. Similarly, the court had enacted at the beginning of the conflict the edict to “kill all Japanese who surrender” (Kangwae chinsalbŏp), but for the purpose of gathering information on the Japanese armies and strengthening the Korean army, the court now shifted its policy to “invite Japanese who surrender to guide and instruct” (Kangwae yuinbŏp). The court sought Japanese prisoners of war who were expert in the military arts to use them as instructors. New government posts were created for training and weapons manufacture called Superintendents for Training (hullyŏn togam). Chŏng Munbu’s call for the creation of a militia spread out to other counties in the province, and even in Hoeryŏng County, which was under the control of a rebel against the Korean government by the name of Kuk Kyŏng’in (?–1592), Shin Sejun (?–?), a member of a local clan, raised an army and attacked Hoeryŏng. In the beginning of the tenth month, all of the counties controlled by Japanese military puppets from Myŏngch’ŏn northwards fell into the hands of righteous armies. From the eleventh month to the first month of the following year, during a particularly cold winter in the northern part of

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Korea, Chŏng Munbu’s militia attacked Japanese garrisons at Kilju, Sŏngjin, and Tanch’ŏn. Kiyomasa’s and Naoshige’s main forces in the southern part of Hamgyŏng could not dispatch reinforcements because of the severe cold and tremendous snowfalls. They could do nothing more than issue an order to “fight to the last; await the spring thaw” and watch as their subordinates in the string of forts to the north died. In the second month of 1593, Katō Kiyomasa and Nabeshima Naoshige abandoned Hamgyŏng Province under orders from headquarters in Hansŏng and pulled back to the capital. This was because it was necessary to prepare for a massive Ming military attack and strengthen the defense of the Hansŏng garrison. Chŏng Munbu was recognized for his resistance to the enemy and awarded the post of t’ongchŏng taebu (a civil appointment, Sr. 3).16

Righteous army activities in Hwanghae Province In the middle of the fifth month, the Japanese campaign for Hwanghae and P’yŏng’an provinces began. The First Army under Konishi Yukinaga (?–1600) and the Third Army under Kuroda Nagamasa (1568–1623) totaled some 30,000 troops. At that time, the Korean king had been driven from his capital by the Japanese forces, passed through Kaesŏng and P’yŏngyang, and was accommodated temporarily in Ŭiju on the border with China. The Japanese army pursued the king, continuing their western advance and at the Battle of the Imjin River, in front of Kaesŏng, defeated the Korean army. Thereafter, resistance by the regular army ceased to exist, and on the eighth day of the sixth month, Japanese forces arrived at the Taedong River in the suburbs of P’yŏngyang, and the city was bloodlessly captured. In the latter part of the sixth month, 11,000 troops under Kuroda Nagamasa and Ōtomo Yoshimune left P’yŏngyang and moved southwards with the intention of establishing control in Hwanghae Province. Otomo’s army established its headquarters at Pongsan in Hwanghae and was given the task of protecting the logistics line between Hansŏng and P’yŏngyang. Kuroda’s army went farther south and positioned itself in a large fortress at Haeju, intending to rule Hwanghae Province. Nagamasa ordered roadside notice boards be put up with the following announcements: 1) The Japanese army are envoys of peace; 2) Corvee and taxation would be light; 3) Public and private low-born (nobi) would all become farmers (hyakushō); 4) Those who do not return to their villages and those who conceal weapons will be beheaded. The edicts were translated into ŏnmun (vernacular Korean) with the intention of reaching all the populace. Moreover, Nagamasa distributed grain from government stores to the populace, strictly forbade the Japanese forces from plunder and arson, struck the pose of a liberating army, and asked for the submission of the populace.

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In the middle of the seventh month, tendencies towards guerrilla resistance appeared in this region as well. Kim Chinsu (?–?), Kim Mansu (1553–1607), and Hwang Hasu (?–?) of Pongsan issued calls for revolt and to the populace they appealed for the gathering of guerrillas with the pledge that “if even those who have surrendered to the Japanese present themselves as recruits, we will not inquire into their crimes. For those who capture a bandit, we offer large rewards.” Kim Tŏksŏng (?–?) of Paekch’ŏn and Pak Ch’unyŏng (?–?) of Yŏn’an also invited volunteers from their vicinities and created militias. Cho Chongnam (?–?) of Paekch’ŏn, with ten others, repeatedly conferred and called for volunteers from Haeju, P’yŏngsan, and Yŏn’an. However, as there was no one with the qualities of a commander, they recommended Third Minister of the Board of Personnel (Yijo samŭi, Sr. 3), Yi Chŏng’am (1541–1600), as the righteous army general. Yi did not reply immediately because of various worries: the location of his family, the resentment of the populace against high officials, and the difficulty of gathering recruits. He was born in Kyŏngju in Kyŏngsang Province; he was a Yŏngnam sarim; he had served in high posts in local government (Magistrate of P’yŏngsan and Yŏn’an in Hwanghae Province, Tongnae in Kyŏngsang Province, all Sr. 3) and returned to the central political world as Third Minister of the Board of Personnel in close association with the king. However, he was unable to follow the king when he left the capital as a refugee. That was because it would have meant abandoning Hansŏng, and Yi was clan patriarch with hundreds of dependants, beginning with his seventy-two-year-old mother. He came as far as Kaesŏng, but the king’s retinue had already left for P’yŏngyang. The Custodial Magistrate of Kaesŏng (Kaesŏng yusujik, Sr. 3) was Yi Chŏnghyŏng, his younger brother, and from him Yi Chŏng’am learned of his dismissal. At that point, he and his family abandoned following the king and fled to the mountains. Because the local yangban implored Yi Chŏng’am to comply with their request, and he felt pangs of conscience for not having been able to accompany the king, when he had sent his elderly mother to Kanghwa Island for refuge, he accepted the commission as commander of the Hwanghae Province righteous army. The rumor that he was raising an army immediately circulated in the neighboring counties and underneath him gathered local yangban volunteers, refugee government officials, and regular troops. The court feared that the populace of Hwanghae would collaborate with the Japanese, but they were delighted with Yi Chŏng’am’s call to arms and immediately appointed him Commander of the Righteous Army of Hwanghae and Special Wartime Envoy (Hwanghae-do ŭibyŏng chang kyŏm ch’ot’osa).17 The appointment was because Yi Chŏng’am had once been at the side of the king and his loyalty was well known. Moreover, expectations for the call to arms were high, because Hwanghae Province was a grain-producing region, next to the region where the king had fled, a relay point for the transport of goods from Chŏlla, and sat astride the main road connecting Hansŏng with P’yŏngyang. Together with his call to arms, Yi Chŏng’am stipulated two points. First, the righteous army base would avoid territory occupied by the Japanese army,

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and he chose the strong fortification at Yŏn’an with its moat. However, fearing a Japanese attack on Yŏn’an, the magistrate, the regular army troops, and the people all fled. It sat empty, and its storehouses were all looted. Second, he set out a military code, after he received his court commission on the fourth day of the eighth month. It consisted of eight parts and reveals a lot about the character of Yi Chŏng’am’s righteous army: 1) Those who flee the battlefield will be beheaded; 2) Those who prey on the people will be beheaded; 3) Those who do not obey the orders of a commanding officer will be beheaded; 4) Those who disclose classified information will be beheaded; 5) Those who renege on their oath to serve will be beheaded; 6) Bowmen come first followed by swordsmen; 7) Those who obtain enemy property will not be rewarded; and 8) Those who take another’s achievements will not be rewarded. In short, these principles suggest that the righteous army is a military force that supports the populace, and to counter the stronger Japanese force, a strict code of self-discipline is necessary. Towards the end of the eighth month, 3,000 troops under Kuroda Nagamasa’s direct command encircled the Yŏn’an fortress. Yŏn’an was located on the route from one of Hwanghae’s capitals, Haeju, to Paekch’ŏn. To secure the military logistics route from Haeju to Hansŏng or P’yŏngyang it was essential to bring Yŏn’an under control. The militia defenders numbered 200 with 2,000 occupants. Yi Chŏng’am’s staff officers who faced the Japanese force said that Yŏn’an was “without an army, without provisions, and without weapons,” and in these circumstances, any defense of the city would be reckless. They strongly recommended withdrawal from the city. Nevertheless, Yi Chŏng’am decided that he had to cling to his public promise to the residents to return them to the city to protect their property and lives and laid out a way to meet the Japanese army. On top of this, he allowed his staff officers to decide individually whether they would stay to defend the city or flee. The battle raged for five days. Despite the fact that Nagamasa took direct command of his troops, the fortress did not fall. The Kuroda army broke off the assault on Yŏn’an and retired to Paekch’ŏn. This was because an order had arrived from headquarters in Hansŏng that, given the tenacious resistance of Yŏn’an, Kuroda should move to Paekch’ŏn in order to protect the road between P’yŏngyang and Hansŏng. Kuroda Nagamasa’s control of Hwanghae Province ended with the failed capture of Yŏn’an, and he never again reached Haeju. Yi Chŏng’am’s victory at Yŏn’an carried great import. First, it made insecure the Japanese army’s logistics route between P’yŏngyang and Hansŏng. Second, it encouraged anti-Japanese activities in the P’yŏng’an and Kyŏnggi regions. Third, it secured the grain-producing region of Hwanghae Province. Fourth, it opened a West Sea logistics and supply route that connected the king’s temporary capital with Chŏlla, Province, Kanghwa Island, and

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Hwanghae Province. The court praised the Yŏn’an victory and rewarded the achievement by commissioning Yi Chŏng’am with the real office of Fourth Minister-without-Portfolio (Tongji Chungch’ubusa, Jr. 2) and giving offices to his officers and men. Afterwards, in considering the power relations of Hwanghae Province, the territory controlled by the Japanese military were only the forts that linked Hansŏng and P’yŏngyang. The greater part of the counties in Hwanghae Province were in the hands of the Hwanghae righteous army. After the Battle of Yŏn’an, Yi Chŏng’am possessed 6,000 men with fighters in every county putting pressure on the Japanese forces stationed in Hwanghae Province.18

Righteous army activities in P’yŏng’an Province From the beginning of the sixth month, P’yŏng’an Province on the northwest part of the Korean Peninsula became the temporary refuge for the king (kahaengjaeso) with the temporary capital (ch’ŏndo) in Ŭiju. In the middle of the fifth month, the Japanese First Army under Konishi Yukinaga pursued the king as he decamped from Hansŏng and arrived in P’yŏngyang. The king’s retinue was hurried and in the escape from P’yŏngyang, they left large amounts of rice provisions in the city. When Konishi’s army occupied P’yŏngyang, they did not advance to the west but continued to garrison the city. From the beginning of the war, Konishi consistently sought an armistice and peace negotiations with the Koreans and the Chinese. During this period, in the seventh month, the Ming reinforcements attacked P’yŏngyang but were repelled by the Japanese. In the eighth month, the Ming diplomat Shen Weijing arrived in P’yŏngyang and concluded a fifty-day truce with Yukinaga. The Japanese military paused in P’yŏngyang and awaited a diplomatic response from the Chinese emperor in the peace negotiations. From Ŭiju, the court called for a righteous army uprising by all the people of the country. In P’yŏng’an Province, guerrilla resistance by Buddhist monks was lively. Here, I will focus on their activities. During the Chosŏn period, Confucianism was greatly respected as the state ideology, and Buddhism was thoroughly ostracized and suppressed. Moreover, monks had fallen to low-born social status. Nevertheless, with regard to religious policy, it was a time of intermittent religious persecution. The middle Chosŏn period (King Chungjong, King Myŏngjong, and King Sŏnjo) saw relative leniency towards the Buddhist faith and suppressive policies were relaxed. During this time, the Sŏn Buddhist civil service examination (sŏn’gwa) was revived. Sitting a recognized examination enabled them to have something akin to an official career (or “jump the dragon gate”), and there appeared a number of famous, accomplished monks.19 In spite of the official suppression of Buddhism by the court, respect for the Buddhist faith had put down deep roots among the populace. The court’s call to arms was also directed at Buddhist monks. At the time, the famous monk Sŏsan taesa Hyujŏng (1520–1604), in whose person was focused popular confidence, was pursuing the propagation of the

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faith and training disciples in Myohyang mountain. When Hyujŏng received a royal command in the seventh month, he took up weapons in his own hands and propagated a general call to arms to all temples and monks in the country. The respondents were known as righteous monk soldiers (ŭisŭngbyŏng). Sa’myŏng taesa Yujŏng (1544–1610) (also known as Song’un taesa) received a written appeal from his honored teacher, Hyujŏng. Yujŏng was born into a humble yangban household in Milyang in Kyŏngsang Province. Losing his parents at a young age, he became a monk at fourteen, and at age eighteen, he was accepted into the Sŏn sect. Thereafter, he toured all the mountain temples in the country, and for a time was a disciple of Hyujŏng. When war broke out, he was training at P’yohun Temple in the Kŭmgang mountains in Kangwŏn Province. Mori Yoshinari’s Fourth Army even entered the Kŭmgang mountains, but Yujŏng argued that Korean mountain temples had no treasures and convinced them to withdraw. Yujŏng responded to his teacher’s written appeal to arms and led 150 monks out of the Kŭmgang mountains towards the king’s temporary court in P’yŏng’an Province while recruiting righteous monk soldiers along the way. The monk soldiers came under the command of Yu Sŏngnyong, Temporary Envoy to the Provinces (ch’ech’alsa) and commander-in-chief (towŏnsu).20 Hyujŏng was appointed Supreme Commander and Righteous Monk for the Eight Provinces and Sixteen Sects (p’aldo sipyuk chongdo ch’ongsŏp ŭisŭng), and Yujŏng was appointed Great General of the Righteous Monks (ŭisŭng todaechang). Eventually, Yujŏng replaced Hyujŏng because of Hyujŏng’s advanced age, and Yujŏng became supreme commander of about 2,000 righteous monks. Yujŏng’s righteous monks did not proceed in the direction of the temporary capital but established their headquarters in Sun’an, a suburb of P’yŏngyang, and attacked the transport corps of the Japanese army operating between P’yŏngyang and Hansŏng. As a result, grain shortages for the 18,000 Japanese troops in the P’yŏngyang garrison became serious. Moreover, the severe peninsular winter sapped the morale of the Japanese soldiers and produced consecutive outbreaks of illnesses. Despite these problems, Yukinaga adhered to the truce agreement with Shen Weijing and persevered in waiting for an imperial rescript from the Ming emperor. During this time, however, the Ming court pursued a reconstruction of forces to repel the Japanese. In the first month of 1593, a joint Chinese–Korean force of 50,000 crack troops led by the Ming commander Li Rusong, together with the Korean regular army, unilaterally abrogated the truce and attacked P’yŏngyang. The righteous monks provided reconnaissance on the Japanese forces inside the walls, guided attacking troops in battle, and fought in the vanguard. The Chinese–Korean army that drove out the Japanese forces from P’yŏngyang headed south to lay siege to Hansŏng. The righteous monks followed, and at the Battle of Surak Mountain, an access point for Hansŏng, they drove out the Japanese forces putting up a defense of the capital. To reward Yujŏng, the Korean king conferred on him Great Master of the Meditation School and Palace Ascendable Official (sŏngyo chongp’ansa kyŏm tangsang kwanjik,

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Sr. 3). For the bureaucrats within the court to recognize this special appointment testifies to the confidence they placed in Yujŏng; they needed the fighting strength of the righteous monks. After that, the righteous monks fought in numerous battles in every region and sometimes as the transport corps, sometimes as the constructors of mountain forts. They were entrusted with the most rigorous rear duties in support of the Chinese and Korean forces. Let us consider the special qualities of the righteous monks. They had a strong esprit de corps because they shared the Buddhist faith, and the social status of both officers and men was low-born. Having been part of a national church organization, they were able to function in a united and systematic way. Having been trained in mountain temples, they were in robust health and acquainted with the mountainous topography of the entire country. Because their daily life was self-sufficient, they excelled at being independently capable, and their skills were of assistance in producing provisions and material for the military. They were not married and could participate in battle without being anxious about dependants. In comparison with the righteous armies, however, the righteous monks were held in lower regard by the court. Conferring decorations on them for meritorious conduct in battle was not easily done, because of the opposition of the Confucian bureaucracy. Nevertheless, the monks wanted official recognition of Buddhism and the continuation of the Sŏn sect and fought tenaciously.21 The confidence of the king and the people towards Yujŏng steadily deepened. Yujŏng’s activities were remarkable: conducting peace negotiations with Katō Kiyomasa on four occasions and crossing to Japan after the war for audience with Tokugawa Ieyasu about the post-war dispensation. Those meetings built the basis for the post-war normalization of relations, and both countries preserved the peace between them with “neighborly relations” for 260 years, thereby creating a stable international order in East Asia.22

Conclusion This chapter has summarized the activities of the righteous armies in various provinces during the Imjin War. The following summarizes the similarities and differences among the provinces and pulls together the points of significance. The similarities are multiple. (1) The righteous armies were armed groups that arose spontaneously from among the populace, but it took court approval before they could be called righteous armies. The formation and conduct of the righteous armies differed from the regular army; they were self-reliant and original. (2) Leadership of the righteous armies came from local yangban (excepting the righteous monks) or local well-known and wealthy clans at the core of village rule. Although Chŏng Munbu in Hamgyŏng Province and Yi Chŏng’am in Hwanghae Province were not local yangban, their support structure lay with local yangban and local powerful clans. Yangban were the constituents of the ruling class with their summit in the king, and their calls to arms were strongly focused on aid to country and king. (3) The activities

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of the righteous armies were directed by the leadership, but the motivation to volunteer among the rank and file was local defense. That purpose was made manifest within the righteous army activities. (4) The righteous armies possessed a severe military code that they themselves created, and they strictly enforced it. Officers and men were highly valued within the ranks; social class was ignored; and real abilities and achievements were highly valued. That circumstance brought out the energy and fighting strength of each individual guerrilla. (5) The righteous armies were composed of different social levels, but the esprit de corps was strong because of the regional and kin groups based on village cooperative bodies. Moreover, the various social classes that were recruited into the righteous armies all carried strong aspirations to raise their social status. (6) When the righteous armies were established, there were many instances of competition with the regular army, but in the end, the righteous armies were subordinated to the direction of the court. The yangban leadership of the righteous armies presented no opposition to this development. (7) The fighting strength of the righteous armies was a greater threat to the Japanese forces than that of the regular army. Let us now consider the differences. (1) The timing of the creation of the righteous armies and their scale show differences depending on when the Japanese invaded their regions and how much damage the Japanese inflicted. (2) The shape of activities took many forms, dependent on the behavior of the Japanese armies and on regional peculiarities. In the various counties of Kyŏngsang and Chŏlla provinces, existing local defense structures to counter Japanese piracy were brought to life. The righteous armies in western Kyŏngsang province formed a loose regional force based on intimate ideological connections. From the origin of the Chŏlla righteous armies, they were a large military force, and the basis of their behavior sprang from a relatively strong regional exclusivity. (3) The righteous monk armies were special military forces that cannot be viewed the same as the other righteous armies; they made use of their special characteristics in their activities. Nevertheless, they were relatively undervalued in their military results. (4) The way the bu-Wae (those who surrendered to and cooperated with the Japanese) were handled differed by righteous army in each province. The differences sprang from their interaction with the Japanese military. The court also shifted from an extremely punitive approach at the opening of the conflict to a mitigating posture. (5) The conduct of the populace was not uniform and varied in complicated ways by province. At least, it was not a simple matter to take up arms against the invading Japanese. (6) The basic conception behind the righteous army leadership in each province was a Confucian notion of loyalty to the prince and love of country, but the historical background and basis for resistance differed. The righteous armies that appeared in 1592 smashed the local rule distributed across Korea’s eight provinces by the Japanese military. The righteous army activities were one of the most important primary factors for the frustration of the Toyotomi regime’s ambition to subjugate Ming China and

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extend dominion over Korea. We can understand Hideyoshi’s intent when he said, “the most frightening thing in Korea are the insurrectionists (ikki yakura).” Moreover, the activities of the righteous armies brought about various reforms in social status, military structure, and taxation in the Chosŏn kingdom and contributed to the development of Chosŏn society.

Notes Translated by James B. Lewis. 1 Translator’s note: “Left” and “right” refer to the king’s perspective facing south from the capital. 2 Translator’s note: A mid-sized military camp within the Chosŏn-period military structure. See Map 4. 3 Translator’s note: An official in charge of food and clothing for the royal family. 4 Translator’s note: For a description of extant military rosters and an analysis of the information they can provide on Chosŏn-period height, see James B. Lewis et al., “Toward an Anthropometric History of Chosŏn Dynasty Korea,” 2013. 5 Translator’s note: An official appointed to the Royal House Administration and its various temples, shrines, offices, halls, directorates, granaries, storehouses, and palaces. 6 Nukii Masayuki, Toyotomi seiken no kaigai shinryaku to Chōsen gihei kenkyū, 1996, Part II, sections 1 and 2. See also: Nukii Masayuki, “Nanmyō [Nam Myŏng or Cho Shik] gakuha no Jinshin gihei katsudō,” 2003. 7 Translator’s note: Provincial governors were usually Jr. 2 rank. 8 Translator’s note: Oh, Engraving Virtue, 2013, p. 230, translates kahaeng chaeso as “Travel Palace.” 9 Translator’s note: The ch’ot’osa was a special official dispatched to provinces at a time of war. The ch’angŭisa probably had a similar function. 10 Translator’s note: The kuryu refers to practitioners of the nine schools: Confucians, Daoists, Yin and Yang specialists, Legalists, Logicians, Mohists, Diplomats, Miscellaneous, and Agriculturalists. 11 Nukii Masayuki, Toyotomi seiken no kaigai shinryaku to Chōsen gihei kenkyū, 1996, Part II, section 3. 12 An official in the Merit Awards Administration (Ch’unghunbu), the Office of the Princesses’ Consort (Ŭibinbu), the Office of Loyal Ministers (Ch’ung’ikbu), the State Tribunal (Ŭigŭmbu), and the Kaesŏng Magistracy (Kaesŏngbu). 13 Translator’s note: The Ch’ungŭiwi was a special branch of the army under the Division of the South (ch’ungchwawi) among the Five Commands (owi), and officials were dispatched from the central military. 14 Nukii Masayuki, Toyotomi seiken no kaigai shinryaku to Chōsen gihei kenkyū, 1996, Part II, section 4. 15 Translators’ note: Kiyomasa crossed the Tumen River and raided Jurchen villages. See Map 2. 16 Nukii Masayuki, Toyotomi seiken no kaigai shinryaku to Chōsen gihei kenkyū, 1996, Part II, section 1 and Part III, section 4. See also: Nukii Masayuki, Hideyoshi to tatakatta Chōsen bushō, 1992, ch. 4. 17 A special official dispatched temporarily to the provinces in the midst of war. 18 Nukii Masayuki, “Jinshin Waran to Kōkaitō gihei,” 1999. 19 Translators’ note: The sŏn’gwa, or Sŏn examination, was the general term for the sŭnggwa, or monk’s examination, that dated back to the tenth century. Temporarily discontinued under King Sŏngjong or King Yŏnsan’gun (1469–1506), it was reinstated under King Myŏngjong (r. 1545–67). A euphemism in East Asia for passing

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the civil service examinations was “jumping the dragon gate” and referred to carp swimming upstream, leaping over the Yellow River waterfall at Dragon Gate, gaining admittance to a select group, and being transformed into dragons, which in this case became “monks jumping the dragon gate” (sŭngnyo tŭngyongmun). 20 Translators’ note: Yu Sŏngnyong was prime minister during the conflict and author of Chingbirok. 21 Translator’s note: The motivation of the monks is the subject of a Ph.D. dissertation by Samuel Dukhae Kim, “The Korean Monk-Soldiers in the Imjin Wars,” 1978. Kim concludes that patriotism may have been a motivation, but the stronger motivation was for recognition and improvement of the social status of monks. 22 Nukii Masayuki, “Jinshin Teiyū Waran oyobi sengo no Nitchō kōshō ni okeru Isei (Yujŏng) (Song’un taesa) no katsudō ni kansuru kōsatsu,” 2001.

References Kim, Samuel Dukhae. “The Korean Monk-Soldiers in the Imjin Wars: An analysis of Buddhist Resistance to the Hideyoshi Invasion 1592–1598,” Ph.D. dissertation, Columbia University, 1978. Lewis, James B., Seong Ho Jun, and Daniel Schwenkendiek. “Toward an Anthropometric History of Chosŏn Dynasty Korea, Sixteenth to Eighteenth Century,” Journal of the Historical Society 13:3 (2013): 239–70. Nukii, Masayuki (貫井正之). “Jinshin Teiyū Waran oyobi sengo no Nitchō kōshō ni okeru Isei (Yujŏng) (Song’un taesa) no katsudō ni kansuru kōsatsu (壬辰丁酉倭乱 および戦後の日朝交渉における惟政 (松雲大師) の活動に関する考察),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮学報) 178 (2001): 97–139. Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之). “Jinshin Waran to Kōkaitō gihei: Ri Teian gihei wo chūshin ni shite (壬辰倭乱と黄海道義兵 – 李廷〔アン〕義兵を中心にして),” Rekishi hyōron (歴史評論) 595 (1999): 2–16. Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之). “Nanmyō [Nam Myŏng or Cho Shik] gakuha no Jinshin gihei katsudō: toku ni Keishō udō ni okeru Jō Ninkō [Chŏng Inhong] gihei wo chūshin ni shite (南冥学派の壬辰義兵活動ーとくに慶尚右道における鄭仁弘義 兵を中心にしてー),” Rekishigaku kenkyū (歴史学研究) 778 (2003): 18–33. Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之). Hideyoshi to tatakatta Chōsen bushō (秀吉と戦った朝鮮 武将). Tokyo: Rokkō Shuppan, 1992. Nukii Masayuki (貫井正之). Toyotomi seiken no kaigai shinryaku to Chōsen gihei kenkyū (豊臣政権の海外侵略と朝鮮義兵研究). Tokyo: Aoki shoten, 1996. Oh, Young Kyun. Engraving Virtue: The Printing History of a Premodern Korea Moral Primer. Leiden: Brill, 2013.

9

Ming grand strategy and the intervention in Korea Kenneth M. Swope

Victory in War lies in establishing awe. – Wei Liaozi The ruler cannot be without awesomeness, for if he lacks awesomeness, he will lose his authority. – Three Strategies of Huang Shigong1

While the period of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) is widely regarded as having been one of the high points of traditional Chinese art and culture, far less scholarly attention has focused upon the military dimensions of the empire.2 This is due both to the biases of traditional Chinese historians, who were wont to downplay the importance of the military and military officials in their records, and to the efforts of the Manchu conquerors of Ming China, who pointed to the military decline of the dynasty as one of the primary reasons for their own seizure of the Mandate of Heaven. As a result of such self-serving interpretations, modern historians have, for the most part, been content to accept standard interpretations of the decline and fall of the Ming dynasty and have neglected an examination of the military achievements of the empire.3 One prominent historian has even characterized the Ming as “an introverted and noncompetitive state.”4 This obscures the historical reality of the Ming Empire that, even during its waning days, was one of the largest and most militarily powerful states in the world. Modern scholars are now starting to acknowledge this fact and examine some of its ramifications. For example, the Ming has recently been accurately described as the world’s first gunpowder empire, a fourteenth-century “military superpower.”5 Another historian has offered a fascinating re-examination of the great Ming naval missions of the early fifteenth century, describing them as a form of “force projection.”6 David Robinson has published a fascinating study of “martial spectacles” at the Ming court wherein he delineates various ways in which Ming emperors sought to embrace the military aspects of their rule, focusing on such things as ritual hunts, archery contests, military parades and reviews, and martial games such as polo, and situates these activities within a broader Eurasian context of universal rulership.7

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Moreover, the Ming empire was ethnically and geographically diverse and the Ming military was forced to deal with a range of strategic problems that far exceeded those of its contemporaries. That the Ming state was able to handle these problems successfully for nearly three centuries is a testament to the military might of the empire and warrants far greater attention from both students of Chinese history and students of comparative military history. This chapter will focus upon the larger strategic concerns of the Ming in order to determine whether or not the Ming in fact had a grand strategy for maintaining dynastic security and advancing the state’s interests. Below, I will also consider whether or not the Ming government can be said to have possessed a strategic culture. Because of the tremendous amount of primary materials extant, the Ming dynasty presents a very fertile area for the study of such matters in the early-modern world. Scholars can trace and evaluate the decision-making process at all stages to arrive at conclusions concerning the coherent articulation and application of grand strategy for the Imjin War, while also identifying potential strategic cultures that may have influenced such strategies. Therefore, I will summarize recent literature pertaining to both grand strategy and strategic culture in Chinese history with an emphasis upon the Ming period, before advancing my conceptualizations of Ming grand strategy. In addition to examining the Ming context, I will offer grounds for comparison with other early-modern gunpowder empires. Before launching into a discussion of Ming grand strategy, working definitions of key concepts used in this chapter are in order. I accept Iain Johnston’s broad definition of strategic culture as the idea that different states have different predominant sets of strategic preferences that are rooted in the “early” or the “formative” military experiences of the state or its predecessor, and are influenced to some degree by the philosophical, political, cultural, and cognitive characteristics of the state and state elites as these develop through time.8 Moreover, strategic culture is an integrated system of symbols that acts to establish pervasive and long-lasting grand strategic preferences by formulating concepts of the role and efficacy of military force in interstate political affairs, and by clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that the strategic preferences seem uniquely realistic and efficacious.9 As indicated above, imperial China provides an excellent test case for such theories because of the extent of its written tradition, not to mention the conscious repeated invocations of precedent and historical lessons by officials and policy makers. Chinese emperors all received extensive instruction in history and an extensive understanding of the reasons for past decisions, and the ramifications of such decisions informed the policy-making process.10 As for grand strategy, I will again follow the lead of Johnston, who employs the definition provided by the United States Department of Defense in 1987: grand strategy is the coordination of all elements of national power

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(economic, political, and military) to accomplish “national” goals, primarily security against external threats.11 A grand strategy must therefore identify threats and propose remedies for those threats. Of course, both threats and solutions to threats will evolve over time and will be contingent upon a variety of personal and institutional factors. Nonetheless, if one accepts the notion that states have strategic cultures, the ways in which these affect the formulation of grand strategy can provide insight into the aims and actions of states when confronted by military threats. As noted above, the topic of Chinese strategic culture as it pertains to grand strategy has recently received a fair amount of attention from the international relations and policy analyst community. Since several of these authors reference historical antecedents, particularly the Ming dynasty, it is worth discussing three of their contributions herein. These are the works of Feng Huiyun, Iain Johnston, and Yuan-kang Wang, all of whom weave international relations and political science theories into their discussions of Chinese grand strategy.12 I will begin with a discussion of Feng Huiyun’s research because her work most closely reflects what might be termed a more “traditional” pacifist interpretation of Chinese strategic culture. Indeed, at the outset of her chapter on China’s strategic culture she challenges Johnston’s assertion that Chinese strategic culture “exhibits an aggressive and expansionist preference.”13 Feng operates from the premise that Confucian thought as it emerged towards the end of the Warring States period (c.403–221 BCE) assumed predominance in the creation of China’s strategic culture.14 She contends that Confucianism “reflected the people’s general aspiration for peace” and was domestically focused. Therefore, “the Chinese way of expansion of the Chinese order was through cultural rather than military means and the final goal was not territorial or political rule over other states.”15 She continues by contending that “the unique part of Chinese Confucian thought is that … it relies on virtue and self-cultivation of leaders/rulers to maintain peace and prestige rather than resorting to force for obedience in handling inter-state relations.”16 While acknowledging that many scholars have contested this idealized notion of Confucianism’s pervasive influence over state policy, Feng nonetheless asserts that the constraining influence of Confucianism, with its emphasis upon non-violence, defensiveness, and righteous war, has created a Chinese strategic culture that has been primarily defensive since the Warring States era.17 She takes this one step further by contending that “in over 2000 years of feudal rule the feudal empires of China seldom displayed aggressive intentions towards other countries nor made any attempts at expansion despite the capability to do so.”18 Such a rosy interpretation would be surprising to the ancestors of many of China’s fifty-six recognized “national minority” groups today, whose forced assimilation into the empire resembles that of their counterparts all over the globe.19 But Feng takes her argument even further and claims that “In China’s 5000 years of history, there were only two large-scale

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military expansionist movements carried out by the nomadic minorities of Mongolian and Manchurian people.”20 In making such statements Feng is not only seeing traditional Chinese military culture through an overwhelmingly positive lens, but is also evincing a remarkable degree of Han Chinese chauvinism. She further points to the Great Wall as the ultimate symbol of Chinese defensiveness and pacifism, a popular interpretation that has been problematized by Arthur Waldron in his classic study of the policy decisions that resulted in the huge expansion of the Wall during the Ming dynasty.21 And even more interesting is the fact that while Feng decries Johnston for positing the dominance of an aggressive, realpolitik streak in Chinese strategic culture that extends throughout Chinese history, she does the same in arguing for her own virtuous, defensive-oriented, Confucian model.22 There are two major problems with Feng’s presentation of Chinese strategic culture. The first is that she presumes the nearly absolute and total dominance of the Confucian philosophical school and its principles. In fact, as Feng admits, Confucianism was only one of the major philosophical schools, and the others were never completely subordinated. Indeed, Chinese emperors and many of their advisers tended to prefer the harsher prescriptions of the Legalist (Fajia) school, despite its loss of legitimacy as a result of having been the official orthodoxy of the short-lived Qin Empire (221–206 BCE).23 In fact, however, it is more appropriate to speak of the imperial Chinese state as a Confucian–Legalist state, as the government often favored and employed coercive Legalist methods of government as well as more aggressive approaches to foreign relations. The intermingling of philosophical schools, including Daoism, is also evident in the ancient Chinese military writings, grouped together in the Song dynasty as the Seven Military Classics (Wujing qishu).24 Feng, however, chooses to ignore elements of these texts that contradict her emphasis on pacifism. Interestingly enough, Johnston relies on the same texts to arrive at a diametrically opposed interpretation of traditional China’s strategic culture. The second major weakness of Feng’s argument is that she relies too much on rhetoric and pays little attention to actual battle accounts and memorials concerning warfare. Admittedly her primary focus is on the Maoist era, but even a cursory reading of such texts from the pre-modern era would suffice to raise serious doubts about her underlying premise of an eternal, pacifist China. Moreover, even for the contemporary period she tends to accept the rhetoric of the People’s Republic of China that China was, is, and always will be a purely defensive state at face value. As Yuan-kang Wang notes, however, most states contend that they are defensive, so we must look beyond the pronouncements of leaders and examine behaviors in response to multiple stimuli to get a more comprehensive sense of grand strategy and strategic preferences.25 In contrast to Feng’s interpretation, Johnston argues that over time the Chinese developed two major strategic cultures that helped shape their grand strategy.26 The first of these, which he calls the Confucian–Mencian paradigm, was based upon what might be considered accommodationist principles. This

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is akin to Feng’s conceptualization of the Confucian-oriented state. In this framework Chinese policy makers generally attempted to defuse security threats by diplomatic maneuvering, moral government, bribes, and marriage alliances.27 As indicated above, traditionally scholars have tended to accept this view of Chinese strategic culture rather uncritically, largely because generations have been influenced by the Confucian rhetoric deployed in much of the historical literature. The second paradigm, which he terms the parabellum paradigm, posits a much darker view of the world and presumes that war is inevitable. States must be prepared to fight and should act aggressively whenever possible to keep their enemies on the defensive. This is a much more realpolitik view of Chinese strategic culture. Perhaps surprisingly, drawing upon his readings of the aforementioned Chinese military classics, which he deems to constitute the basic corpus of Ming decision making, in conjunction with his review of Ming policy memorials, Johnston concludes that the Ming favored the more aggressive approach to security problems.28 As he puts it, the Seven Military Classics “share a preference for offensive strategies over defensive and accommodationist options” and emphasize flexibility as key to strategic choice.29 Thus, in marked contrast to Feng, Johnston sees the underlying Confucian culture of imperial China as being primarily symbolic, whereas the parabellum culture was both operative and dynamic, and thus sheds greater light on Chinese strategic preferences.30 He finds that there is in fact “little evidence” that the Confucian–Mencian strategic culture had any general influence on policy choices, at least with respect to the Mongol threat, which is his focus.31 Johnston terms his approach “cultural realism.” While Johnston’s overall argument is far more persuasive due to his extensive use of primary source materials such as policy memorials, his study still has weaknesses. First, he presumes that the Seven Military Classics were integral in the socialization of top military and civil officials and that they provided the “textual and intellectual basis for much of the extensive writing on military affairs in the Ming period.”32 These presumptions are only partially correct. While all high-ranking civil officials and most military officials would have been conversant with these texts, that does not mean that they regularly looked to them for guidance or systematically applied their lessons. In fact, no less an authority than the Kangxi emperor (r. 1661–1722) famously declared the military classics to be worthless. Having read a large number of Ming military documents, reports, and memorials, I find references to the military classics rare enough to note them down whenever I find them. And though Johnston states that the military classics are often referenced in late Ming military manuals and encyclopedias, such practice was standard procedure in Chinese writing, perhaps not much more unusual than references to the thought of Mao Zedong early in the communist era. Second, his description of what constitutes aggressive, offensive operations is often problematic as he portrays reactions to Mongol incursions as indicative of an aggressive foreign policy posture, though he concedes that offensive strategies were less likely to be pursued when the Ming was militarily weak.33

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More recently Yuan-kang Wang has attempted to modify Johnston’s conceptualization of Chinese strategic behavior. Adopting a much longer temporal framework, Wang argues that Chinese states from the Song dynasty (960–1279) onwards have operated in accordance with their relative power vis-à-vis their enemies. When powerful, Chinese states adopted an aggressive, expansionist grand strategy. When they were weak, Chinese states adopted defensive or accommodationist strategies. But in general he contends that states are in fact “primed for offense,” so we should expect offensive actions whenever the opportunity presents itself.34 Nevertheless, Wang cautions against rejecting the influence of Confucian acculturation and Confucian influence upon the creation of Chinese strategic culture and grand strategy.35 Indeed, there were times when Confucianism exerted an ameliorating influence upon strategic behavior, especially with respect to quelling domestic revolts. But in general, the anarchic nature of international systems pushed China towards aggressive realpolitik behavior in the interest of survival, at least according to Wang.36 In other words, power considerations and capabilities trump variables such as culture or ideology. This brings us back to the question of whether or not the Ming had a grand strategy and if so, what was it? Johnston identifies three ideal types of grand strategy, which he terms accommodationist, defensive, and offensive. The first type relies upon diplomacy, alliance building, and low levels of coercion. In such a grand strategy the ends of policy exclude the physical and political elimination of an enemy and the annexation of territory. Defensive grand strategy, by contrast, is more coercive, but still focuses upon the static defense of fixed boundaries. Security is achieved primarily through the mobilization of internal resources rather than alliance building. The annexation of territory and elimination of enemies is generally not pursued. Offensive grand strategies are characterized by aggressive, expansionist behavior with a high level of coercion. The strategic goal behind the use of force is total military victory and the annexation of at least some territory, though the political aims of this type of grand strategy are malleable beyond the desire to eliminate an enemy’s military capabilities.37 Johnston admits that these are ideal types and that realities strayed from these ideals. Moreover, there have been several notable efforts to identify grand strategies for traditional China, most of which encompass the aforementioned categories to varying degrees.38 So where does the Ming fit? I contend that at various times the Ming dynasty embraced all three of Johnston’s types of grand strategy, but in fact Ming grand strategy can be summarized as endeavoring to “manifest awe” (wei) with respect to both foreign and domestic enemies. As by far the most powerful state within its sphere of influence for most of its existence, the primary goal of Ming rulers and policy makers was to maintain predominance for the sake of domestic prosperity and regional stability. This was accomplished by a number of means including building unequal alliances with neighbors via the so-called tributary system, launching punitive campaigns into the steppes and around China’s frontiers, building impressive defensive structures such

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as the Great Wall, endeavoring to maintain military technological superiority vis-à-vis its neighbors, and dispatching huge armadas around the world to show the flag, so to speak.39 Far from being non-competitive, the Ming consistently sought ways to retain its position at the apex of the political and economic order in East Asia. But the means by which the Ming did this varied over time according to the relative capabilities of the state and the predilections of its rulers and prominent officials. In other words, personalities mattered and the interests of emperors and their advisers played a major role in the articulation and application of grand strategy. Therefore, it is essential that scholars seeking to identify grand strategies familiarize themselves with the key personalities, factions, and debates of the era in question. For historians of the Western tradition, this might seem like common sense. It has long been standard practice to emphasize individual initiative in the pursuit of national goals for Western monarchies. Geoffrey Parker’s classic study of the grand strategy of Philip II of Spain serves as an outstanding example of examining the relationship between personal and national goals.40 But until relatively recently, historians of China have been less attentive to the issue of imperial agency in policy formation and execution.41 Part of this may stem from the nature of the Chinese historical record. Emperors tend to be described in rather stock phrases for the express purpose of illustrating the possession of certain stock attributes such as benevolence, filiality, or righteousness. Thus many of them emerge as rather colorless, disengaged figures, with the notable exception of dynastic founders. By the Ming period, however, we have the advantage of an exponentially larger primary source base that includes many private and unofficial materials that allow us to move beyond stereotypes and construct a better understanding of emperors and their officials as individuals with particular interests and motivations.42 Furthermore, a large number of policy memorials, battlefield dispatches, and official communications between commanders in the field and the court have survived, enabling us to trace decision-making processes and rationales. A reading of hundreds of such documents from the late Ming period (c.1570–1644) would suggest that there were four major determinants of Ming grand strategy. These were: textual authority and tradition, or past practice; immediate defense concerns; the current alignment of factions of officials; and the preferences and interests of the reigning monarch. The relative importance of these determinants with respect to one another varied by time period and circumstances but all of them continuously interacted. Such an interpretation takes into consideration the elements of Chinese strategic culture and cultural paradigms highlighted by other authors as well as the general existence of a realpolitik approach to military threats. But it also allows for a greater degree of individual agency than is implied by more theoretical approaches. This is important because, in the end, we are in fact talking about an imperial, autocratic system. In theory, Ming emperors had absolute power. The degree to which they exercised that power varied by the individual, but one should never lose sight of the fact that it was a despotic system.

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When considering the Ming, or any other Chinese dynasty, comparative military historians should first keep in mind the sheer size of the empire. Even though the Ming empire was much smaller than the succeeding Qing (1644–1911) state in terms of territory, it was still larger and far more populous (200 million people by 1600) than any of its contemporaries. Managing an empire of this size required a massive military establishment capable of dealing with a multiplicity of threats in varying terrains. The Ming achieved just that. Even a cursory perusal of the Veritable Records of the Ming Dynasty (Ming shilu) reveals that military affairs were always in the forefront of Ming concerns. And Ming emperors, not unlike their early-modern counterparts elsewhere, had to process an enormous amount of information on a daily basis just to keep abreast of basic developments. Such difficulties were only exacerbated in times of crisis and often tested the abilities of emperors to both delegate and arrive at forceful, meaningful solutions to pressing problems. In this sense Parker’s likening the monarch of a vast empire to a modern CEO of a multinational corporation is a useful analogy that would apply to the Ming as well.43 When viewed in this light, one gets a better sense of the dynamism and flexibility of Ming grand strategy as the empire constantly tried different ways to “manifest awe.” Before moving to an overview of the different eras of Ming grand strategy, it is useful to enumerate the primary security threats faced by the Ming. Note that these security threats varied over time and that they often overlapped with one another. Thus, a border disturbance could result in the mounting of a punitive campaign against a Mongol tribe or an incursion into a neighboring state such as Burma. But in a broad sense we can identify six major security problems faced by the Ming: 1 2 3 4 5 6

dealing with the Mongol threat maintaining secure borders maintaining internal security against bandits and peasant rebels coastal threats and piracy maintaining order among tributary states the Jurchens/Manchus in Northeast Asia.

James Tong, on the other hand, identifies three subtypes within the universe of armed uprisings in the Ming: dynastic contenders, military challengers, and armed disturbances.44 While not disagreeing with Tong’s categorizations from an empirical standpoint, the list is derived from readings of primary and secondary materials and is meant to reflect the way security problems were treated in contemporary sources. Mongols, for example, are generally treated as distinct from sectarian rebels or common bandits. Some of these threats were unique to the late Ming, but most of them could be described as being endemic to traditional (prior to the nineteenth century) Chinese empires and some remain present today.45

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As a result of the multiplicity of these threats, far from being a static, insular, political ostrich content to hide behind a Great Wall, as suggested by Ray Huang and others, the Ming were constantly developing new technologies and experimenting with new tactics to realize the dynasty’s strategic aims. They were also more than willing to adopt superior foreign technologies, such as firearms, when they had the opportunity. When made aware of the effectiveness of Portuguese firearms in the early sixteenth century, Emperor Jiajing (r. 1522–66) ordered the Ministry of Works to establish a bureau for the manufacture of “red barbarian cannons” and other new weapons technologies.46 It is true that the Ming were not always successful in these endeavors. Responses to military threats varied according to relative dynastic military strength as well as the particular needs and interests of individual monarchs and competing official power blocs. Thus it was only to be expected that under some emperors the Ming tended to be more aggressive, while adopting more conciliatory approaches to military problems under others. Nevertheless, on the whole, the Ming was far more aggressive and militarily competent than has been assumed. Overlooking this fact seems to be due in part to the tendency of both scholar officials at the time and later historians to gloss over the ever-present violence in and around Ming China in favor of extolling the empire’s many artistic and literary achievements. For these writers and their later admirers Ming China represented the apex of civilization. To dwell on violence and the need for a strong military to quell frequent outbreaks of violence would undermine this myth of domestic tranquility. The Manchu conquerors of the Ming embraced such views as well, offering their sanction to the composition of histories that contrasted the lawless disorder of the late Ming period with the halcyon earlier days of the empire when military prowess was less necessary.47 But, as recent studies have shown, Ming China, not unlike medieval and early-modern Western Europe, was a very violent place and high culture was a thin veneer more than anything else.48 For example, a recent study finds that the Ming engaged in 579 military conflicts in the 275 years from the founding of the dynasty until 1643, thus leaving out the final battles with domestic rebels, independent warlords, and Manchu invaders.49 Approximately twothirds of the chapters of a famous topical history work from the Ming period, Gu Yingtai’s Mingshi jishi benmo, deal with military campaigns or military affairs.50 James Tong identifies some 630 cases of collective violence over the 277 years of the Ming.51 While Tong’s findings indicate that outbreaks of collective violence tended to take place on the peripheries of the empire, more recent work by David Robinson suggests that even the capital region was not exempt from endemic violence and the constant threat of rebellion.52 Works such as these argue convincingly for a recasting of the standard narrative of Ming history and demand scholars re-assess the nature of law and order in imperial China in general.53 In terms of periodization, I propose six eras of Ming grand strategy. While I suggest that the underlying goal was consistently to “manifest awe” and

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retain pre-eminence in East Asia, the means by which this general goal was pursued varied in accordance with military capabilities and imperial preferences. I conceptualize these eras as follows: 1 2 3 4 5 6

era of consolidation (c. 1355–1403) era of expansion (c. 1403–49) era of stability and defensiveness (c. 1450–1570) interlude under Emperor Zhengde (1506–21) renewed aggression and assertion of power (c. 1570–1610) back on the defensive (c. 1610–44).

The era of consolidation (c.1355–1403) The era of consolidation spans the reigns of the first two Ming emperors as well as the military rise of the dynastic founder, Zhu Yuanzhang (1328–98), who reigned as Emperor Hongwu, or “Overflowing Martial Brilliance,” from 1368 to 1398. He was just the second commoner to become emperor in Chinese history and he did so by virtue of his ability to both manage armies and co-opt civil officials, defeating a series of formidable rivals before driving the remnants of the Yuan (Mongol) imperial court to Inner Mongolia.54 He then embarked upon the systematic conquest and pacification of the core provinces of China proper while also stabilizing his borders by both military actions and by opening tributary relations with neighboring states. The latter practice entailed the states around China recognizing the superiority of the Chinese emperor in exchange for the right to conduct trade and receive investiture from the emperor, which bolstered claims of domestic legitimacy. This had been done by earlier dynasties, but the Ming extended and refined the system considerably and it came to serve both trade and defense functions. In the latter case, in addition to providing the Ming empire with friendly neighbors, who could also serve as buffers, the rulers of these realms could call upon the Chinese for military assistance in the case of domestic disturbances or foreign invasions. Nonetheless, despite its hierarchical nature, in general the system provided a great degree of international stability, because, according to a recent study, it “provided a regionally shared set of formal and informal norms and institutions that guided relations” and allowed for considerable informal equality.55 This must be kept in mind when considering why and how the Ming intervened in Chosŏn Korea in 1592. Because Hongwu had been a peasant and had suffered under the Yuan, he sought to make Ming China a stable, agrarian empire. To this end he was very cautious about engaging in expensive foreign wars and cautioned his successors against recklessly attacking China’s neighbors, even compiling a list of countries that were not to be invaded. Nevertheless, he threatened the use of force against both Korea and Japan when they proved lax in sending tribute and acknowledging the new empire in the case of the former and in suppressing piracy in the case of the latter. Ming threats and internal factional politics

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associated with the continuing support of the Mongol royal family led to the creation of a new dynasty in Korea in 1392 by a general who quickly sought recognition from the Ming. This was the same year that a long Japanese civil war ended, prompting the then shōgun to accept investiture from the Ming as the “King of Japan.” Thus, the tributary system was integral to early Ming grand strategy wherein the new monarch sought to reassert Chinese (as opposed to Mongol) hegemony in East Asia, albeit in a less expansive and aggressive fashion. His successor and grandson appeared poised to continue these policies but he was first moved to curtail the military power of his uncles, who had been placed in command of military forces around the empire. Attempts at curtailment eventually prompted a civil war led by Zhu Yuanzhang’s fourth son, Zhu Di, who would reign as the Emperor Yongle (“Perpetual Happiness”) after crushing his nephew.56 Yongle’s reign began the next era of Ming grand strategy.

The era of expansion (c. 1403–49) The new emperor was very self-conscious about having been a usurper. Therefore he endeavored to become one of the greatest emperors in all of Chinese history so as to erase the potential shame of his deed. His officials first erased the reign of his deposed nephew (whose corpse was never found after the imperial palace at Nanjing was burned at the end of the civil war) from the historical record, instead extending the reign of his father for another four years. The second Ming emperor’s reign, Jianwen, was not restored to the historical record until the reign of Wanli (1573–1620). Yongle then embarked upon a series of building projects, restoring and extending the Grand Canal, building a palace to relocate the capital in Beijing where his princedom had been located, and ordering the construction of the Temple of Heaven.57 He also ordered the compilation of an encyclopedia that was intended to gather classics, histories, philosophies, and literary works and preserve them for posterity. When the final work was completed, it encompassed 22,877 chapters in 11,095 volumes and was called The Grand Encyclopedia of Yongle [Yongle da dian].58 But he is best known for his military exploits and his dispatch of the fabled treasure fleets across the seas as far as the east coast of Africa. Indeed, more than any other Ming monarch, Yongle embraced the principle of manifesting awe. The Ming naval expeditions have been the subject of much interest and controversy over the past decade due to the publication of popular works that suggest the Ming discovered America in the course of these voyages.59 Leaving aside such speculations, the voyages can best be understood as efforts by Yongle to bolster his international reputation and prestige vis-àvis other states in Asia with the military might and technological prowess of the Ming Empire. While traditional sources also suggested that Yongle launched the expeditions in search of his missing nephew, Edward Dreyer notes, on the basis of surviving Ming-period inscriptions, that the expeditions

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all used military force to resolve local disputes in the favor of the Ming and/ or enforced the Ming tributary system and confined sanctioned foreign trade within it.60 The sheer size of the great Ming ships made a powerful impression upon the peoples they visited, just as the emperor intended. This is attested by the fact that records of their arrival can still be found in many of the countries they visited. Yongle also pursued an aggressive policy towards the Mongols, personally leading several major military campaigns into the steppe even as he sought to assimilate Mongols remaining in China proper into the Ming military and society.61 Rejecting the sage advice of his father, Yongle also engaged in a failed effort to colonize Vietnam, which lasted from 1407 to 1428.62 In this instance the Ming were initially invited to intervene in a succession dispute by a deposed monarch. When the Ming escort columns accompanying the former ruler were ambushed en route to the Vietnamese capital, the court decided to react with full force, thereby honoring their commitment as tributary suzerain. The initial Ming counterattack was so successful that, acting on the advice of commanders in the field, the Ming decided to annex Vietnam, making it the Chinese province of Jiaozhi. Although they had limited support from among some members of the literati class who identified with elite Ming culture, a fierce guerrilla movement spread throughout the countryside. Though the Ming government held on for over two decades, they eventually decided to cut their losses and pull out, accepting a face-saving offer to invest the erstwhile rebel leader as the legitimate king of Vietnam. By this time Yongle had died and his successors were committed to a less aggressive foreign policy. But this still did not indicate a total shift away from aggressive military operations as much as a re-prioritization of threats. The naval expeditions were curtailed after the early 1430s as too costly, in part because the court wanted to focus greater resources on countering the Mongol threat in the northwest. The Ming also continued to consolidate its control over southwest China, clashing with a rising Burmese polity known as Luchuan to the Chinese in the 1440s. After over a decade of fighting the Ming apprehended and executed a local ruler and came to an arrangement that more or less fixed the Sino-Burmese border, though there were sporadic problems until the mid sixteenth century.63 Meanwhile, the same man who had urged the Ming to pursue an aggressive policy in the southwest, the eunuch official Wang Zhen, encouraged the young Ming emperor to personally lead the army against the Mongol chieftain Esen, who had been causing serious trouble for the Ming for some time and seemed on the verge of reunifying the Mongol tribes into a force that could seriously challenge Ming hegemony. Moreover, the Mongol leader had insulted the Chinese monarch by reputedly demanding an inflated price for tributary horses he had sold to the Ming and by having the temerity to request the hand of a Ming princess in marriage for his son, presumably to strengthen the personal ties between the two rulers and enhance Esen’s own legitimacy vis-à-vis other steppe rulers.

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Goaded into action by Wang Zhen, the Emperor Zhengtong hoped to emulate his great grandfather and ensure the continued reputation of the Ming Empire among the Mongol tribes. Having recently suppressed a pair of revolts in southeast China in addition to handling the ongoing troubles with Luchuan, the emperor felt confident that the Ming armies could control Esen. In the summer of 1449 the Ming assembled a massive army, said to number as many as 500,000, and set forth despite inadequate provisioning and an overall lack of preparations. Bad weather and internal strife among the officials hampered the army from the inception of the campaign and the army truncated its mission after just over two weeks and before they even entered the steppe, in part because Esen had decimated an advance column. But upon their return to Beijing, the army was ambushed by Esen’s forces near the postal station of Tumu and the emperor himself was captured. Shocked at his great fortune, rather than drive directly for Beijing, Esen retreated to the steppe with his imperial prize and war booty. To his astonishment, the Ming simply enthroned Zhengtong’s brother and went about bolstering the defenses of Beijing against an anticipated Mongol strike. Esen’s assault on the capital was thwarted in the autumn of 1449. After nearly a year of negotiations, the former emperor was returned to the Ming, in exchange for a restoration of Esen’s tributary relations. The Tumu Incident (Ch. Tumu zhi bian), as it became known, thus marked the end of the era of aggressive Ming military action.64

The era of stability and defensiveness (c. 1450–1570) Chastened by the failure at Tumu, the next century and more of Ming rule was generally marked by defensiveness and retrenchment. The economy was stable and the primary military threat remained the Mongol tribes to the northwest. This precipitated an endless series of policy debates at the Ming court between those who favored aggressive action in the form of a sustained military presence on the steppe with destabilizing punitive campaigns and surgical strikes into Mongol territories and those who advocated a static defense. The most significant result of these debates was the construction of the Great Wall, which began in earnest from the 1470s. The vast majority of the Great Wall that tourists see today was in fact constructed during the mid to late Ming period. It was a compromise solution and was designed to augment the pre-existing Nine Border Garrisons that formed a defensive ring around the capital, oriented towards the north. And while many have emphasized the defensive character of the Wall, it is important to note that the Wall was also seen as a manifestation of Ming might and resources and was used as a staging area for offensive operations. Nonetheless, it is true that during this era the Ming military reached its nadir, marked by raids on Beijing led by the Mongol chieftain Altan Khan in the early 1550s. Still, the Ming court should not be seen as entirely oblivious to its military decay. Despite the defensive preferences of Ming rulers and their advisers in this era, there were repeated efforts to upgrade

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the quality of the Ming armies and create new training divisions in order for the Ming to retain its military edge. But such efforts were often subject to the vagaries of factional politics so implementation was not consistent.65 The reign of the Emperor Jiajing (r. 1522–66) also marked the heyday of so-called “Japanese” piracy in Ming China.66 Most of these “pirates” were amphibious bandits. They were also not exclusively Japanese, but included seamen from all over Asia and even Africa. They usually operated along the southeast coast of China and had extensive contacts with local society. Many pirate bands were supported or sponsored by local officials. Ming relations with Japan were never as close as Ming–Korean relations and the two governments seldom cooperated in eradicating piracy.67 But when the Ming and the Ashikaga bakufu (1336–1573) were strong (perhaps up to 1470 in the case of Japan), piracy was controlled. The emergence of large-scale piracy at this particular period coincided with the onset of civil war in Japan. A bloody clash between Japanese tributary envoys and Chinese subjects at the port city of Ningbo in 1523 was followed by a general Ming ban on maritime trade with Japan in 1548, though it is unclear why it took more than three decades for the Ming to enact this prohibition. Coincidentally, piracy along China’s southeast coast spiked as the Ming was faced with the growing threat of the Mongol leader Altan Khan. As was true with many of the other threats described herein, the wokou (J. wakō, K. waegu) never constituted a serious challenge to Ming authority. But the pirates highlighted dynastic corruption, inefficiency, and military weakness in the mid sixteenth century. The state’s inability to deal with this rather minor threat on its coasts led the Ming to develop a more formidable navy, which acquitted itself well in the war against Japan in the 1590s. Piracy also led to the appointment of Qi Jiguang (1528–88), who would become the most famous and influential of all Ming commanders, to the southeast theater, where he devised new tactics for engaging and defeating pirates.68 Qi later composed several training manuals describing the techniques he used. Some of these manuals were later studied by Korean commanders battling the Japanese in the 1590s. The suppression of piracy along the southeast coast coincided with two developments. The first was the lifting of the general ban on maritime trade by Emperor Longqing (r. 1567–72) in 1567. The second was the general revival of Ming military power carried out under the auspices of the emperor’s top adviser, Zhang Juzheng (1525–82), a patron of Qi Jiguang and the son of a military officer. In addition to appointing competent officers to important commands, Zhang believed in bolstering Ming defenses along the coast by improving early warning systems and reconstructing decaying walls and other coastal defenses. Of course, the Ming defenses were also aided by the fact that the Japanese situation was becoming more stable, particularly after Toyotomi Hideyoshi rose to power in 1582. Thus, while there were other piratical troubles throughout the remainder of the Ming period, the pirate scourge of the mid sixteenth century was eradicated by a combination of effective defensive

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measures, pro-active naval construction, and more lenient trading policies.69 While the Ming court was not quite as active in this era as they had been earlier, they were still flexible and pragmatic with respect to their policies and managed to retain their superior strategic position even against formidable threats.

The Zhengde interlude (1506–21) The Ming ruler Zhengde was perhaps the most interesting and colorful of all the Ming monarchs. Somewhat derogatorily canonized as Wuzong, the “Martial Ancestor,” Zhengde was the first Ming emperor since Zhengtong to personally lead military expeditions against the Mongols in the steppe. He also consorted frequently with eunuchs, earning him more dislike from his staid Confucian advisers. But unlike his ancestor, Zhengde did not need to be prodded into military action, he reveled in it. He even went so far as to give himself a false identity as a Ming military officer and assigned himself to military missions. He supposedly took a few Mongol heads during some of his expeditions as he “earned” his way up through the ranks. He spent more time outside of Beijing than any emperor had since Yongle, even creating a Mongol-style mobile tent city to accompany him on forays to the northwest. His taste for the exotic even extended to a preference for Muslim girls from the steppe lands west of Ming China, now part of Xinjiang Province.70 For all his faults in their eyes, later Confucian-oriented historians grudgingly admitted that Zhengde achieved a fair amount to reverse the military decline of the Ming. His victory over a large Mongol raiding party in 1517 was one of the few times in the sixteenth century that the Ming defeated such a major force in an open field battle, as opposed to a siege. In addition to his continuous military activities against the Mongols, the emperor presided over the quelling of an attempt at usurpation by the Prince of Ning, an effort that took only forty-three days, though he was unable to personally participate in the military operations because the rebellion had been suppressed so expeditiously.71 However, in addition to his unbecoming love of all things martial, he was criticized for his womanizing, his drinking, his choice of unsavory personal companions, and his general disrespect towards civil officials. In short, his personal vision of himself was not what his officials wanted in an emperor.72 However, such concerns bring us back to the personal factor stressed at the outset of this chapter. Personality and personal interests mattered a great deal in the autocratic Ming system. No matter what their officials thought, forceful emperors could and did pursue their own strategic goals, particularly when they were able to adroitly use other power blocs, such as eunuchs and military officials, to counterbalance civil officials. Wanli (r. 1573–1615), while not as colorful or forceful as Zhengde, was able to achieve some of the same freedom of action to pursue military goals, and the shortterm result was that the Ming reached a level of military competence and superiority it had not enjoyed since the Yongle era.

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The era of renewed aggression (c. 1570–1610) The late Ming has been regarded as particularly violent by contemporary observers and later scholars alike. Nearly four-fifths of Tong’s cases of collective violence occurred between 1506 and 1644, which he identifies as the late Ming period.73 Gu Yingtai’s Mingshi jishi benmo, mentioned above, bears out Tong’s findings. About two-thirds of the chapters covering events from this era deal with military matters. Additionally, the six chapters appended to the end of the work proper, which were most likely excerpted from the original version because of their political sensitivity, deal with strategic military concerns pertaining to the Manchu wars in the northeast dating from the late sixteenth century.74 Thus this period provides the historian with a wonderful opportunity to study the kinds of strategic threats faced by Chinese states in general and the responses engendered by them. Furthermore, the fact that the Ming not only met these challenges, but also continued to prosper economically and even expand its borders and extend its influence in Asia until at least 1610, is a testament to the under-appreciated military prowess of the Ming. This period witnessed the Ming’s full-scale entry into the global economy, its military revival, and eventual defeat at the hands of a combination of internal and external foes.75 In terms of military matters, this time also saw the Ming military’s transformation from a primarily hereditary to a primarily “modern” mercenary military, a transformation wrought by the desire to improve the overall effectiveness of the military on the battlefield and thereby enable the state to deal with emerging new threats as well as old ones. The development towards a “modern” military paralleled happenings in Europe, albeit for different reasons.76 It should be borne in mind, however, that the Ming faced a variety of threats and military challenges in this era and strict delineation between them is not always possible. It was possible for one event to lead on to others. Petty bandits could spark larger peasant rebellions, as could sectarian movements, particularly in times of widespread natural disaster and government turmoil as in the last two decades of the dynasty. Troop mutinies along the frontiers sometimes sparked Mongol raids or aboriginal uprisings as minority groups seized opportunities presented to them. Tong’s findings indicate that while there was not always a direct correlation between the type and level of threat, in the eyes of the state it was the potential for expansion that mattered.77 As noted above, the Mongols were the primary threat to dynastic security until 1571 when the Ming concluded a peace treaty with the most powerful Mongol leader, Altan Khan (1507–82), granting him investiture as a tributary prince and opening up regular trade fairs along the frontiers.78 For the Ming this was a major diplomatic coup as Altan’s forces had conducted raids along the northwestern frontiers since the 1540s and even reached the outskirts of Beijing in the early 1550s. The peace treaty was facilitated by the defection of Altan’s grandson to the Ming and the shrewd negotiations of several able

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Chinese commanders and advisers to the emperor. The general terms involved a pledge by Altan to refrain from raiding and to present a yearly tribute of 500 horses in exchange for recognition as a tributary prince for himself and several other Mongol chieftains and the opening of regular trade fairs. The arrangement was more or less successful as large-scale clashes between the two sides became far less frequent, but it would be erroneous to suggest that relations between the Ming and the Mongols were cordial from 1571 on. In fact, neither side kept to the terms of the agreement and right up until the very end of the dynasty, the Ming were launching quick strikes into Mongol territory with the aim of capturing livestock to destabilize certain tribal leaders even as the Mongols raided Chinese border towns and garrisons in hopes of exacting further concessions.79 Several Mongol chieftains embroiled themselves in a troop mutiny (discussed below) in the important garrison town of Ningxia in 1592, lured by vague promises of restoring the Mongol empire. Nonetheless, after 1571, the Mongols ceased to be the major threat to Ming security as they tended to be politically divided, and the Ming was in the process of a general military revival that would last until the second decade of the seventeenth century. The Japanese invasion of Korea, which continued from spring 1592 to late summer or early autumn 1598, was undoubtedly the single most serious challenge to the Ming prior to the Manchu invasion. Moreover, it was not only a challenge to Ming authority, but also Japan’s suzerain, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, endeavored to create a new East Asian world order, one with himself at the apex.80 Thus, more so than any other previous event, this constituted a challenge to Ming awesomeness in Asia. Therefore, it provoked a considerable degree of debate in Ming court circles as well as further down the administrative hierarchy. As will be seen below, Ming debates often invoked historical precedents and serve to underscore their fundamental strategic goal of maintaining supremacy on the continent, a supremacy that Hideyoshi challenged. Turning to the background of the war itself, in diplomatic contact prior to the conflict Hideyoshi asked the Koreans to allow his forces to cross through Korea unmolested so he could reach his real goal, China, prior to the eventual conquest of India as well. To this end he assembled a force of over 150,000 soldiers, bolstered by perhaps 200,000 reserves and equipped with not only the swords for which the Japanese were famous, but also firearms derived from Portuguese and Chinese models. Further, Japan was just coming out of more than a century of civil war. Its soldiers were disciplined, well trained, and highly motivated. In this war the Ming enjoyed neither numerical nor absolute technological superiority. Moreover, Hideyoshi disregarded the fighting capabilities of Chinese troops, figuring that if a few disorganized Japanese pirates could wreak havoc along the Chinese coast in the 1550s, then the Ming armies would be no match for his skilled hordes. He predicted that Japanese swords would “cleave through Chinese soldiers as though cutting bamboo” and the Ming would be subdued within a year.81

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Hideyoshi was gravely mistaken. For one, he disregarded the strategic importance Ming China attached to Chosŏn Korea. Ming officials, as well as the Wanli emperor, repeatedly referred to Korea as “the lips to China’s teeth” and regarded Korea as China’s respectful child in the tribute system of foreign relations that had been followed since the dynasty’s founding. In anticipation of a possible Japanese thrust from the south, the Ming mobilized troops from all over the empire to augment and restore coastal defenses. They also mobilized a relief force of some 45,000 troops to go to the rescue of Korea in early 1593 after the initial Ming force of 3,000 men had been annihilated in P’yŏngyang in the summer of 1592.82 In fact the Koreans had asked for assistance from the Ming as soon as the Japanese landed. By the time the Japanese were advancing north from Seoul (a mere two weeks after landing at Pusan) a Ming official from Liaodong sent a report to the Ministry of War, stating: The Japanese bandits have reached the Taedong River so the Korean monarch and his ministers wish to escape and I fear the king and his soldiers will enter Liaodong. To prevent them would not be benevolent, but to receive them will be to invite trouble.83 Thus we can see the Ming dilemma. On the one hand the defense of Korea was part of the Ming’s tributary obligations towards its vassal. It was also in its strategic interest. But owing to pressing military obligations on other frontiers, including a troop mutiny that had necessitated the redeployment of Ming forces that normally would have been stationed in Liaodong, the Ming were not in a position to send a large force, hence the small relief column mentioned above, which the Japanese handily destroyed. On the other hand, neither could Korea be abandoned, both for reasons of friendship and prestige. Nonetheless there were still doves at court who argued against intervention in Korea, using the example of the Ming incursion into Vietnam in the early fifteenth century (which had resulted in a disastrous twenty-year failed annexation) as a cautionary tale. Still others invoked the failed Sui-Tang dynasty incursions into Korea. Their opponents argued that this situation was far different. First of all, Korea was friendly and the Koreans had welcomed the Ming. Second, Korea was much closer to China than Vietnam. Therefore, a large army could be easily supplied by land and sea and supplies could reach the front in just a few days. Additionally, there was the obvious fact that Korea was much more strategically important to China than Vietnam, by virtue of Korea’s proximity to Beijing.84 Therefore, after a series of spirited debates at court, the Ming Emperor Wanli decided to intervene militarily in Korea. His decision was predicated on three major (interrelated) factors. First, and perhaps foremost, it was in the Ming’s strategic interest to confine the war to the Korean peninsula. As some noted at the time, Korea was the “lips that protected China’s teeth” and

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keeping the Japanese tied down there limited the damage to China. Second, there were many officials in China, not to mention the emperor himself, who seemed to harbor genuine feelings of friendship and tributary responsibility towards Korea. To be sure such sentiments were at times patronizing and selfserving, but neither were they false. After all, the neighbors had enjoyed good relations to mutual benefit for two centuries. It would hardly do to turn their backs on Korea when help was needed. Finally, on a personal level Wanli, often stymied by officials at home when it came to asserting the imperial will, saw the war in Korea as a way to maintain Ming primacy in East Asia and thereby bolster his own prestige, at least internationally.85 It is perhaps most instructive to see Wanli’s position through his own decree, issued to the Koreans upon his decision to send military aid. The emperor notes: For generations you have been our Eastern neighbor and you have always been docile and obedient. Your gentry take pleasure in learning and culture. I heard that your nearby land had been invaded and was being plundered by the rapacious Japanese villains and that your capital city has been looted and P’yŏngyang has been occupied, forcing your people to scatter near and far and I was deeply disturbed. And now Your Majesty has fled for the Western coast and is seeking refuge among the rustics. You must now focus your attention to the task at hand and strengthen your resolve. For, as soon as I heard the news yesterday, I ordered the border officials to begin mobilizing troops to come to your aid. I will also dispatch a high civil and a high military official to act in concert. They will assemble 70,000 crack troops from the various defense commands around Liaoyang, which will be sent forth to assist you in chastising the [Japanese] bandits, and in conjunction with your own country’s men, they will catch the enemy in a vise and annihilate them. Furthermore, I have issued imperial commands to the tributary kings of the myriad states in all directions so that they too can assist in helping with this nasty business. I have also issued an order to the various coastal garrisons of the southeast and promulgated an edict to countries such as Siam and Ryūkyū to assemble an army of 100,000 to join us in attacking Japan and driving them from their nests … Now Your Highness must focus upon maintaining what your ancestors have bequeathed to you. How can you just lightly cast it all away? Now you must exert all your energy in the business of saving your state and restoring its prestige, and you should order all your civil and military officials and ordinary people to likewise exert themselves to the utmost. For if Your Majesty’s mind is open and you rectify your past transgressions, then you will be able to recover the territory that you have lost. The masses will face this calamity out of filiality to their father, and the ministers of your country, recognizing your righteousness, will certainly all look up to you. Your Majesty will thereby regain the respect you once had.86

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Wanli’s desire to retain sovereign supremacy in East Asia can be seen through Wanli’s behavior over the next several years and in his communications with King Sŏnjo (r. 1567–1609) of Chosŏn. In these exchanges Wanli alternately exhorts and berates the Korean monarch, urging him to both rectify his personal behavior and rally his beleaguered populace. Yet he also promises to send myriad troops to overwhelm the rapacious Japanese invaders and promises to send contributions from China’s other tributary vassals. In fact, while some of the other tributaries, including both the Jurchens under Nurhaci (see below) and the Thai leader at Ayudhya, offered to send troops to aid the Ming or even attack Japan, such offers were refused. It seems that the Ming thought accepting such assistance would undermine their own prestige or diminish their awesomeness in the eyes of other potential threats to their supremacy. Interestingly enough, Korean aid would be accepted some twentyseven years later when the Ming mounted its first major offensive campaign against Nurhaci. By this point, however, Ming military power had declined significantly and Wanli was nearly on his deathbed, worn down by decades of illness and factional strife. While the war was poorly managed by both sides, in the end, the Japanese were forced to withdraw from Korea without realizing any of Hideyoshi’s war aims, while the Ming embarked upon a massive suppression campaign of an uprising in distant Sichuan Province. From a larger strategic standpoint, the war preserved Ming China’s pre-eminent position in the East Asian world. In their eyes at least, and notwithstanding the contributions of Korea’s own forces, China had successfully defended its tributary from a formidable enemy and prevailed in a distant war under harsh conditions. The logistical achievements alone are noteworthy. Battles were waged on both land and at sea and included sieges, classic infantry confrontations, and guerrilla-style warfare. The Chinese proved adept at using their great cannon to devastating effect in set-piece battles, forcing the Japanese to change their tactics. Responding to tactical situations, the Ming rotated troops from southern China to the front, because they had more experience using the tactics pioneered by Qi Jiguang. Therefore, contrary to what many scholars claim, this writer is not inclined to believe that the war drained Ming military and economic resources to their breaking point. If that had been the case, how could the Ming have assembled a force of over 200,000 men to deal with the Yang Yinglong Miao uprising following so soon on the heels of the war in Korea? And how was the Ming state able to last more than four more decades, fighting virtually the entire time? In any case, the Ming court remained wary of Japanese intentions for the rest of the dynasty’s existence and troops were stationed for several years thereafter in Korea to ensure against another invasion, an invasion which would not come for another 300 years. Minority (or aboriginal) peoples constituted an entirely different kind of threat. Viewed from the perspective of the central government as recorded in histories of the time, the various aboriginal peoples of southwest China

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were uncivilized and superstitious. Writing in the early sixteenth century, the Ming writer Zhuge Yuansheng described the Miao of southwest China as being “skilled swordsmen, fond of sorcery and very superstitious, believing in ghosts.”87 Characteristics such as these made aboriginals prone to violence and susceptible to manipulation by crafty leaders in the eyes of the Ming state. Ironically enough, they also made aboriginal troops highly sought after as elite units or even bodyguards. Contingents of aboriginal troops were dispatched all over the empire and even to Korea to battle the Japanese. The most infamous of these were the so-called “Wolf Troops” of Guizhou, regarded throughout the empire as fierce and savage fighters.88 In fact, for most of the Ming period, the court was content to let local aboriginal leaders rule as independent chieftains in exchange for pledges of loyalty, coupled with payment of “tribute taxes” and occasional military service.89 As long as these aboriginal chieftains kept law and order in their jurisdictions, they were left alone by the central authorities and allowed to practice traditional customs. But according to official sources, local chieftains often became arrogant and high-handed, flaunting their positions and stirring up locals against their rightful Ming overlords. As they generally erupted in remote corners of the empire, such revolts could quickly overwhelm local resources. The largest of these, the rebellion of the Miao chieftain Yang Yinglong at the end of the sixteenth century, reportedly involved over 100,000 rebels and required nearly 250,000 government troops to suppress it.90 Thus it can be seen why the Ming state regarded aboriginal threats so seriously. But as much as standard accounts of aboriginal rebellions seek to portray the instigators of these movements as anti-social malcontents, one more often sees these peoples as displaying passivity or aggression, depending on the circumstances. While they tended to distrust the central government and did what they could to maintain a measure of autonomy, they rarely threatened to overthrow the empire. Even the largest aboriginal uprisings of the Ming period were merely regional, although some encompassed several provinces. When examined from the larger perspective of Ming history, it seems as if most aboriginal uprisings were sparked by Han Chinese encroachment on traditional aboriginal lands and the empire-building efforts of Ming policy makers who sought to find outlets for the empire’s expanding population. Some uprisings may have been instigated by resentment over increased tax burdens as aboriginal chieftains were sometimes forced to supply timber for imperial construction projects. Encouraging Han Chinese to settle in aboriginal areas had a number of advantages. It brought more land under cultivation and into tax registers, as they were converted into regular prefects and districts, and it extended the process of Sinification along the frontiers as these new administrative units necessitated the establishment of Confucian schools and other symbols of Han Chinese culture and authority. Local peoples were encouraged to cast aside their traditional ways in favor

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of those of the colonizers. When they resisted, they were branded as rebels by the government. Moreover, efforts to suppress one rebellion often sparked others as local economies were disrupted by military campaigns. Moreover, these military campaigns present the continued efforts of the Ming state in “manifesting awe.”

Back on the defensive (c. 1610–44) Despite their success in Wanli’s Three Great Campaigns, within a decade of the suppression of Yang Yinglong’s rebellion, the Ming found themselves increasingly on the defensive. The most serious challenge came from the northeast. The people who later called themselves the Manchus were known throughout the Ming period as the Jurchens and could claim descent from a dynasty that had ruled part of China in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, prior to the rise of the Mongols. They dwelt in northeast Asia and were military threats to both the Ming and the Korean Chosŏn (1392–1910) dynasties. In fact China and Korea sometimes cooperated in sending punitive expeditions against recalcitrant Jurchen enemies. Administratively, the Jurchens were treated like both the Mongols and the aboriginal tribes of the southwest. Tribal leaders were invested with seals of authority and conferred hereditary titles of nobility in exchange for recognizing Ming sovereignty. They were sometimes asked to perform military services on behalf of the Ming state against local enemies. Some Jurchen leaders developed close working relationships with Chinese frontier commanders. Favored Jurchen commanders could even be taken under the wing of Ming military officials, as seen in the fateful case of Nurhaci (1559–1626), founder of the Later Jin state, which would become the Qing dynasty. Nurhaci was taken into the home of the renowned late Ming commander Li Chengliang (1526–1618) and was reportedly quite close to several of Li’s sons.91 When dealing with the Jurchens, the Ming tended to adopt the same types of approaches used against the Mongols. They would launch quick strikes into Manchu territory and offer Jurchen leaders Ming official rank and trading privileges in exchange for loyalty. They were also not above double-crossing erstwhile allies if the opportunity presented itself. Livestock would be captured and settlements burned in an effort to keep potential threats scattered and disorganized.92 It was during one such raid that Nurhaci’s father was killed by Ming forces who demolished an enemy fortification while he was still inside. Nonetheless, Ming policy worked quite well until the early seventeenth century. Nurhaci himself offered to lead Jurchen forces to Korea to battle the Japanese invaders on behalf of the Ming. While the Ming refused his offer, as noted above, Japanese sources indicate that Jurchens did indeed engage Japanese units that crossed the border and Nurhaci’s presence prevented the Japanese forces from flanking the allies in Korea. What allowed the Manchus to rise above other threats described herein was their level of organization and their willingness to adopt Chinese bureaucratic

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techniques. The Manchus made adroit use of classical rhetoric, invoking the ancient idea of the Mandate of Heaven, and offered competent civil and military officials great incentives for joining their side. They cloaked their actions in righteous indignation, first at the treatment Nurhaci’s loyal family had received at the hands of the ungrateful Ming, and later at the usurpation of Ming authority by the roving peasant rebels. Significantly, the Manchus also moved to neutralize the threat posed by Korea militarily and launched two invasions of Chosŏn to bring that state into its own tributary orbit after the Koreans allegedly harbored fugitives and continued to evince loyalty to the Ming despite making agreements with the Manchus. As noted above, the Koreans, remembering the military aid provided by the Ming in the 1590s, sent significant numbers of troops to fight alongside the Ming commander Liu Ting (d. 1619) in the Liaodong campaign of 1619. Liu, incidentally, was a veteran of the war in the 1590s and was well regarded by the Koreans. Despite the defeat of the Ming in 1619 a faction in Korea continued to support the Ming cause, effecting a coup against King Kwanghae in 1623 because he refused to adopt a pro-Ming stance in the escalating war. This support for the Ming led to an invasion by the Manchu leader Hong Taiji (r. 1627–43) in 1627 leading to a peace agreement between the sides and a general pledge by the Koreans not to aid the Ming or harbor fugitives. But when they proved less than observant of the agreement (and Hong Taiji was more secure on his throne), the Manchus (now named the Qing) launched a full-scale invasion of Korea, capturing many members of the royal family and forcing the Koreans to acknowledge the Qing as their new tributary masters and renounce their loyalty to the Ming. This was a serious blow to Ming prestige and strategically important as it secured the Qing flank from attack. Moreover, the Manchus proved adept students of military technology and did their utmost to acquire cannons and other firearms for use in the war against the Ming. Interestingly enough, in a policy memorial, the late Ming military commander of the Liaodong region northeast of the Great Wall argued that he needed more troops and more guns because if he was not able to establish a strong presence in the region, the “Ming awesomeness” would be diminished and the Manchus would cease to fear them.93 In any event, Nurhaci soon died as a result of being clipped by cannon fire, prompting the Manchus to redouble their efforts to obtain such technology not only from the Ming but also from foreign sources such as the Spanish, the Portuguese, and the Koreans. In spite of all this, it is still very possible that the Ming might have been able to defeat the Manchus if not for the concurrent outbreak of peasant rebellions in the northwest that forced the Ming to fight a two-front war. As the Ming was founded by a peasant rebel, it was probably fitting that the dynasty was also toppled in large part by the efforts of peasant rebel armies. Unlike the Mongol threat, however, peasant rebellions tended to spring from specific socio-economic triggers including drought, famine,

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poor harvests, and other natural disasters. For example, the rebellion of one Wang Jiayin, which broke out in the autumn of 1628 and spread throughout the north China plain, was attributed to widespread starvation and deprivation.94 In general the policy for dealing with peasant rebels was to convince the leaders to turn themselves in (or convince their followers to do so), and then pardon the rank and file in the interest of maintaining stability. In some cases leaders who surrendered or betrayed their allies would even be rewarded with military ranks themselves. Famine or disaster relief measures were also implemented if deemed necessary by central authorities. Military force would be applied only if less severe measures failed. But, as was the case with Ming administration as a whole, much depended upon the abilities and predilections of particular officials assigned to deal with the problem in question. Such strategies met with mixed results for a variety of reasons. First of all, most soldiers themselves came from lower-class backgrounds and often sympathized with the plight of peasant rebels. Low-ranking officers who felt cheated by the government could often be lured into joining peasant rebel groups and assume leadership positions by virtue of their military experience. This meant that local peasant uprisings could quickly mushroom into regional or even national threats, especially in times of widespread natural disaster, as was the case in the late Ming.95 Isolated garrisons and government grain stores were favored targets and as they were often lightly defended, could be easily taken, offering valuable supplies needed in perpetuating rebellions. And, if and when government forces did come forth to engage these rebels in combat, they could melt into the countryside along with the rest of the peasantry. Frustrated government troops in turn sometimes executed innocents either in retribution or in an attempt to gain rewards from the government. Moreover, the policy of “rewarding” peasant rebel leaders who surrendered with military ranks sometimes resulted in false surrenders with the leader in question accepting Ming rank and privilege, only to rebel again when the opportunity arose. The two most notorious Ming peasant rebels, and the ones who were ultimately responsible for the dynasty’s military collapse in the northwest, were “The Dashing Prince,” Li Zicheng (1606–45), and Zhang Xianzhong (1605– 47), also known by his sobriquet, the “Yellow Tiger.”96 Collectively these two colorful rebels and their allies and followers were known as the Wandering Bandits in recognition of their wide geographic range and military mobility. They came to constitute the foremost threat to the late Ming state in conjunction with the Manchu invaders to the northeast. While the Manchus were regarded as militarily more dangerous by most Ming officials, the wandering bandits, like all peasant rebels, were particularly threatening because of their ability to assimilate into the local population and disappear. The Ming government could never be sure if they had bested the peasant rebels as they would often scatter before superior forces only to reunite later. Eventually they proved impossible to eradicate and it was actually the Ming peasant rebel

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leader Li Zicheng who captured Beijing in the spring of 1644 at the head of a massive peasant army said to number over 200,000 followers. These elements of mass support, “class consciousness,” and righteous indignation on the part of late Ming peasant rebel leaders have imbued them with a romanticized image in twentieth-century China. Nonetheless, it should be noted that while peasant rebellions assumed primacy in the last two decades of the Ming, they were not seen to be as threatening as some of the other dangers described herein. The vast majority of peasant uprisings could be curtailed by measures such as grain distribution or tax remittance. Even when military force was needed, local garrisons usually sufficed as peasant armies tended to be ill-equipped and poorly led, lacking the skill and discipline inherent in Mongol or Manchu units. Still, even a cursory examination of Ming governmental records and local gazetteers demonstrates that peasant unrest was by no means uncommon and the fact that most of these movements amounted to little is further evidence of Ming military capabilities. In conclusion, I maintain that the Ming had a consistent grand strategy, which was to “manifest awe” in the eyes of both its own subjects and potential military threats. The decision to intervene in Korea in 1592 was a concrete manifestation of this strategy and was connected to both the dynasty’s general goals of maintaining strategic supremacy in East Asia and Wanli’s personal goals of asserting himself vis-à-vis his troublesome officials. This overarching strategy was informed both by Chinese cultural and strategic traditions as embodied in the military classics and by historical precedents. Ming policy documents frequently invoke the latter when debating possible military actions. For example, when considering whether or not to aid Korea against the Japanese in 1592, Ming officials in favor of intervention referenced both the failed intervention in Vietnam in the 1400s and a much earlier Tang incursion into Korea in the 600s on behalf of one of three competing states. While both of these previous actions had failed, the proponents of aiding Korea noted that this time the Chinese had enthusiastic local allies as well as shorter supply lines. In essence, drawing upon the injunctions of the dynastic founder, Ming grand strategy was based on ensuring stability and advancing the empire’s interests with as little outlay of resources as possible. This does not mean that the Ming were unwilling to use direct military force, only that it was not always the first resort if simply making a show of power could suffice. Furthermore, the ways in which the empire “manifested awe” varied according to the interests and prerogatives of monarchs and ministers. Contrary to what many theorists might suggest, imperial agency mattered as the Ming was, after all, a despotic system. Some rulers, most notably Yongle, Zhengde, and Wanli, were much more inclined to flex the empire’s military muscles than others. The first two did so largely on their own initiative. Wanli preferred to patronize favored military and civil officials to achieve his policy goals, rather than leading troops directly in battle. Nonetheless all recognized the strategic value of overawing one’s foes.

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Notes 1 Translation taken from “The Three Strategies of Huang Shih-Jung” (277–306) translated by Ralph D. Sawyer, in The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 2007, p. 301. 2 This is especially surprising when one considers the wealth of extant primary source materials dealing with military affairs. Chinese historians have begun to rectify this shortcoming, though most recent Chinese scholarship on the military tends to focus on institutional history rather than on campaigns, strategy, or the interplay between the Chinese military and society. For example, see He Zhiqing and Wang Xiaowei, Zhongguo bingzhi shi, 1997. Examples of recent works on the Ming include Wu Yanhong, Mingdai chongjun yanjiu, 2003, and Yu Zhijia, Mingdai junhu shixi zhidu, 1997. There are signs that this shortcoming is being rectified. In addition to my own work, David Robinson has published several articles and two monographs on subjects pertaining to the Ming military, with another soon to appear. See Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven, 2001, and Empire’s Twilight, 2009, which deals with the origins of the Ming empire. For a general overview of the historiography of the Ming military, see Swope, “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600,” 2001, pp. 40–88. For a recent survey of the field of modern Chinese military history in the West, see Swope, Warfare in China Since 1600, 2005, pp. xi–xxxv. 3 Of course the same could be said for most Chinese dynasties. See David A. Graff and Robin Higham, A Military History of China, 2002, p. 1. On modern Sinologists’ tendency to perpetuate such stereotypes and regard warfare in traditional China as a “mere barbarous intrusion into a glorious cultural and political edifice,” see Sawyer, Fire and Water, 2004. It should also be noted that a number of scholars working on all periods of Chinese history are in the process of revising such outmoded interpretations of China’s past. For a recent example of such scholarship, see Nicola Di Cosmo, ed., Military Culture in Imperial China, 2009. 4 Ray Huang, China, 1997, pp. 169–85. 5 Sun Laichen, “Military Technology Transfers from Ming China and the Emergence of Northern Mainland Southeast Asia (c. 1390–1527),” 2003, pp. 497–9. 6 Edward Dreyer, Zheng He, 2007, pp. 1–9. 7 David Robinson, Martial Spectacles of the Ming Court, 2013. 8 Alastair Iain Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 1. 9 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 36. 10 For a discussion of the importance of historical writing and thinking about history in Chinese culture in general, see Grant Hardy, Worlds of Bronze and Bamboo, 1999, pp. 1–60. 11 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 36, note 2. 12 See Yuan-kang Wang, Harmony and War, 2011; and Huiyun Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007. 13 Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 17. 14 For a recent comparative analysis of war and state formation in Warring States China and early-modern Europe, see Victoria Tin-bor Hui, War and State Formation in Ancient China and Early Modern Europe, 2005. 15 Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 20. 16 Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 25. 17 Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, pp. 25–6. 18 Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 26. 19 For studies on the assimilation and colonization processes of Chinese empires, see John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 2007, and Leo K. Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, 2006. For an examination of a specific campaign to crush an

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22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

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aboriginal group and incorporate its lands, see Swope, “To Catch a Tiger,” 2011, pp. 112–40. Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 26. See Arthur Waldron, The Great Wall of China, 1990. For a discussion of the major features of “Confucian pacifism,” which include a culture of antimilitarism, defensive grand strategy, a theory of just war, and limited war aims, see Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 14–19. Feng, Chinese Strategic Culture, 2007, p. 30. The best overview of ancient Chinese philosophical schools can be found in William Theodore de Bary and Irene Bloom, Sources of Chinese Tradition, Vol. 1, 1999. These have been translated into English and include Sunzi’s Art of War. See Sawyer, The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, 1993. Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 2–3. For a complete discussion of how Johnston conceptualizes strategic culture, see Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 1–31. For his discussion of the concept in relation to imperial China, see pp. 22–7. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 117–22. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 61–108 and 253–66. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 30. See the discussion in Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 20–1. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 244–5. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 47–8. See the policy analyses on pp. 186–215. Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 21–3. Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 24–7. Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, p. 185. For Wang’s summary of the comparisons between Confucian pacifist and structural realist models of Chinese grand strategy, see Harmony and War, 2011, p. 33. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 112–13. See the discussion in Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 116–17. For a detailed examination of the Ming tribute system and its implications for international security, see David C. Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010. Geoffrey Parker, The Grand Strategy of Philip II, 1998. An important recent corrective to this tendency can be found in several essays in Don J. Wyatt, Battlefronts Real and Imagined, 2008. This is particularly evident in Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven, 2001, and in Swope, “Bestowing the Double-Edged Sword,” 2008, pp. 61–115. See Parker, The Grand Strategy of Philip II, 1998, pp. xvii, 36–7. James Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, pp. 43–4. Amazingly enough, throughout the twentieth century and well into the period of communist rule there were sporadic attempts to “restore” imperial dynasties such as the Song (960–1279) and Ming. The current regime’s fears of Falun Gong and other so-called heterodox or sectarian organizations indicate the tenacity of traditional beliefs in modern China. For more on this, see Elizabeth Perry, Challenging the Mandate of Heaven, 2002, pp. ix–xxxi, 275–308. See Zhang Tingyu et al., Ming shi, 1994, p. 2264. Hereafter cited as MS. On Ming development of new firearms in particular, see Kenneth Chase, Firearms, 2003, pp. 142–50. On the issue of Qing presentations of Ming history, see Swope, “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600,” 2001. Also see Joanna Waley-Cohen, “Introduction: Civil–Military Relations in Imperial China,” 2001, pp. 1–7.

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48 The issue of violent disorder in medieval Europe and its subsequent obfuscation by misplaced notions of chivalry is discussed in Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, 2001. 49 See Fan Zhongyi, “Mingdai junshi sixiang jianlun,” 1997, p. 38. For a recent popular examination of Ming battles, see Luo Bin, Ming chao de naxie zhanzheng, 2010. This volume contains 88 chapters on Ming military affairs, mostly battle accounts, and is part of a larger series of popular Ming histories published in conjunction with documentary television series. 50 See Gu Yingtai, Mingshi jishi benmo, 1997. Hereafter cited as MSJSBM. 51 Tong also provides empirical comparisons with contemporary European states. See Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, pp. 16–42. 52 See Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven, 2001. 53 For another recent effort to offer typologies of conflict in Ming–Qing China, see Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010, pp. 88–93. 54 On the military origins of the Ming, see Edward Dreyer, “Military Origins of Ming China,” 1988, pp. 58–106. Hereafter cited as CHC 7. Also see Luo, Ming chao de naxie zhanzheng, 2010, pp. 1–50, and MSJSBM, pp. 1–98. Note that the latter volume has two paginations, one for the whole compilation and a separate one for the individual works within the compilation. Since the MSJSBM is a reprint, I use the latter pagination, which includes four small printed pages of text per single page. On the collapse of the Yuan, see Robinson, Empire’s Twilight, 2009. 55 Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010, p. 54. 56 For a recent English-language biography of Yongle, see Shih-shan Henry Tsai, Perpetual Happiness, 2001. For a Chinese biography, see Chao Zhongchen, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 1995. 57 On the construction projects, see Chao, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 1995, pp. 414–39. 58 Tsai, Perpetual Happiness, 2001, pp. 132–3. 59 The foremost proponent of this theory is Gavin Menzies, 1421: The Year China Discovered America, 2003. 60 Dreyer, Zheng He, 2007, pp. 147–8. 61 See Tsai, Perpetual Happiness, 2001, pp. 148–77, and Chao, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 1995, pp. 352–75. 62 On the Ming colonization efforts in Vietnam, see MSJSBM, pp. 343–70; Chao, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 1995, pp. 339–49; and Zheng Yongchang, Zhengzhan yu qishou, 1997, pp. 1–147. 63 See CHC 7, pp. 314–16. 64 For detailed examinations of the Tumu debacle, see F.W. Mote, “The T’u-mu Incident of 1449,” 1974, pp. 243–72; and MSJSBM, pp. 471–6. 65 On these efforts, see Swope, “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600,” 2001, pp. 60–5. 66 The standard work in English on this phenomenon is Kwan-wai So, Japanese Piracy in Ming China During the Sixteenth Century, 1975. Also see Charles O. Hucker, “Hu Tsung-hsien’s Campaign against Hsü Hai, 1556,” 1974, pp. 273–307. For a modern Chinese account, see Fan Zhongyi and Tong Xigang, Mingdai wokou shilue, 2004. A contemporary overview can be found in MSJSBM, pp. 839–70. 67 The best overview of Sino-Japanese relations during the Ming period is Zheng Liangsheng, Mingdai Zhong-Ri guanxi yanjiu, 1985. Zheng has also compiled an extensive series of primary documents concerning Japanese pirates in Ming China. See Zheng Liangsheng, Mingdai wokou shiliao, 1987. 68 Far too much has been written about Qi to go into detail here. For starters, see Ray Huang, 1587: A Year of No Significance, 1981, pp. 156–88. Also see Luo, Ming chao de naxie zhanzheng, 2010, pp. 165–6. 69 I discuss these measures at length in Swope, “Cutting Dwarf Pirates Down to Size,” 2009, pp. 81–107.

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70 John W. Dardess, Ming China 1368–1644, 2012, p. 47. For more on Zhengde’s reign and eccentricities, see Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven, 2001, and CHC 7, pp. 403–49. 71 See CHC 7, pp. 423–30, and Luo, Ming chao de naxie zhanzheng, 2010, pp. 147–8. 72 CHC 7, p. 439. 73 See Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, pp. 6, 46. Note that Tong marks the division between early and late Ming China at the start of the reign of Emperor Zhengde (r. 1506–21). 74 These appendices are called the Mingshi jishi benmo buyi and are included in the edition cited in note 50 above. On their political sensitivity, see Lynn A. Struve, The Ming–Qing Conflict, 1619–1683, 1998, p. 350. 75 On Ming involvement in the world economy, see William S. Atwell, “Ming China and the Emerging World Economy, c. 1470–1650,” 1998, pp. 376–416, and Andre Gunder Frank, ReOrient, 1998, pp. 108–23. 76 On the evolution of the Ming military, see Swope, “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600,” 2001, pp. 40–88. Also see Chase, Firearms, 2003, pp. 150–4. The “modernity” of the late Ming army is discussed in Chase, Firearms, 2003, pp. 167–71. On the growth of mercenary armies in Europe, see Michael Mallett, “Mercenaries,” 1999, pp. 209–29. 77 Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, p. 44. 78 Again, there is a plethora of sources dealing with these matters. In English, see Henry Serruys, “Four Documents Related to the Sino-Mongol Peace of 1570–1571,” 1960, pp. 1–66. For relatively contemporary Chinese treatments, see Qu Jiusi, Zuben Wanli wugong lu, 1980, pp. 639a–784b (hereafter cited as WGL); Zhuge Yuansheng, Liangchao pingrang lu, 1969, pp. 29–64 (hereafter cited as PRL). 79 Accounts of these activities are scattered throughout source materials from the period, most notably the Wanli wugong lu. 80 On the international implications of the Korean War, see Swope, “Deceit, Disguise, and Dependence,” 2002, pp. 757–82. The war is treated in its entirety in Swope, A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail, 2009. Also see Stephen Turnbull, Samurai Invasion, 2002; Samuel Hawley, The Imjin War, 2005. 81 Li Guangtao, Ming–Qing dang’an lunwenji, 1986, p. 757. 82 See Swope, “Turning the Tide,” 2003, pp. 1–22. 83 Zheng Liangsheng, Mingdai wokou shiliao, 1987, p. 478. 84 On the Ming debates, see Song Yingchang, Jinglue fuguo yaobian, 1986, pp. 9–10. 85 For a longer discussion of the Ming debates concerning the intervention in Korea, see Swope, “As Close as Lips and Teeth,” 2013, pp. 163–90. 86 Shin Kyŏng, Chaejo Pŏnbangji, 1980, pp. 238–9. 87 PRL, p. 401. For a brief overview of Han Chinese views of the Miao, see Norma Diamond, “Defining the Miao,” 1995. 88 MS, pp. 2274–5. 89 For a general overview of Ming relations with and attitudes towards aboriginal peoples in all corners of the empire, see Yang Shaoxian and Mo Junqing, Mingdai minzu shi, 1996. 90 The standard primary source for this uprising is Li Hualong, Ping Bo quanshu, 1937. In English, see Swope, “Civil–Military Coordination in the Bozhou Campaign of the Wanli Era,” 2000, pp. 49–70. Also see Swope, “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600,” 2001, pp. 386–453. 91 The best source for the rise of the Qing state is Frederic Wakeman, Jr., The Great Enterprise, 1985. On Nurhaci’s relationship with Ming military leaders, see Swope, “A Few Good Men,” 2004, pp. 34–81. 92 See MSJSBM, pp. 1401–16. 93 See Tan Qian, Guoque, 1978, p. 5259.

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94 See Wu Weiye, Suikou jilue, 1968, 1.2a–2b. Note that this work follows traditional pagination so references are to chapters (juan) and pages within the given chapter. 95 On the relationship between natural disasters and the expansion of peasant rebellions in late Ming China, see Roger V. Des Forges, Cultural Centrality and Political Change in Chinese History, 2003, pp. 168–77. 96 Their official biographies can be found in MS, pp. 7947–80. The standard general account in English of the late Ming peasant rebellions is James Bunyan Parsons, Peasant Rebellions of the Late Ming Dynasty, 1993. For a modern Chinese account, see Li Guangtao, Mingji liukou shimo, 1965. For a more comprehensive contemporary account, see Dai Li and Wu Qiao, Liukou changbian, 1991. Also see MSJSBM, pp. 1317–86.

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Swope, Kenneth M. “Deceit, Disguise, and Dependence: China, Japan, and the Future of the Tributary System, 1592–1596,” International History Review 24:4 (Dec. 2002): 757–82. Swope, Kenneth M. “The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Emperor, 1592–1600: Court, Military, and Society in Late Sixteenth-Century China,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 2001. Swope, Kenneth M. “To Catch a Tiger: The suppression of the Yang Yinglong Miao Uprising (1587–1600) as a Case Study in Ming Military and Borderlands History,” in Michael Arthur Aung-thwin and Kenneth R. Hall, eds., New Perspectives on the History and Historiography of Southeast Asia: Continuing Explorations. London: Routledge, 2011, pp. 112–40. Swope, Kenneth M. “Turning the Tide: The Strategic and Psychological Significance of the Liberation of Pyongyang in 1593,” War and Society 21:2 (Oct. 2003): 1–22. Swope, Kenneth M., ed. Warfare in China Since 1600. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005. Tan Qian (談遷). Guoque (國確, Outline History of the Empire), 10 vols. Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1978. Tong, James. Disorder under Heaven: Collective Violence in the Ming Dynasty. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991. Tsai, Shih-shan Henry. Perpetual Happiness: The Ming Emperor Yongle. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001. Turnbull, Stephen. Samurai Invasion: Japan’s Korean War, 1592–1598. London: Cassell & Co., 2002. Wakeman, Frederick, Jr. The Great Enterprise, 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Waldron, Arthur. The Great Wall of China: From History to Myth. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Waley-Cohen, Joanna. “Introduction: Civil–Military Relations in Imperial China,” War and Society 18:2 (Oct. 2001): 1–7. Wang, Yuan-kang. Harmony and War: Confucian Culture and Chinese Power Politics. New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Wu Weiye (吳偉業). Suikou jilue (綏寇紀略, An Oral Record of the Bandits of Sui), 4 vols. Taibei: Guangwen shuju, 1968. Wu Yanhong (吴艳红). Mingdai chongjun yanjiu (明代充军研究, Studies on the Military Exile System of the Ming). Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian chubanshe, 2003. Wyatt, Don J., ed. Battlefronts Real and Imagined: War, Border, and Identity in the Chinese Middle Period. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Yang Shaoxian (楊紹獻) and Mo Junqing (莫俊卿). Mingdai minzu shi (明代 民族史, History of Minorities During the Ming). Chengdu: Sichuan minzu chubanshe, 1996. Yu Zhijia (于志嘉). Mingdai junhu shixi zhidu (明代軍戶世襲制度, The Hereditary Military System of the Ming). Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1997. Zhang Tingyu (張廷玉) et al., ed. Ming shi (明史, Official History of the Ming Dynasty), 12 vols. Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1994. Zheng Liangsheng (鄭樑生), comp. Mingdai wokou shiliao (明代倭寇史料, Historical Materials on Japanese Pirates in the Ming Period), 5 vols. Taibei: Wenshizhe chubanshe, 1987. Zheng Liangsheng (鄭樑生). Mingdai Zhong-Ri guanxi yanjiu (明代中日關系研究, Sino-Japanese Relations During the Ming). Taibei: Wenshizhe chubanshe, 1985.

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Zheng Yongchang (鄭永常). Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu (征戰與棄守: 明代中越關係研究, War and Defense: Researches into Ming Era Sino-Vietnamese Relations). Tainan: Chengda chubanzu, 1997. Zhuge Yuansheng (諸葛元聲). Liangchao pingrang lu (兩朝平讓錄, Records of the Pacification Campaigns of Two Reigns). Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1969.

10 Wanli China versus Hideyoshi’s Japan Rethinking China’s involvement in the Imjin Waeran Harriet T. Zurndorfer

It has always been recognized as inadvisable for an egg to come into violent contact with a stone, or for a snake to challenge a dragon to mortal combat … Moreover, the small states beyond the sea, subject to Korea, are as compared to the Middle Kingdom, no bigger than a prefecture; the quantity of their stores and the number of their troops are but one ten-thousandth of Our resources. Your anger is like that of a mantis … Do not cause us to come and wipe you utterly out, thus making you a laughingstock for the other barbarians! “The Diplomacy of Li Taibo,” by Baowen Laoren (late Ming)1

Introduction The seven-year war in which the troops of Ming China fought Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s forces in Chosŏn Korea was one of the three major campaigns of the Wanli reign (1573–1620), and one of 308 external wars in which the Ming dynasty confronted its enemies.2 The other two campaigns, a crusade to eradicate an aboriginal chieftain in the southwest and an offensive to quash a mutiny of Sino-Mongolian troops in the northwest, were not connected to the confrontation in Korea, but late Ming and early Qing contemporaries have classified the conflicts together as a related series of events; they are known as the Wanli san da zheng (Three great punitive campaigns of the Wanli emperor).3 For example, three successive chapters in Gu Yingtai’s (died after 1689) well-known topical history of the Ming dynasty, the Mingshi jishi benmo (The major events of Ming history, 1658), discuss these campaigns.4 The implication of this publication, and other writings linking these military confrontations, is their presumed connection to the final breakdown of the Ming dynasty. To many observers, both contemporary and modern historians alike, the three campaigns constitute evidence of Ming decline already in the sixteenth century, leading to its “inevitable” failure in the early seventeenth. But these military contests may be viewed differently: as proof of Wanli China’s ability to wage war simultaneously and successfully on three fronts, as a sign of the regime’s strength, and as the culmination of efforts by a number of enterprising civil and military officials who, decades earlier, had laid the basis for Ming effectiveness in the battlefield.5 Nevertheless, given that

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so much contemporary and modern historical writing on the Wanli reign has castigated this era as a “turning point” in the downward fortunes of the dynasty, it may seem difficult to propose alternatives to the “fin-de-siècle” scenario.6 In any event, we hope here to reassess a number of factors that contributed to the vigor of Wanli China and its ability to counter Hideyoshi’s forces in Korea. Ming China’s involvement in Korea reveals a variety of means by which the dynasty reinforced its position of centrality in the East Asian cultural and political universes. This chapter explores three themes that are fundamental for understanding China’s role in the Imjin Waeran: first, Ming relations with Korea7 and Japan vis-à-vis the “tribute system,” a concept that has had serious revision since John Fairbank’s first formulation of its dimensions many decades ago; second, Ming military strategy, another topic now undergoing “historical overhaul”; and, third, the financial background to the war, an assessment of the burden of military expenses in relation to other pecuniary obligations engendered by the Ming state during the late sixteenth century.

Korea and Japan in the Chinese world order before the Imjin Waeran: realpolitik, female virgins, and the Wakō The immediate circumstance that plunged China into the Korean–Japanese conflict in 1592 was a call for help from King Sŏnjo (r. 1567–1608) in the fifth month of that year.8 The Ming government responded by dispatching an official mission that reached Chosŏn in the seventh month. Because the Chinese were suspicious, even believing that the Koreans were actually conspiring with the Japanese, the Ming government sent this delegation, headed by the civil official Huang Yingyang, to investigate the claim of invasion. Huang considered reports and documents proffered by the Koreans at the king’s refuge, including two letters from Konishi Yukinaga, and then confirmed Japan’s invasion to the authorities in Beijing.9 Huang’s certification of the fall of P’yŏngyang on the twelfth day of the sixth month of 1592 eliminated whatever uncertainties Ming authorities entertained over Korea’s claims to military defeat: the Japanese invasion was now a “matter of defending the Ming border.”10 Chosŏn was a tributary state of Ming China, which meant that it publicly recognized its “inferior” status in relation to China’s claim to universal rulership. By regularly paying tribute to the Ming government and exhorting the rhetoric of Confucian obeisance and ritual, Chosŏn could expect imperial legitimation and even logistic support in the face of military attack.11 The Sino-Korean connection went back to the Han dynasty, and was probably unmatched by Chinese relations with any other polity in East Asia.12 Scholars often mention Korea as the prototype tributary state.13 Fairbank’s model of the tribute system fitted Korea into the “Sinic Zone” (along with Vietnam) of China’s foreign relations.14

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The concept of a tribute system encompassed a range of political relationships, from total submission, to equality, to “barbarian superiority.”15 Moreover, the Ming tribute system was not exclusive.16 As Hamashita Takeshi has argued, states paying tribute to China also had reciprocal relations with other countries: the Chosŏn Korea–Japan connection was one of several “satellite” tributary relations, others being that of Ryūkyū paying tribute to Korea, Japan, and China, or Vietnam requesting tribute from Laos. The tribute system was a source of informal political integration embracing maritime Asia, from Northeast Asia to Southeast Asia to Oceania.17 Although Fairbank categorized Japan, along with the states of South and Southeast Asia as part of the outer zone of “barbarians,” Japan was in fact within the sphere of the China-centered universe. Classical Chinese and the Chinese classics formed the basis of elite learning and political and cultural discourse in Japan (as in Korea and Vietnam) from the time of the Tang dynasty (618–906). Chinese scholarship remained relevant to the Japanese learned world until the end of the nineteenth century. These facts indicate how certain norms of Chinese civilization came to be institutionalized in Japan. There were other cultural ties with China as well. Already in the Sui dynasty (605– 17) Buddhist monks and other religious devotees came to China for contact with Chinese masters, and over the centuries a steady stream of these cultural envoys brought this learning back and influenced Japanese spiritual and material life. However, with time, such cultural affinities were overshadowed by the waves of Japanese pirates, who from the time of the Yuan era (1279– 1368) began to plunder the Chinese littoral and cause great destruction. These two contrasting images of Japan, the land of the “sagacious monk” and the “bloodthirsty warrior,” came to dominate Chinese thought about Japan.18 As we review the narrative of Korean and Japanese relations with Ming China until 1592, what emerges is a complex history in which the pursuit of pragmatic economic goals often took precedence over ideological factors, including Confucian “protocol.” The fifty-year period preceding the Imjin Waeran tested the flexibility of the means by which China tried to maintain its position of centrality in the East Asian world order and, at the same time, to avoid military confrontation with its neighbors. Korean and Japanese contact with Ming China before 1592 While Korea may have been the “ideal tributary state,” its relations with the early Ming government got off to a rocky start because the ruling elite of the Koryŏ dynasty had had close political and personal ties to the Mongol Yuan regime through marriage affiliations. The first Ming emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang (the Hongwu emperor) (r. 1368–98), initiated contact with Koryŏ to gain Korean confidence and their obeisance to his new government. In an edict issued in 1372, the Chinese Emperor Hongwu ordered the Korean King Kongmin “to follow the ancient Chinese custom of visiting the court of the Son of Heaven once every three years, bearing tributary gifts.”19 The

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Koreans complied, but they also continued to maintain diplomatic relations with Mongol Yuan rulers. Because so much of Manchuria remained under the authority of the Mongols who had not yet yielded to the Ming, King Kongmin was in a dilemma. Breaking ties with the Mongols on Korea’s northern border was an invitation to trouble and until 1387, when Ming armies finally established jurisdiction over the Liaodong peninsula and southern Manchuria, the Koreans could not give their undivided loyalty to the Ming.20 What happened thereafter was to set the tone for Ming–Korean relations for some time. Yi Sŏnggye’s (1355–1405) seizure of the capital Kaegyŏng (Kaesŏng) in defiance of Koryŏ’s attempt to attack the Ming at the Yalu, and later, Yi’s takeover of the government in 1392, aroused Ming suspicions. The day after declaring himself king of Korea, Yi sent an envoy to Nanjing to petition investiture by the Ming court. Hongwu must have harbored distrust, because, while he did accede to the Korean request to name the new dynasty (choosing “Chosŏn,” C. Chaoxian), he rebuffed repeated attempts to establish regular tributary relations thereafter.21 From the perspective of the Ming court, Korea was a security problem. Even Yi Sŏnggye’s foreign policy, framed in classical terminology, “the way to protect the country is for the smaller to serve the larger” (C. shida, K. sadae), may have only strengthened Hongwu’s assessment that Yi needed security and probably legitimacy.22 Hongwu’s overriding concern was the security of the Sino-Korean border, and so a man with Yi’s military background, which included earlier contact with the Jurchens, did not inspire confidence; Hongwu was preoccupied with a possible Korean–Jurchen alliance.23 Only an embassy led by Yi Sŏnggye’s son, Yi Pangwŏn, in 1394 seemed to have somewhat mollified the emperor’s attitude towards Korea, but in general the relations between the Hongwu court and Chosŏn were never easy.24 With Hongwu’s death in 1398, Ming–Chosŏn relations began a new phase. Yi Pangwŏn, enthroned as King Taejong (r. 1400–18), supported the Jianwen emperor (r. 1399–1402) during the civil war (1399–1402) with the emperor’s nephew, the Prince of Yan, Zhu Di.25 The Korean court sent horses to aid Jianwen, but because of a series of military blunders on the emperor’s side, Zhu Di’s forces defeated the imperial contingent, and the prince ascended the throne as the Yongle emperor (r. 1403–25). Despite Chosŏn’s help to the Nanjing regime, the Yongle emperor did not seek revenge, and almost immediately after taking the throne, he sent Yu Shiji (d. 1435), the assistant censor-in-chief, to inform the Korean king of his ascension.26 In response the Korean king sent an embassy to congratulate him and to request a new seal and investiture. From then a regular exchange of embassies between the two countries ensued.27 The official list of Chosŏn tribute items in the Da Ming huidian (Statutes of the Great Ming, 1587) contains gold, silver, a number of local products such as ginseng, and a fixed supply of stud horses.28 However, what does not appear was the demand for human tribute: female virgins and

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eunuchs to serve the Inner Court.29 According to Korean sources, the Yongle emperor wanted Korean women to work either in the harem or in his palaces.30 Of the 300 women sent to Beijing in 1408, five were personally selected by the emperor’s eunuch envoy. Thereafter, the demand for “Korean beauties” became a customary request, despite anger and resentment in the Chosŏn court. The Xuande emperor (r. 1426–36) also requested Korean women and demanded a regular supply of Korean female cooks to prepare his favorite dishes, including Korean-style fish and pickles.31 Three Chinese accounts from the fifteenth century reveal dimensions of the “realpolitik” element in the Chinese–Korean connection, as opposed to only ideological or cultural considerations. These reports are: Chaoxian jishi (Memorandum on an Embassy to Korea, 1450) by Ni Qian (1415–79; 1439 js); Fengshi lu (Record of an Embassy, 1460) by Zhang Ning (1454 js); and Chaoxian zazhi (Various Recordings on Korea, 1488) by Dong Yue (1431– 1502; 1469 js).32 The aim of Ni Qian’s visit to Korea in early 1450 was to obtain a declaration of loyalty to the new Ming emperor Jingtai (r. 1450– 7), installed by the courageous Minister of War Yu Qian (1398–1457) after Jingtai’s brother, the Yingzong emperor (r. 1436–50 and 1457–65), had been kidnapped by the Oyirat or Western Mongols.33 Ni Qian was also anxious to determine whether the Koreans were entertaining thoughts of backing the Oyirat against the Ming. As one modern historian has observed, the fact that Ni set out for Korea in mid-December, in the depths of winter, on a journey of approximately two months from Beijing is certain indication of how seriously the Chinese viewed any possible alliances between Chosŏn and the Oyirat.34 Even the formal niceties of the embassy itself, that is, banqueting, sightseeing, the exchange of gifts and poetry, etc., could not cover up the seriousness of the expedition. Ni Qian returned to China with assurances that Korea would remain loyal to the Ming. Like Ni Qian, Zhang Ning also tried to reach Korea in a hurry, in fear of a possible Chosŏn collusion with Jianzhou Jurchens in Northern Manchuria. Aware that eastern Manchuria tribes paid tribute to Korea (and hence, were under Korean suzerainty), the Ming government had justifiable concerns. Zhang Ning, as a highly placed secretary in the Ministry of Rites and accompanied by a military commissioner familiar with northeastern affairs, set out for Seoul in 1460 in haste and reached the Korean capital in less than a month. Here Zhang sought out Korean assurances that they would maintain order over their “unruly vassal.”35 Fengshi lu, mainly a collection of poetry describing Zhang’s reaction to the sights he visited after the official business was over, may be viewed not just as a “literary reflection” but also a sign of the success of the diplomatic framework in which Ming–Chosŏn relations were conducted. The Chinese understood where Korea had some independence in the matter of border disputes. Unlike these two visits, that by Dong Yue in 1488 to Korea, as reported in Chaoxian zashi, a private collection of notes, was much more low-key.36 Dong took his time getting to Seoul, and once having crossed the Yalu, he found

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time to do sightseeing before heading for the capital. The purpose of his embassy was to inform the Koreans of the recent ascension of the Hongzhi emperor (r. 1487–1505). Upon arrival in the Chosŏn court, he noted with delight how well the Koreans observed the correct rituals, and he promised to rectify the inaccurate accounts of Korean official customs in Chinese publications.37 By the end of the fifteenth century it seems that Chinese interest in Korea had shifted from anxieties over security to care and consideration of Korean adherence to ritual and correct etiquette. There were fewer embassies from the Chinese side (only ten between 1506 and 1567), implying the growing stability between the two neighbors.38 Nevertheless, what preoccupied both countries well into the sixteenth century was keeping the upper hand over two sets of mutual enemies: the three principal Jurchen tribal confederations in Jianzhou and sea-faring pirates (Ch. wokou J. wakō). Although China and Korea were successful in “limiting the spread of Jurchen influence,”39 the pirates were another matter altogether. Composed of both Japanese and Chinese, the pirates had their heyday in the 1550s when, according to the “bible of wakō studies,” Chouhai tubian (An illustrated discourse on maritime defense, 1561–2), they plundered the coasts of Zhejiang and Fujian provinces.40 Korea viewed its previous efforts in the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries to transform piracy into peaceful commerce as being threatened when, in 1555, wakō raided Tallyang and other areas of Chŏlla Province’s southern coast; the intensity of the armed struggles presaged disaster. The Korean authorities must have breathed a sigh of relief when they realized that “the great tide of brigandage sweeping East Asian waters in the 1550s and 60s swirled about the coasts of China.”41 By that time, the Ming government had had some experience in both suppressing piracy and dealing with Japanese efforts to regularize contact with China. In 1403 the Yongle emperor received envoys from Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, a retired shōgun and an ardent Zen Buddhist, who professed a certain admiration (almost to the point of sinophilia) for the home of that form of Buddhist learning. Yoshimitsu was also in need of money and saw the Middle Kingdom as a source of tremendous wealth for which he was prepared to acknowledge China’s suzerainty in exchange for regular tributary contact, and hence favorable trade relations. His letter to Yongle, signed “your subject, the king of Japan,” was fraudulent on two counts: he was not Japan’s king, but had resigned from the shōgunate and become a Buddhist monk; and he did not acknowledge China’s suzerainty. But for the Chinese willing to grant the Japanese official trading status, he seemed the perfect ally to enlist in the suppression of piracy.42 Until Yoshimitsu’s overtures, the Ming government had followed Hungwu’s 1369 policy statement towards the “island men.” If you wish to pay us respect, then come to court; if not, tend your own military matters and protect yourself. But if you are to engage in piracy,

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I should at once order my generals to subjugate you. O King, you had better consider this!43 Hungwu’s 1369 warning implies an important premise in China’s attitude towards foreign states: keep order within your own borders. Although the Ming court did establish tribute-trade relations from the time of the Yongle emperor, and Japan did present “tribute” some seventeen times between 1404 and 1547, the relationship never acquired any kind of standard ritual decorum. The “tribute missions” were confined to Ningbo (Zhejiang Province) where the Japanese carried on a “tally trade” with licensed Chinese brokers, under the supervision of the Maritime Trade Superintendency (tiju shibosi).44 The Japanese “embassies” brought armor, swords, and gilt fans, and the Chinese responded with sumptuous silk textiles, porcelain, and large sums of copper cash.45 The impact of this cash should not be underrated: because the bakufu did not mint coins, Chinese specie became the medium for both international exchange and Japan’s growing mercantile economy.46 Japanese Zen monks managed much of the trade and diplomacy during this period – as cultural brokers, Zen priests stimulated interest in Chinese art, and thus began the heyday of Japanese collections of Ming porcelains, landscape paintings, decorative furnishings, writing materials, and Buddhist scriptures.47 Despite a few disturbing incidents such as the occasion in 1523 when two “tribute missions” arrived in Ningbo at the same time,48 the relations between Muromachi Japan and Ming China functioned reasonably well until 1549 when smuggling and piracy overshadowed normal intercourse. A surge of pirate incidents triggered several decades of armed conflict along China’s littoral. According to one set of figures, from 1440 to 1550, there were only twenty-five raids, but for the single decade 1551–60, 467 separate pirate incidents were recorded, and another seventy-five for 1561–70, after which the number of incursions subsided.49 The causes of the swell of pirate attacks originated within China itself.50 As the official in charge of Zhejiang and Fujian coastal defenses, Zhu Wan (1494–1550), found out in his 1547 investigation of these disturbances: for decades local Chinese entrepreneurs protected by regional officials had been engaging in large-scale overseas trade – a practice that was strictly forbidden by Ming law. As a righteous official, Zhu attempted to police the principal centers of illegal commerce off the Zhejiang coast. His efforts resulted only in greater efforts by leading Chinese merchants, such as Wang Zhi (d. 1559), to enlist government support to promote “free trade.” When Wang failed to gain his objective by compromise and cooperation, he began to use all his resources, including easy access to armed fleets manned by sailors and soldiers, to attack official establishments and to raid all along the littoral. Between 1552 and 1559 pirate assaults spread into what is now Jiangsu and Anhui provinces in the interior, threatening great urban centers such as Nanjing, Suzhou, and Yangzhou. While one has to admit that the Chinese element

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in these gangs predominated, the Japanese were well represented among the membership. Once the Ming government forces dispersed the invaders from the China coast, the Japanese archipelago served as a suitable base to launch further attacks.51 The Ming government finally gained control, thanks to expert handling by Hu Zongxian (1511–65), a civil official who eliminated the leading pirate chiefs by the end of the 1550s, and Qi Jiguang (1528–88), a military officer who commanded local troops from Yiwu (Zhejiang) in a number of swift victories.52 But despite their successes, there were long-term consequences. First, years of threats and actual destruction generated a powerful feeling of insecurity among a certain segment of the Jiangnan elite who blamed the marauders’ presence on the failure of the Chinese government. A number of literati doubted the government’s effectiveness, and this led local leaders to encourage defensive measures, not only building more walls around urban areas, but also stimulating interest in military matters.53 Second, the defeat of the pirates lured the same authorities to ignore the metamorphosis of these pirates: Hideyoshi’s unification process absorbed these pirates into “model vassals.”54 Had they realized the actions by this Japanese warrior, his invasion would not have caught them off-guard, envisioning his invasion to be another wakō raid or bahan plague.55 The politics of Korean and Japanese tribute relations with Ming China Ming China conducted its foreign affairs according to a tribute system, but in effect this code of conduct was nothing like a monolithic, uniform framework – institutional innovations and crises of military strategy were just as important to the formulation of a particular policy of interstate relations at a given point in time.56 In the case of Ming China and Chosŏn Korea, the creation of tribute systems called on ideological justification based on NeoConfucian values as well as pragmatic concerns. In early Ming China, the triumph of Neo-Confucianism contributed to the imposition of a “unified tribute system matrix on all foreign relations.” It may be viewed as a reaction born out of resentment towards more than three centuries of alien rulership when China found itself “among equals.”57 The Hongwu emperor, in his zealous support of the Zhu Xi interpretation of Neo-Confucianism, which he believed would legitimate his rulership in the face of the literati elite,58 saw it as his duty “to restore” what had been a “standard tribute system” practiced during the Han and Tang dynasties. His, and his successors’, “restoration was so successful that by the time the European maritime powers began to enter East Asian shipping lanes in the sixteenth century,”59 Westerners came to believe not only that the tribute system had always been the normal mode of Chinese intercourse with foreigners, but also that it was a form of subjugation by China towards outlying states. Recent studies call for a revision of this point of view: new archival research points to the element of flexibility in China’s conduct of its foreign affairs,

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particularly with regard to its relatively high level of tolerance in matters of “guest ritual.” For example, it is now known that “ritual visits” also offered “barbarians” the opportunity to abuse the system. Pamela Crossley writes about the Ming: Jurchen ‘tribute’ missions to the Ming capital were actually expeditions for imposing upon the hospitality of the Ming court and its eunuch managers, collecting bribes in goods and cash to ensure another year of amicability, and wringing high prices for their horses.60 In any event, in Ming China the promulgation of a specific form of NeoConfucian orthodoxy stimulated, in turn, the pursuit of a particular version of foreign relations and the myth of its perpetuity in Chinese history. Conversely, early Chosŏn Korea, by pursuing a policy of sadae and thus adapting and adhering to the early Ming prescription of tribute relations (including compliance with the “informal” demands for virgins and pickles), laid the basis for the country’s eventual ideological commitment to Neo-Confucian values during and after the fifteenth century.61 In addition to conforming to the requirements of tribute ritual, the Korean state also formulated its foreign policy objectives out of pragmatic concerns about its own border security. In sum, Chosŏn Korea and Ming China consciously constructed power relations with each other according to both realist and cultural positions. These positions became clear in the summer of 1592 when King Sŏnjo begged for help from the Ming court. The initial Chinese reaction was not unified, and the ritualized language of the tribute system could not conceal inherent tensions. According to Gu Yingtai’s account, the first reaction of Ming authorities at court was to characterize the Korean king in the following way: “that he (the King) was a heavy drinker, leading a life of pleasure, and [not least] negligent in the matter of [his country’s] defense.”62 Clearly, these were not the words of a benevolent superior towards a dependable inferior. On the other hand, the Wanli emperor himself expressed personal sympathy for the Korean king. On first learning in the early sixth month of 1592 about the invasion of Chosŏn, he voiced compassion for the king’s plight, and several days later offered him refuge.63 China’s relations with Japan were entirely different. Chinese policy towards Japan lacked insight. Unlike the “realistic” ways the Ming government handled problems on its land frontier, successive Ming courts demonstrated an unshakeable faith in the use of bureaucratic controls. The “tally trade” was seen as the most appropriate and efficient way to deal with both tribute and international commerce along its sea frontier. The government’s mismanagement of what had become multilateral private commerce in and out of China’s coastal ports mushroomed into armed conflicts that led to grave depredations of the Chinese coast, the transformation of traders into pirates, and not least, internationalization of the South China Sea region. The response of the Jiajing emperor

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(r. 1522–67), who particularly disliked China engaging in foreign trade outside the tribute system, only exacerbated the conflict between “ordinary” (lawabiding) Chinese simply wanting to trade and pirates. Only with this emperor’s death in 1567 did the Ming government release the ban on Chinese participation in overseas trade. But the concept of “tribute trade” did not fade away, and the Ming government continued to rely on this institution as a way of defining the East Asian world order to its advantage. This attitude became the center of controversy during the “peace negotiations” with Japan after 1593.

The rescue of Korea by Wanli China Preliminary remarks The last decades of the sixteenth century were a time of wide and increasing interest in military innovation. The efforts of leading civil officials such as the Grand Councilors Gao Gong (1512–78) and Zhang Juzheng (1525– 82),64 keen proponents of the need to revitalize Ming military capacities, were duplicated by leading literati who published treatises for the general populace on local defense and the use of new weapon technology. Lu Kun’s (1536–1618) handbook, Jiuming shu (Saving lives while defending a city, 1607 preface), informed a general readership in defense against bandits and included descriptions of small arms.65 Memories of the 1550s raids on the Jiangnan coast prompted local leaders to organize local militia once news of the Korean campaign became known. Modern literary scholars have noted that in the second half of the sixteenth century many Chinese writers began to attach great importance to the notion of xia (chivalry), and that they celebrated the values of “loyalty, gallantry, manly conduct, and heroism” in fictional narratives.66 China’s most famous novel of noble warriors, Shuihu zhuan (The Water Margin), was composed around this time. Interest in restoring a martial spirit to Ming culture pervades the writings of Song Maocheng (1569?–1620?), who idealized the knight-errant of the Warring States era, and also those of Chen Jiru (1558– 1639). Song and his literary circle were tied to the highest echelons of the Ming military elite, civil officials, and generals responsible for running the Korea campaign through the courtesan who liaised with them, the famous Xue Susu (fl. 1574–1635).67 She had been the lover of Yuan Baode, a civil official with military duties in one of the other great Wanli campaigns, and also the one-time mistress of General Li Chengliang (1526–1618). Li was one of China’s best-known military chiefs, and the father of five other great commanders, including the highly decorated Li Rusong (1549–98), who was to play such an important role in the Imjin Waeran.68 It was likely that Song through Xue became friends with another capable general, the southerner Liu Ting (d. 1619), who too was involved in the Korea campaign. Such affiliations between scholar-intellectuals and military officials imply a changing status of military men in Ming life.

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Earlier interpretations that essentialize Chinese attitudes towards warfare as one of avoidance, or even incompetence, also need revision. It may be argued that China had two strategic cultures. One was based on the “Confucian– Mencian paradigm” that viewed warfare as aberrant and avoidable through good government. When unavoidable, war was best prosecuted through accommodationist and defensive strategies. The other culture was the parabellum mode, which assumed the continuity of possible conflict, required an ever-ready state of war, and favored offensive strategies.69 Ming policy makers preferred the latter paradigm – years of fighting the Mongols on the northern borders made the Confucian paradigm impossible to implement.70 In general, the Ming record on foreign conflicts “shows a predilection for the use of force over negotiation.”71 The history of Chinese military literature also supports this tendency: almost one-third of the texts on military technology ever produced originated in the Ming dynasty.72 Unfortunately, information about Ming military manuals and treatises is not easy to locate. Documentation on innovative Ming military technology did not find its way into the Mingshi, which was published in 1739, under heavy Manchu censorship. One reason that the military prowess of the Wanli era has been disparaged is due to the mis-characterization of the Wanli emperor himself. Biographical accounts usually represent him as a self-indulgent, emotionally incapacitated, uncommitted individual, too preoccupied with his own personal dilemmas to run the Ming empire effectively.73 But recent historical research utilizing a number of neglected sources such as the Wanli dichao (Court gazette of the Wanli era, 1621) attempts to portray him as a much more forceful individual, anxious for the security of China’s borders, and keen on developing the armies of his empire into strong fighting forces.74 One writer proposes that Shenzong’s personal involvement in the Three Great Campaigns may be counted as his greatest achievement.75 One of the reasons for that success was the emperor’s ability to select capable personnel as the occasion arose and to run the court bureaucracy efficiently and fairly. The quality of the Chinese forces in Korea had no resemblance to either the first generation of troops who loyally formed the core of the first Ming emperor’s hereditary military system,76 or the weak and demoralized corps so quickly defeated at Fushun (Liaodong) in 1619.77 The Ming army that saw action in Korea from 1592 to 1593 and again in 1597–8 was a collection of mercenary regiments led by commanders who were familiar with logistical and strategic techniques successfully employed in earlier campaigns against pirates on the coast and Mongols along the northern frontier. Mercenaries were the key to Qi Jiguang’s success in rooting pirates out of Zhejiang. He recruited 3,000 natives of Yiwu (located about 150 kilometers south of Hangzhou) to fight the invaders.78 Contemporary observers agreed that what made his military accomplishment so unique was the way he had trained his soldiers and employed them in new, innovative tactical formations. Qi published two military handbooks based on his experiences in the battlefield that became “standard reading” for army strategists and military commanders:

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Jixiao xinshu (A new treatise on disciplined service, 1562) gave practical advice on recruiting, organizing, training, and leading soldiers; and Lianbing shiji (A practical account of troop training, 1571) added to the information in his first volume but from the perspective of fighting on the Ming northern borders. After his success against pirates, Qi was awarded command of the prestigious Jizhou defense area, northeast of Beijing, where he served from 1569 to 1583.79 Many of Qi’s achievements were celebrated in Zhao Shizhen’s Shenqi pu (A written discourse on empire, 1598), a well-illustrated treatise on contemporary firearms and their regimental use according to Qi’s innovations. Qi’s contributions to Ming military tactics contrast with policies towards the Mongols. The Ming government pursued an “accommodationist” policy during the 1560s, resulting in a peace agreement with the Altan Khan in 1571. But the stratagem was, according to one leading Ming official, Wang Chonggu (1515–89), a way to buy time – the government could use the detente to improve defensive instruments (walls, forts, and warning beacons) and ultimately ensure the security of the state.80 Ever since the mid fifteenth century, military administrators had supervised the building of “long walls” to connect the western segments of the jiu bian zhen (nine border garrisons) situated along China’s northern and northwest frontiers. These fortified garrisons were located at key defense points where large divisions of the Ming army were deployed.81 As the use of garrison troops became more important in the sixteenth century, the government promoted a program of strengthening fortifications, and so “armies” of brick and stonemasons were employed to create a “Great Wall.”82 The architect of the “accommodationist” strategy, but also the champion for the revitalization of the Ming forces was the Grand Secretary Zhang Juzheng (in post from 1571 to 1582). Zhang was personally responsible for Qi Jiguang’s appointment to the Jizhou command and the power behind increasing the numbers of troops (by a third) under Qi’s leadership. Zhang also encouraged Qi to make use of newly devised cart-fighting techniques and employing light artillery called folangji, which was a breech-loading swivel gun fitted to a small mobile vehicle and manned by twenty soldiers.83 Zhang, the son of a minor military official, gained his jinshi degree in 1547 through his own talent but rose into the higher echelons of the bureaucracy by networking with a number of powerful men, including the influential Grand Secretary Yan Song (1480–1565). As the juvenile Wanli emperor’s tutor, Zhang had close access to the monarch and taught him much about military matters, which also had some impact on the court’s handling of the Imjin Waeran. Wanli grew up with a great interest in border affairs and eventually perceived the advantages of having a contingent of loyal military officials at his disposal to counter the overwhelming influence of civil officials at court.84 To underwrite these military programs, Zhang initiated an overhaul of the Ming financial structure. He directed his policies against “old wealth,” notably those Jiangnan families whose resources lay principally in extensive landholdings, and made a substantial number of enemies.85 One of his major

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deeds was to initiate a nationwide cadastral survey in 1578 whereby all the landholdings recorded in all the survey registers in local government offices were re-measured, utilizing new mathematics and a more precise form of calculation, with a view towards increasing the tax base. By 1581, Zhang was able to have the government adopt the so-called “Single Whip” method whereby the complex array of service levies and grain taxes were commuted to one payment in silver.86 Zhang also revived the tradition of military farming and personally charged governor generals to increase production.87 These efforts, as well as pursuing tax delinquencies, resulted in bulging treasury vaults, plentiful grain, and cash deposits in provincial treasuries. By the 1580s, a general feeling of well-being can be traced to his program for fiscal management.88 In 1577 the expenses for armies in Xuanfu, Datong, and Shanxi were reported to be only 20–30% of what they had been before peace was made [in 1571], while in 1583 the armies were far better supplied than before. Subsidies to the Mongols amounted to only a tenth of what defense previously cost.89 According to one estimate, at the end of the 1571–80 decade, there was a surplus of 353,000 taels of silver in the Ming treasury, and the first surplus since the early sixteenth century.90 On the eve of Hideyoshi’s invasion, the Ming government enjoyed a renewal of its fiscal resources91 and possessed a reinvigorated military machine, thanks to the reforms of Qi Jiguang and Zhang Juzheng. The lowest ebb of the dynasty’s military resources had been overcome. A “Great Wall” had developed, as one frontier section was strengthened after another. And so, China could face its enemies with a certain amount of confidence. In addition to the Japanese incursion in Korea, the Ming engaged in two other major conflicts, including a rebellion on the southwest frontier where a local hereditary aboriginal power-holder, Yang Yinglung (d. 1600), rose against the government in 1590 and for some ten years caused havoc. Yang led Miao tribesmen to raid into regions in Guizhou and southern Sichuan.92 On the northwest frontier, the Ming army faced Pubei (said to be a Chahar Mongol) and his son, both formerly in the service of the government, who, with the support of Ordos Mongols, threatened to take over Shaanxi in 1592. The Chinese general, Li Rusong, later to become an important leader in the Korean campaign, successfully destroyed Pubei and his supporters in 1592.93 The rescue According to the Mingshi, in 1592, Toyotomi Hideyoshi made known his desire to conquer both China and Japan. He summoned the remnants of [the pirate] Wang Zhi’s former gang for inquiry and through them he learned that the Chinese were afraid of

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The Mingshi account identifies Chen Jia, a Chinese trader from Fujian, as the informant to the governor of Fujian, Zhao Canlu (1571 js), about Hideyoshi’s intentions, but it does not refer to Hideyoshi’s letter delivered to the 1590 Korean embassy to Japan. This document made clear his demand that Korea support Japan with its invasion of China.95 On the embassy’s return to Seoul, the Korean court debated whether to brief Beijing of Hideyoshi’s intended invasion. But in the meantime Zhao Canlu informed the Chinese Ministry of War (Ch. Bingbu) of Chen’s message, and the Ryūkyū prince Shō Nei also sent a missive to the Ming government about Hideyoshi’s designs.96 By the time Korea did notify the Wanli court in late 1591 about their encounter with Hideyoshi, the Chinese had grown suspicious regarding Korea’s loyalty; hence the cool reception to King Sŏnjo’s plea for help. The rescue of Korea by Wanli’s China endured three phases: 1592–3, a period of heavy warfare in Korea ending in a stalemate; 1593–6, years of inconclusive peace talks; and 1597–8, the second and final military campaign in Korea, resulting in Japan’s defeat.97 The first phase of the war began when the Wanli emperor ordered Chinese troops to Korea to fight the Japanese. This decision was taken by Shenzong himself, without any pressure from ministers or military advisors.98 His principal concern was that the coastal regions of Liaodong and Shandong (known as “Military Zone 1”) were well protected against sea attacks – no doubt recollecting pirate attacks. He also saw “Korea as a hazard.”99 Believing the reports from the Ministry of War that described only the weakness of the Korean king’s army, he was determined to contain the Japanese invasion within the Korean border and to push the invaders back to Japan. Thus, with great disappointment the Wanli emperor learned of the defeat on 16–17.7.1592 by Konishi’s forces at P’yŏngyang of 3,000 troops under the vice-commander of Liaoyang, Zu Chengxun (fl. 1570–1600), with support from the Mobile Corps commander Shi Ru.100 The Ming debacle was due to poor planning and inclement weather – several weeks of heavy rains had made the terrain difficult for moving men and supplies. Hearing about the severe losses, Shenzong took immediate action. In September, he commissioned Song Yingchang (1530–1606; 1565 js), a career bureaucrat, to the rank of vice-minister in the Ministry of War, with the specific duty of organizing the Chinese resistance along the seacoast of Jizhen, Liaodong, Shandong, and Baoding, and gave him the general task of preparing the military strategy to defeat the Japanese.101 In addition, the emperor assigned two other civil officials, Liu Huangshang (1527–93; 1586 js) and Yuan Huang (1533–1606), to serve as Military Councilors for the next expeditionary force to Korea,

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planned for early 1593.102 The Wanli emperor also recruited Li Rusong to lead that expedition. At the time of his appointment, Li was still in the Ningxia region in combat against Pubei and the Mongols, but by the end of 1592, with his tremendous success there, he was ready to take up his new command.103 Among his many responsibilities, Song Yingchang had to arrange weapons and other military supplies. He ordered the Ministry of War to procure 10,000 Liaodong soldiers, along with 26,000 more troops from other northern commands, who were to be aided with 360 “mobile carts,” 70,000 cannon of various types, 27,000 bows and crossbows, 2,000 felt shields, and more than several million arrows, as well as an indeterminate number of land mines and fire arrows.104 In total, Song planned that some 42,000 men from five northern military districts plus 3,000 soldiers trained in the use of Western firearms from South China prepare for the 1593 offensive.105 Song additionally ordered that the Koreans be supplied with 300 heavy guns for their own defense.106 A censor at court, Guo Shi (1583 js), criticized the vice-minister’s plans on the grounds that they were “impractical and cost overburdening.”107 The emperor became furious at what he considered a “personal attack” by Guo on Song’s initiatives and denounced Guo for acting irresponsibly. Charging him with spreading rumors that aided the enemy, Shenzong ordered Guo be punished. He also made clear that any other “servants” among the “Nine Chief Ministers and Supervisors, Secretaries, and Censors” (i.e., the Wanli court’s top bureaucracy) opposing Song’s plans would also be chastised.108 The emperor sought success and displayed great interest throughout the entire campaign. It is not apparent whether Guo was part of the faction loyal to the aims of the Minister of War, Shi Xing (1538–99; 1565 js). Shi openly preferred negotiation to armed struggle; he felt war would prove too expensive and its costs exceed the Ministry of War’s budget.109 After Zu Chengxun’s defeat in P’yŏngyang, at the end of summer 1592, Shi sent his personal envoy, Shen Weijing (1540–97), a member of neither the civil nor military bureaucracy, to Korea to meet with Konishi Yukinaga to discuss the terms of “peace.” Shi was acquainted with Shen through his in-laws: the parents of Shi Xing’s wife lived next door to Shen’s parents in Jiaxing (Zhejiang).110 Shen could speak Japanese and conducted conversations with Konishi about a possible truce. For his part, Konishi demanded that China become a vassal of Japan and agree to “tributary status” and that Korea cede the territory south of the Taedong River to Japan. In response, Shen succeeded by the middle of the eighth month to convince Konishi to call a truce of fifty days during which time he would return to Beijing to consult officials there about Konishi’s claims.111 This was a stratagem to buy time while Song Yingchang and Li Rusong made final preparations for war in Korea.112 In the eleventh month the Ministry of War ordered Shen to return to P’yŏngyang and “to negotiate” with Konishi a peace settlement that would offer Japan “tributary status” as a trading partner and Chinese investiture for the king of Japan (Ch. Riben guowang) in exchange for Japanese withdrawal

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from Korea.113 Konishi must have believed that China was still entertaining Japan’s terms (i.e., China withdraw aid to Korea), because on the fourth day of the first month of 1593, as Li Rusong was leading his troops into the suburbs of P’yŏngyang, he sent twenty petty military officers to welcome Li. In Konishi’s mind, Li was there to back up Shen’s peace mediations, but Li killed three of Konishi’s retainers, while the remaining officers fled back to the daimyō’s camp. Astonished by this, Konishi sent a note to Shen with the message: “Is the latest incident the result of a problem of (language) translation?”114 He also demanded from Shen a copy of the original Chinese letter that had set the terms for the peace negotiation. But by the sixth day of the first month, 1593, Li’s troops were already outside the gates of P’yŏngyang, and after two days of heavy fighting, Konishi had no choice but to flee towards Seoul.115 Li announced his victory to the Ministry of War: the Chinese forces had beheaded more than 1,500 Japanese and killed another 6,000. A further 5,000 Japanese troops drowned as they fled P’yŏngyang.116 Song reported even larger numbers of Japanese killed, including 10,000 soldiers burned to death.117 No doubt both sides exaggerated their gains and underestimated their losses; it was also not unknown for both belligerents to kill Korean civilians to exaggerate their counts.118 “The P’yŏngyang victory intoxicated Li Rusong,”119 and he continued his campaign. With only a small vanguard of 3,000 men he pushed southward towards Seoul, but some 70 li (40 km) north of the city, at the postal station Pyŏkchegwan, the Japanese counterattacked with a detachment of 6,000–7,000 men and Li was nearly killed.120 With heavy losses, he fled back to P’yŏngyang; around the same time, Konishi and Katō Kiyomasa (1562–1611) decided to leave Seoul and head towards Pusan. And so began the difficult second phase of negotiations.121 Diplomatic efforts were hampered by the fact that neither side had sufficient military strength in the spring of 1593 to defeat the other,122 although non-Chinese tribesmen from the southwest frontiers, including some Siamese under the leadership of Liu Ting (1552–1619), arrived in Korea as the Japanese began to evacuate Seoul.123 The Japanese decampment was due to their lack of supplies (a contingent of Chinese and Korean soldiers had burned most of their food) and threats by Shen that China was prepared to send 400,000 troops should they not retreat. Liu’s army served as a backup detachment as Li withdrew the bulk of the Chinese forces and headed back to China.124 When the peace negotiations began, there were altogether 7,600 Chinese troops under Liu and Wu Weizhong in Korea, while some 16,000 Liaodong troops under Li Rusong stood ready.125 Once again Shen served as the Chinese contact, and in the fifth month of 1593 he, along with two other “negotiators,” arrived in Nagoya where Hideyoshi received them as ‘“Ming imperial envoys.”126 As the discussions were taking place, Japanese forces under Katō took Chinju and massacred some 60,000 inhabitants. When the Chinese mission returned to Pusan and learned of this new atrocity, they probably thought that the ending of the hostilities was

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more important and decided not to push Konishi about it.127 The Chinese negotiators carried a memorial to the Ming emperor from Hideyoshi. The document contained seven stipulations for peace, including the demands that China offer an imperial princess “as consort to the emperor of Japan” and that half of the territory of Korea be ceded to Japan.128 Another condition was the restoration of the tally trade. Hideyoshi’s aides-de-camp realized that their master’s pomposity, in both language and demands, would not further the peace initiative, and so both parties agreed at Pusan to temper the original memorial. An important “modification” to this communiqué was the request that Hideyoshi be confirmed a “tributary prince” (feng wei fanwang).129 Even once these arrangements had been settled between Shen and Konishi in early autumn 1593, it still took almost a year before Naitō Joan (1560?–1626) or Konishi Joan, a vassal of Konishi’s and Hideyoshi’s envoy to China, finally received permission from the Chinese to enter China and proceed to Beijing for the peace settlement. Court debates about peace conditions dominated palace exchanges in Beijing long before Naitō’s arrival. Given his pecuniary concerns, no one was surprised by Shi Xing advocating that Japan be granted tribute trading status. At the end of summer 1593 Shi informed the emperor that the Japanese had left Pusan and that only a small force remained with Konishi at Sŏsaengp’o. Shi also convinced the emperor of Hideyoshi’s desire for investiture, like some of the Mongol leaders.130 In the ninth month Vice-Minister Song voiced his opposition to Shi’s idea that Japan be granted this privilege.131 Another official from the Ministry of War, Zeng Weifang, replied to Song’s points and argued that the entire disaster was due to King Sŏnjo himself because he neglected his responsibilities. Zeng urged the king to abdicate so that Korea’s territory could become part of China.132 Shenzong responded that no such idea would be entertained, ever. Then he wrote to the king chastising him for his refusal earlier to face up to the Japanese threat, with the result that his ministers had lost faith in him: “If the cart in the lead has overturned, how can those behind it not overturn?”133 He also suggested that the king return to Seoul, strengthen his navy, and then the Ming would withdraw all their forces from Korea.134 Throughout, the Chinese emperor continued to help his neighbor and was willing to override the decisions of his ministers. As Shen and his Japanese counterparts prepared the “peace document” in autumn 1593, the Wanli emperor gave instructions to the Liaodong civil governor Gu Yangqian (1537–1604; 1565 js) to begin the final withdrawal of the bulk of Chinese troops.135 The token force under Liu lent some assurance against potential Japanese attacks, which the emperor clearly considered possible. The Wanli dichao reports Shenzong’s assessment on the fifth day of the eleventh month, 1593: “but the Japanese are crafty and deceitful, I do not think we can consider this matter finished.”136 By early 1594 ministers, officials, and bystanders were hotly debating whether Japan should be granted tribute trading status. Those opposed, such

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as the censors Yang Shaocheng and Cheng Jili, reminded the court about the history of Ming–Japanese trade relations: since the time of [Emperor] Yongzheng there were tribute trade relations with Japan, but gradually irregularities occurred, and some [Japanese] spied upon the interior [of China], and finally they entered the interior [of the country], plundered, and robbed. By the Jiajing era, the southeast coast was in a state of catastrophe. This all came about because [the Japanese] were allowed to engage in tribute trade.137 The Minister of Rites, He Qiaoyuan (1558–1632; 1586 js), who administered tribute relations, also opposed the extension of this privilege to Japan.138 He gained support from the censor Zhao Wanbi, the Supervising Secretary of Revenue Wang Dewan (1554–1621), and the Ministry of War officials Lu Zhongli, Gu Long, Xu Guanlan, Chen Weizhi, and Tang Yipeng.139 In response, Minister of War Shi Xing made it known that he would be unable to deal with Hideyoshi while he had to resist Gu Yangqian and his “war contingent.”140 In the eighth month of 1594 Gu Yangqian proposed a “compromise”: that the Japanese be allowed to enter into tribute trade at Ningbo on the condition that Konishi withdraw all his troops from Korea. At this point, the Korean king petitioned the Wanli court to grant Hideyoshi the trade option, so that the Japanese would leave Korea.141 By the end of the ninth month Shenzong had had enough of the squabbling and issued an edict summing up the options: (1) send another force to Korea to expel the Japanese; (2) wait until the enemy attacked again, and then send an army; (3) avoid war and permit the Japanese to trade at certain points but not as a tributary partner.142 Shi Xing opposed all three options, declaring that trade (without tribute) would lead to further expenses: the coastal provinces would have to increase their armed forces by 10,000 men, and it was not certain this would be sufficient to maintain order.143 The emperor also corresponded with the Korean king about these alternatives. On the eve of Naitō’s arrival in the capital, Minister Shi once again said that China could not afford any future punitive actions against Japan.144 Once Naitō (called Xiao Xi Fei by the Chinese) arrived in Beijing, a protocol problem developed. Shi wanted the Japanese representative to lodge in the imperial palace and be received as if he were a tribute envoy from “faraway.” Shenzong, suspicious about any “matters Japanese,” commanded his grand secretary that the Japanese guest be kept waiting in one of the fortress gates surrounding the palace.145 Finally, on the eleventh day of the twelfth month of 1595, the Ming court presented to Naitō its three conditions to end the hostilities: (1) withdrawal of Japanese forces from Korea; (2) except for investiture of its ruler, Japan was not to seek a relationship with the Ming government, not even trade; and (3) Japan was to establish good relations with Korea as a fellow vassal state of the Ming.146 After Naitō agreed to these

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conditions, arrangements were made to send a Chinese delegation to Japan to invest Hideyoshi with the title “King of Japan” as “the king who has become obedient” (shun hua wang), and to bestow upon him the relevant imperial regalia.147 Despite the prospect of future peace, a certain number of Ming officials were not in favor of this arrangement. But, since the Wanli emperor had made clear his disgust with the court’s in-fighting, these administrators were open to dismissal. Guo Shi, the censor who had criticized Song Yingchang’s military preparations in 1592, now submitted a memorial opposing China’s peace-making conditions, and the emperor made him a commoner on the grounds of his contentiousness at court.148 It took more than a year for the Chinese embassy to reach Japan. At Pusan, still under Japanese occupation, the chief Chinese envoy, Li Zongcheng, who may have realized Hideyoshi’s real terms, fled back to China, and only the deputy ambassadors Shen Weijing and Yang Fangheng proceeded to Japan.149 Li’s flight led the court to believe the peace talks would fail and it prepared for war.150 Shen and Yang continued their mission, and enjoyed a month’s celebration before the investiture ceremony. But what followed thereafter, at Osaka Castle on the first day of the ninth month, 1596, is what Ray Huang and other China historians have called “one of the greatest diplomatic blunders of all time.”151 After Shen and his entourage kowtowed at the ceremony and convinced the Japanese that their original seven demands for peace were accepted, Hideyoshi retreated to the countryside. There, seven days after the ceremony, the monk Saishō Shōtai read out Wanli’s investiture “to the King of Japan.”152 Realizing that none of the seven conditions for peace had been honored, Hideyoshi flew into a rage, swore revenge on the Korean people, and the peace negotiations ended. For their part, the Chinese “negotiators,” convinced of their triumph, and probably unaware of Hideyoshi’s cognizance of the situation, returned to Korea, and sent a letter to the Wanli court informing the emperor and ministers that the Japanese had accepted the peace terms and the investiture. They arranged for a number of exotic goods, such as pearls, swan feathers, and even an orangutan (procured from Southeast Asia), to be dispatched to Beijing, as “tribute” from Hideyoshi.153 The court was not fooled: severe punishments for Shen and Yang followed, as well as for Shi Xing.154 The third phase began in early 1597 as Hideyoshi sent Katō, Konishi, Nabeshima Naoshige, and their troops to join the small Japanese contingent at Pusan.155 The Japanese leader added men from the armies of other tozama to create a full force of around 140,000 for the Korea operation. In the meantime the Wanli emperor set in motion the Ming counter-assault. He ordered the Liaodong Military Governor, Li Hualong (1554–1612),156 and the Liaodong Military Commander, Sun Kuang (1542–1613),157 to prepare the region as a launching ground for some 38,000 Chinese ground troops under general Ma Gui.158 These forces were assisted by a naval contingent of 21,000 under the command of Chen Lin (d. 1607), a Guangdong native already with a distinguished career.159 Other army units were transferred from the Chinese

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interior giving the Chinese total strength at about 75,000 men.160 With further warnings from Ma Gui that large numbers of Japanese ships had entered Korean waters in the first month of 1597,161 the emperor continued to pursue victory with purpose and speed. He appointed Yang Hao (?–1629) Supreme Commander of the army and overall Regulator of Korean Military Affairs (Jingli Chaoxian junwu)162 and Xing Jie (1571 js) as Defense Coordinator.163 In the sixth month of 1597, the Japanese returned to Korea with an initial force of 20,000 men, but the Chinese expected more troops to arrive.164 Unexpectedly, the Japanese had a naval victory against the inept Korean commander Wŏn Kyun, with the result that Chŏlla Province became vulnerable to Japanese armies.165 The main Ming military force, camped around Seoul and anticipating a Japanese assault, held their position, but the Korean side had a great victory in the ninth month (14.9.1597). The Japanese fleet, on its way to support land forces, was intercepted by the Korean navy commanded by Yi Sunshin (1545–98). In the naval battle of Myŏngnyang, the Japanese lost control of the seas.166 Hereafter, Japanese land forces could only take defensive positions along the littoral from Ulsan in the east to Sunch’ŏn in the west. However, setbacks for the Chinese followed at the siege of Ulsan in the first month of 1598 that ended in heavy losses, and Yang Hao was charged with poor leadership and the loss of some 20,000 troops.167 By the fourth month of 1598 Chen Lin’s forces were in place to pick up Korean detachments along the coast and to begin coordinated attacks with the land forces. In the ninth month of 1598 Ma Gui’s forces, consisting of 24,000 Chinese and 5,500 Koreans, laid siege to Ulsan, while another Chinese commander, Dong Yiyuan, with 13,000 Chinese and 2,300 Koreans, pressed the Japanese at Sach’ŏn. They were joined by Liu Ting’s men numbering 13,600 Chinese and over 10,000 Koreans. By the end of that month Chen Lin’s forces, 13,200 Chinese and 7,300 Koreans in about 500 ships, arrived in the waters around Sunch’ŏn.168 Unexpectedly the battle here proved a defeat for the Chinese side, and the situation was heading for a stalemate once again. But shortly thereafter the court in Beijing learned of Hideyoshi’s death on the eighteenth day of the eighth month of 1598, thus signaling a “de facto end” to the sevenyear war that the Japanese called ryūtō-dabi (“a dragon’s head followed by a snake’s tail”).169

Cost of Ming China’s contribution to the Imjin Waeran One of the common complaints voiced by late Ming contemporaries, early Qing writers, and later, modern scholars about the late Ming was the government’s unregulated monetary outgoings, especially the supposedly large percentage in military expenditures. According to Wanli san da zheng kao,170 the cost to the Chinese government of the seven-year conflict in Korea was ten million taels of silver, of which the Koreans paid four million taels.171 Another contemporary source, Zuben Wanli wugonglu (Record of military exploits during the Wanli reign, 1621) by Qu Jiusi (1573 js), gives a similar

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figure and also claims that the Koreans themselves contributed significant amounts to the Ming military expenses.172 We may also add Zhuge Yuansheng’s calculation of around eight million taels.173 The pecuniary estimates by Mao Ruizheng, Qu Jiusi, and Zhuge Yuansheng contrast enormously with that by the writer Huang Zongxi (1610–95), who alleged in his well-known treatise, Mingyi daifang lu (Waiting for the dawn: A plan for the prince, 1667), that the expenditure for mercenaries enrolled to fight the Japanese in Korea was totally out of proportion to their effectiveness.174 But Huang’s computation was based on false assumptions: he claimed that in Korea the mercenaries operated in addition to hereditary soldiers.175 This misrepresentation of both the fiscal background of the conflict and the budgetary obligations of the Ministry of War may be viewed as a post-Ming effort by a critical Confucian scholar to account for the downfall of the dynasty.176 There are several problems in estimating the military expenditures of the Wanli court. First, it was not unknown to see “deflation” of the actual number of troops on active duty by military commanders anxious to acquire additional manpower from the Ministry of War. Second, it was also common to see “inflation” of the number of troops to the Ministry of Revenue in order to obtain further funds and supplies. In the long run, these tendencies inhibited the accuracy of the fiscal military record.177 Estimates vary only slightly regarding the cost of mercenaries. One assessment finds that by the late Wanli era each mercenary cost between 18 and 23 taels per year.178 Another calculates that in the late Wanli each mercenary was paid 1.5 taels per month, in addition to 2 taels for weapons and 5 taels as a “consolation fee” for his family in the first month.179 As we now know, the annual revenue of the Ming state was around 37 million taels of silver.180 Although not all of this amount could be collected, the outlay of approximately 2 million taels per year for the military campaigns was well within the total budget. Nevertheless, the Wanli emperor was forced to seek out other sources of income, and in the 1590s he dispatched tax commissioners to each province of the empire to raise additional revenues through the kuangshui (mining excises and commercial taxes).181

Some concluding observations Ming China’s war against the forces of Toyotomi Hideyoshi is one of those events in Chinese history that has not received the amount of attention it is due. Above, I have suggested new ways of looking at Ming military capability, re-assessed the active (and positive) role of the Wanli emperor, and contrasted the realpolitik of the Ming government’s conduct of foreign affairs with its impractical (and idealized) vision of the tribute system. One may well ask what did contemporaries and later Qing historians make of this war, and how significant was this confrontation for China? Given China’s preoccupation with its centrality in East Asian affairs, it should seem no surprise that the official account of the Korean–Japanese war in Mingshi made

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both Korea and Japan sound like troublemakers: Korea for causing China enormous expense and loss of life, and Japan for having invaded the “eastern kingdom” (Korea) in the first place. In late Ming literature about Japan, Hideyoshi is frequently assigned the role of “flood-dragon,” which according to Chinese myth and legend is an evil force that can summon wind and rain to cause floods. In some literary references, it is not only Hideyoshi who is a flood-dragon but also his military officers, princes, and ministers. A poem by the Ming scholar Tang Shunzhi (1507–60), who actively fought pirates under Hu Zongxian, recalled the enduring image of the Japanese: “Sunken ships and decapitated corpses fill the sea with a stench. Flood-dragons hiding at the bottom of the ocean spurt bloody spittle.”182 Despite the unusual powers held by a number of Ming commanders during the Imjin Waeran, a court-led civilian bureaucracy far away from the combatants and military theaters basically administered China’s involvement in the war. Because the Ming authorities were so relatively far removed from the sites of destruction they could not really share either Korea’s primary sense of desolation or Japan’s feeling of self-glorification. Thus, the two most common and contradictory images of this war were not available to Chinese contemporaries, and consequently, the Imjin Waeran seemingly had less significance to China than to the other two countries. At the same time, one must not forget that the Ming preoccupation with Japan through most of the 1590s would “afford” the Manchus the opportunity to prepare for their eventual conquest of China.183 For China, this conflict was not a noble, purifying, and elevating experience, nor was it an event of awesome transformation, and thus the Chinese emerged from the hostilities without any grand illusions; there was no need to endow Chinese involvement with great meaning nor to exaggerate its achievements in historical accounts. The crisis of the Japanese invasion of Korea did not threaten China’s sense of identity nor the position of superiority that it wished to impress upon its neighbors. Unlike the successor Qing dynasty, the Ming was not an expansive empire, but what territory fell along its borders was subject to its control and protection. The “rescue of Korea,” as the Imjin Waeran is known in Chinese sources, may not have been any ordinary police action, but for the Ming authorities, it was a military operation that invoked both idealistic notions of the tributary order and realistic geopolitical concerns. Finally, it should be remarked that without the Wanli emperor’s capability to manage the court’s contentious factions the war might have had another outcome. Thus, the “rescue of Korea” is testimony to Ming China’s ability to function as both a civilizing polity and a forceful military power in East Asia in the late sixteenth century, and therein lies the significance of this episode in Chinese history.

Abbreviations CHC 7: Cambridge History of China, Vol. 7: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part I, ed. by Frederick W. Mote and Denis Twitchett. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.

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CHC 8: Cambridge History of China, Vol. 8: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part II, ed. by Frederick W. Mote and Denis Twitchett. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. CSJCCB: Congshu jicheng chubian. Shanghai: Shangwu, 1935–7. DMB: Dictionary of Ming Biography, ed. by L.C. Goodrich and Chaoying Fang. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976. ECCP: Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period, ed. by Arthur O. Hummel. Washington: Library of Congress, 1943. MTJ: Ming Tongjian (明通鑑). WLDC: Wanli dichao (萬曆邸鈔).

Notes 1 Chin Ku Ch’i Kuan: The Inconstancy of Madame Chuang, 1924, pp. 79–80. 2 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 184. Another source claims that Ming China engaged in 579 large and small military conflicts from 1368 to 1643, exclusive of the final battles with peasant rebels and Manchu invaders. Fan, “Mingdai junshi sixiang jianlun,” 1997, p. 38. 3 Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, pp. 563–74, also groups these three events together in his exposition of Wanli history. 4 Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo (1658), fascicle 62–4. On Gu Yingtai, see ECCP, p. 426. Another primary work that sees the wars as related events is Wanli san dazheng kao (1621) by Mao Ruizheng (fl. 1597–1636). On Mao Ruizheng, see DMB, pp. 1041–2; Franke, An Introduction to the Sources of Ming History, 1968, pp. 209–10; and Struve, The Ming–Qing Conflict, 1619–1683, 1998, p. 184. Another important narrative and analysis of the three wars is the work by Zhuge, Liangchao pingrang lu (1606). The discussion of the Korean campaign may be found in fascicle 4, pp. 197–398. 5 The achievements of Zhang Juzheng (1525–82) towards improving fiscal and military administration and Qi Jiquang (1528–88) in fostering military innovations are discussed below. 6 A very influential negative view of the Wanli reign has been Huang, 1587, 1981. Mote, Imperial China, 1999, which presents an intensive study of Ming history, does not really offer a corrective to Huang’s 1587. Mote contrasts “late Ming political decline 1567–1627” (pp. 723–44) with “a vigorously growing and changing society” and “burgeoning economy” of the late Ming (pp. 743–75). It would seem scholars have difficulty distinguishing periods within reign era from broader trends of Chinese history. For discussion of this problem, see Zurndorfer, “Consumption and Production in a Great Empire,” 2001, and for a review of Mote’s book, see Zurndorfer, “Review of Frederick W. Mote,” 2000. 7 The first modern historian to recognize the significance of examining Ming–Chosŏn relations for understanding the contemporary development of Northeast China was Wu Han (1909–69). His discovery in 1932 in the Beiping Library of Chosŏn wangjo shillok (Veritable Records of the Chosŏn Dynasty) launched a new phase in the study of Ming history. Because the Manchus had exerted enormous control over available documentation on the Ming dynasty, it was not until the first decades of the Republican era that China scholars could access these important sources. Wu Han, like other contemporaries, viewed the Japanese invasion of Manchuria in 1931 as one more reason to investigate the background of the China–Korea connection. Wu Han’s remarkable twelve-volume compilation from the shillok, which he began

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to work on before September 1934, was printed posthumously. On Wu Han’s life and work, see Mazur, Wu Han, 2009. According to the Mingshi, 322:8358, in the fifth month of 1592, “the Korean king abandoned his capital [at Seoul], fled to P’yŏngyang and to Ŭiju. Messengers were sent in succession [to the Wanli Court] to report the imminent danger.” But the same source (320:8291) also notes that already in the eleventh month of 1591, Hideyoshi threatened to invade Korea if the Chosŏn court did not yield to his demands. For a clear summary in English of the Korean mission in 1590 to negotiate with the Sō clan over the issue of Korea paying tribute to Japan, and its consequences for Korean politics, see Kang, Diplomacy and Ideology, 1997, pp. 86–94. For earlier relations between Korea and Japan, see Yu, The Book of Corrections, 2002, pp. 19–31. Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, pp. 285–90, discusses at length the institutional regulations vis-à-vis Ming China enabling the Korean king to make the request for military aid, and the Chinese prerequisites for extending such help. He refers to the concept of yuan neishu (desiring internal dependency), mentioned in Mingshi, 320:8292, by which Korea entered “temporary” incorporation into the Chinese polity. So, instead of the king simply requesting aid or rescue (qiujiu), he asked for help on the basis of his “dependent status.” The implication here is that Chosŏn Korea was willing to forgo its rank as an independent kingdom in exchange for Ming military assurance. See the discussion by Lewis in this volume. Ledyard, “Confucianism and War,” 1988–9, pp. 85–6, n. 2. The Ming emperor’s positive reaction to offer help, according to the WLDC, pp. 673–4, occurred earlier than other sources seem to suggest. Clark, “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998, p. 295. Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 313, maintains that both the Chosŏn and Ming courts were aware that Hideyoshi’s major goal was the conquest of China and also notes Ming “indifference” to the Japanese threat before the actual invasion. For a general overview of Sino-Korean relations during the Ming, see Clark, “SinoKorean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998. See also Kang, Diplomacy and Ideology, 1997, p. 81, for a diagram illustrating Korea’s and Japan’s diplomatic and ideological perceptions of each other and of Ming China at the end of the fifteenth century. See Huang, Zhong-Han guanxi, no date, for a bibliography on Chinese–Korean relations. Clark, “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998, p. 272. Fairbank, “A Preliminary Framework,” 1968, pp. 12–13, 16. Fairbank, “A Preliminary Framework,” 1968, p. 2. Franke and Twitchett, “Introduction,” 1994, pp. 14–18. Already in 1968 Joseph Fletcher described the early-fifteenth-century diplomatic exchanges between the Timurid monarch and the Ming emperor in terms of equality. See Fletcher, “China and Central Asia, 1368–1884,” 1968, pp. 209–16. Mote, Imperial China, 1999, pp. 380–1, discusses how these “inferior states” could also play at a tribute system of their own. When in 916 the Khitans declared their own imperial state known as Liao, they requested tribute from Korea. But only after the landmark 1005 Treaty of Shanyuan, by which Song China settled its differences with the Khitans and other nomadic steppe invaders (i.e., Tanguts and Jurchens) through the payment of a high indemnity to avoid war with them, did the newly unified Korean polity of Koryŏ accept formal subordination to the Liao. Although there was ritualized diplomacy between Liao and Koryŏ, the Koreans had a distinct superiority complex over their Khitan overlords – the Koreans considered them “latecomers” to civilization. See Rogers, “National Consciousness in Medieval Korea,” 1983. See

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also Breuker, Establishing a Pluralist Society in Medieval Korea, 2010, for an elaboration of Koryŏ’s view of itself in relation to Liao. See also Robinson, “Centering the King of Chosŏn,” 2000, which reassesses Korea’s role in East Asian maritime diplomacy and underlines the weaknesses of a sinocentric model of international relations. Zurndorfer, “Tribute, Trade, and the Demise of the Chinese ‘World Order’,” 2004. Hamashita, Kindai Chūgoku no kokusaiteki keiki, 1990. Part of Hamashita’s study here is translated into English. See Hamashita, China, East Asia and the Global Economy, 2008. Fogel, Sagacious Monks and Bloodthirsty Warriors, 2002. Taizu shilu, 76:1401. In the beginning of his reign, Hungwu adopted a defensive posture towards Korea and other states. In his “Ancestral Instructions,” Huang Ming zu xun lu (c.1373), he ordered his successors to avoid foreign wars and listed fifteen states (of which Korea was the first) that should not be invaded. See Zhu, Huang Ming zu xun lu, 3:1588–91. For a translation of the relevant passage, see Farmer, Zhu Yuanzhang, 1995, pp. 119–21. In a study of early Ming foreign relations based on Ming Taizu yuzhi ji (1374), the modern scholar Wu Jihua makes clear that Zhu Yuanzhang’s attitude towards Korea was indicative of his general policy towards tributary states: that they had “to make themselves capable of maintaining internal order and long-lasting security.” See Wu, “Basic Foreignpolicy Attitudes,” 1981, p. 71. In other words, according to the Ming vision of world order, tributary states had their own responsibility for keeping domestic peace. Clark, “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998, p. 274. Taizu shilu, 223:3267; DMB, pp. 1601–2; Langlois, “Ming Law,” 1998, p. 167. Chung Chai-sik’s study shows how Chong Tojŏn (d. 1398) was in actual fact the architect of Yi Sŏnggye’s pro-Confucian policy. Chung, “Chŏng Tojŏn,” 1985, pp. 65ff., argues that Chong Tojŏn’s sadae policy did not originate out of some kind of Confucian belief in the moral righteousness of the tribute system but from a realistic assessment of the best way to protect Korean interests vis-à-vis its bigger and stronger neighbor. The reference of a smaller state submitting to a larger originates in the Mencius, Book I, Part B, ch. 3. Lau, translator, Mencius, 1976, p. 62. Robinson, “From Raiders to Traders,” 1992, pp. 99–101. Taizu shilu, 234:3422–3; DMB, pp. 1594–8. DMB, pp. 1595–7. Chan, “The Chien-wen,” 1988, p. 199. Clark, “Sino-Korean Tributary Relations under the Ming,” 1998, p. 283. The total number of Ming embassies to Korea from 1392 to 1644 was 186, an average of less than one per year, but the majority (95) took place between 1392 and 1450, in the period of “stabilization.” Embassy traffic picked up again during King Sŏnjo’s reign when 35 Ming embassies went to Korea, the majority of which, according to Clark, occurred from “the need to coordinate Ming and Korean defense.” Da Ming huidian, 1587, 105:4. Tsai, The Eunuchs in the Ming Dynasty, 1996, pp. 16, 135–40, suggests that the order for human tribute was a Mongol innovation, as there had never been this kind of requisition by Chinese dynasties prior to the Yuan period. Tsai, Perpetual Happiness, 2001, pp. 192–3, discusses the relationship between the Korean women and eunuchs in the Yongle emperor’s household. DMB, p. 1597, refers to the idea that this emperor himself may have had a Korean mother, which may account for his preference. Compare Shao Xunzheng, “The Historical Signficance,” 1937.

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31 Chan, “The Chien-wen,” 1988, p. 301, based on Wu, Chaoxian Lichao shilu, 1980, pp. 330, 334, 348, 365. 32 For bibliographical information on these sources, see Franke, An Introduction to the Sources of Ming History, 1968, p. 228. 33 On this episode in Ming history, see de Heer, The Caretaker Emperor, 1986. 34 De Heer, “Three Embassies to Seoul,” 1993, p. 244. 35 De Heer, “Three Embassies to Seoul,” 1993, p. 255. The Jianzhou tribes also paid tribute to the Ming dynasty. 36 On further printed accounts by Dong, see DMB, p. 259. 37 De Heer, “Three Embassies to Seoul,” 1993, p. 252. 38 Robinson, “Korean Lobbying at the Ming Court,” 1999. Robinson’s discussion of a minor incident between the two countries occurring in 1506 reveals the subtleties by which Korea’s history was recorded by Mingshi historians. 39 Mote, “The Ch’eng-hua and Hung-chih Reigns, 1465–1505,” 1988, p. 389. But on the northern borders, the Mongols continued to remain Ming China’s chief threat. 40 Antony, Like Froth Floating on the Sea, 2003, pp. 19–28. As is well known, the expression wakō hardly does justice to the membership of these floating assemblies, which included not only Chinese and Japanese but also Malaccan, Siamese, Portuguese, Dutch, and even African adventurers. Sailing from Japanese and Chinese coastal ports and offshore islands, these motley adventurers engaged in regular seagoing freebooting, that is, piracy. 41 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 249. 42 Mote, Imperial China, 1999, p. 613; Chan, “The Chien-wen,” 1988, p. 300. 43 Mingshi, 322:8341–2. 44 The “tally trade” refers to the special tally documents (C. kanho, J. kangō) given to the Japanese shōgun’s representatives permitted to trade at Ningbo, the only port open for Japanese tribute missions. The Japanese tallies matched those kept by Chinese administrators in the tiju shibosi (Maritime trading intendancy) and thus served as a form of official identification for Japanese vessels seeking entry into Ningbo. 45 Chan, “The Chien-wen,” 1988, p. 300. 46 Cohen, East Asia at the Center, 2000, p. 171. See also von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, pp. 88–96, 131–2, on the role of Chinese coins in Japan. 47 Cohen, East Asia at the Center, 2000, p. 171. 48 By then Japan’s commerce with China was under the control of several powerful families, which began to compete with each other. In that year there was armed conflict between the Hosokawa and Ōuchi families who both attempted to gain a monopoly of the China trade; the dispute ended with the Hosokawa looting in Ningbo and a Chinese official, representing the Ōuchi faction, fleeing from his post. For a detailed discussion of all incidents leading to the breakdown of the tribute system vis-à-vis Japan before the 1550s, see Geiss, “The Chia-ching Reign, 1522–66,” 1988, pp. 491–3 and Saeki in this volume. 49 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 249–50. 50 Antony, Like Froth Floating on the Sea, 2003, pp. 22–6, argues that maritime bans on Chinese trading overseas spurred piracy to new heightened levels from 1520 to 1570. The first Ming emperor Hongwu beginning in 1371 issued a series of maritime prohibitions (haijin) forbidding Chinese people from leaving the empire via the sea and foreigners from entering it. Regulations also outlawed the building of ships of more than one mast for any reason. Although these imperatives were in effect until the 1570s, until then there was still a fluid and chaotic maritime society in South China. For further information on the bans and their effects, see Li, The Ming Maritime Trade Policy, 2010. 51 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 251–5; So, Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the 16th Century, 1975, pp. 1–40. Wilson, “The Maritime

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Transformation,” 2009, pp. 259–61, considers “the Ming anachronistic policies [of maritime prohibitions] the major cause of piracy because they held back a flood of Chinese commercial dynamism.” Elsewhere in the same essay, pp. 265–6 and 273, Wilson discusses the effects of “a southern elite with vested interests in keeping the state out of the commercial and maritime economies.” The implication here is that southern-based literati officials with influence at court prevented stricter central governmental regulation of maritime affairs because an interventionist and predatory state would have intruded upon their own indirect involvement in trade and commerce. Perdue, “From Turfan to Taiwan,” 2005, p. 39, makes the same point that in southern coastal regions local elites and political officials (often related through kin and friendship ties) might ally themselves with merchants to carry out profitable joint ventures. Nimick, “Ch’i Chi-kuang and I-wu County,” 1995. See also So, Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the 16th Century, 1975, and Hucker, “Hu Tsung-hsien’s Campaign against Hsü Hai, 1556,” 1974, for excellent analyses of China’s experiences with pirates in the sixteenth century. On Qi Jiguang, see also Millinger, “Ch’i Chi-kuang,” 1973, and DMB, pp. 220–4. As Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, points out, until Qi reorganized efforts to combat pirates, Ming resistance was pitiable (p. 121). Here Tong refers to an incident when “a contingent of 67 pirates [sic] managed to wander several thousand li inland, plunder six prefectures, and inflict 4,000 to 5,000 casualties.” A Ming Chinese li equals 0.56 km or 0.353 mile, so the pirates roamed some 1,600 km inland. See Barr, “The Wanli Context,” 1997; Meskill, Gentlemanly Interests, 1994. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 262–5. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 265. On changing conceptions of the tribute system, see Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010, pp. 54–81; Hevia, Cherishing Men from Afar, 1995, pp. 11–15; and Wang, Harmony and War, 2011, pp. 173–80. The expression “China among equals” derives from revisionist historical writing on the tribute system. The phrase describes China’s ability “to adopt flexibly and practically to unfavorable conditions imposed by the powerful steppe emperors” during the time of the Song. See Mote, Imperial China, 1999, p. 378; and Rossabi, “Introduction,” 1983; and Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010, pp. 54–81. Dardess, Confucianism and Autocracy, 1983. Mote, Imperial China, 1999, p. 376. Crossley, A Translucent Mirror, 1999, p. 72. In a note on the same page, she suggests that the Jurchens’ exploitation resembled that of the Mongols who also sent thousands of attendants to the Ming court, which could only accommodate 100 representatives. Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 93, argues that until the Chosŏn era, Korea’s political policy was to maintain its independence from the threat of Chinese rulership or intervention. Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:45. See the report of the Pacification Commissioner at Liaodong, Hao Jie (1530–1600), to the Ministry of War. On Hao Jie, see Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:422. WLDC, pp. 673–4, records this reaction by the Wanli emperor on 1592.6.4. On Gao Gong, see Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:388; and for a general discussion on the efforts of these men in military renewal, see Wei, Zhang Juzheng he Mingdai zhonghou zhengju, 1999, pp. 352–8. In a discussion following the presentation of a paper by Robin Yates, “Empowering the People: Lü Kun’s Strategies and Late Ming Military Discursive Practices,” delivered at the Annual Meeting of the Association for Asian Studies in March 2001, the significance of earlier efforts by the well-known philosopher and official Wang Shouren (also known as Wang Yangming [1472–1529]) towards military

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renovation in local community defense was debated at length. Some discussants suggested that Wang Shouren’s interest in military matters stimulated a more positive attitude among the literati towards the value of physical pursuits. Barr, “The Wanli Context,” 1997. Tseng, “Hsüeh Wu and Her Orchids,” 1955. See also Berg, “Cultural Discourse on Xue Susu,” 2009. On the Li family generals, see ECCP, pp. 450–2. See also Swope, “A Few Good Men,” 2004. Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 249. Perdue, “Culture, History, and Imperial Chinese Strategy,” 2000, p. 254. See also Zurndorfer, “What Is the Meaning of ‘War’ in an Age of Cultural Efflorescence?,” 2010. As van de Ven, “Introduction,” 2000, pp. 4–5, points out, European misconceptions about Chinese military prowess probably began with the Jesuit program to idealize Confucianism and continued under the influence of Enlightenment thinkers such as Voltaire who emphasized Chinese civil institutions. Perdue, “Culture, History, and Imperial Chinese Strategy,” 2000, p. 255. Needham, Science and Civilisation in China, Vol. 5, Part VII, 1986, pp. 29–36. See the “ultimate” late Ming text on Chinese military technology and strategy, Mao Yuanyi’s (d. 1629) Wubei zhi, completed in 1621. It is a massive, comprehensive collection of writings focused on military tactics and strategy beginning from the late Zhou to the early seventeenth century. The last chapters include contemporary treatises on armaments, war machinery, military organization, and border defense accompanied by maps. Not unexpectedly, the collection was “prohibited” by the Manchus. See Franke, An Introduction to the Sources of Ming History, 1968, p. 209, for further information. For example, his biography in the DMB, pp. 324–38 by Hucker, and that by Huang, 1587, 1981, pp. 1–41. Biography by Fan Shuzhi, or the discussion in Wang and Xu, Ming chao shiliu di, 1991, pp. 290–4. It is possible to consider this change in attitude towards the Wanli emperor in terms of a shift in current Chinese historical writing that is “rescuing” China’s past from “old Qing” interpretations. For further discussion on how modern nationalism is influencing the writing of Chinese history nowadays in the People’s Republic of China, see Zurndorfer, “What the Concept ‘The Rise of the West’ Teaches Us,” 1998, pp. 358–61. In modern Western language writing on the Ming, many scholars have relied on “pro-Donglin” primary source materials that also portray this emperor as incompetent. It may be remembered that the members of the Donglin Academy, formed in 1604 at Wuxi in southern Jiangsu, considered themselves “pure critics” of Ming politics and condemned the policies of Zhang Juzheng and by implication the Wanli emperor himself. “Equating personal virtue with administrative talent” (Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567– 1620,” 1988, p. 536) became an obsession and a watchword of the literati during the Wanli reign. The emperor’s struggles with these literati who wanted to keep the state out of the southern economy hampered the court’s ability to deal with other frontier threats. For an analysis of the early-seventeenth-century tensions at court with the Donglin faction, see Dardess, Blood and History in China, 2002, pp. 1–30. Where possible I have relied on Wanli dichao for information concerning the court’s handling of matters related to the Imjin Waeran, as opposed to leaning exclusively on Shenzong shilu. Ono, “‘Banreki teishō’ to ‘Banreki shoshō’,” 1981, offers a very thorough study of Wanli dichao. Since the publication of Wanli qijuzhu (Court diaries of the Wanli era), 9 vols. (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1988), scholars have the opportunity to compare Shenzong shilu accounts with what is recorded in this collection. For a corroborative treatment of the Wanli emperor as seriously engaged with the conduct of the war, see Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, and his essay “Bestowing the Double-edged Sword,” 2008.

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75 Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 227. 76 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise, 1985, pp. 62–4. Ironically, the Chinese troops defeated in the Liaodong encounter were led by Yang Hao, who had also seen defeat before Hideyoshi’s troops in 1598. See Huang, “The Liao-tung Campaign of 1619,” 1981. See also Yu, Mingdai junhu shi xi zhidu, 1987; Liew, The Treatises on Military Affairs, 1998; Hucker, A Dictionary of Official Titles, 1985, pp. 78–9. 77 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 205–12. 78 Nimick, “Ch’i Chi-kuang and I-wu County,” 1995. 79 DMB, pp. 220–4. 80 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, pp. 193–215, examines memorials of leading Ming policy makers over 145 years and concludes that accommodation contributed to overall Ming offensive strategy. 81 Waldron, The Great Wall of China, 1992, pp. 140–1. 82 Waldron, The Great Wall of China, 1992, p. 141. Interestingly, as Waldron points out, relatively little is known about the actual building of the Great Wall, that is, the network of brick-kilns, quarries, and transportation routes. Mote, Imperial China, 1999, p. 696, writes: “The Ming walls enhanced the means for maintaining secure communications, and provided more defended points at which garrison solders under attack could group themselves and resist the nomad cavalry. Throughout the sixteenth century, many sections of such ‘long walls’ (changcheng) were built, eventually connecting the entire earlier defensive system of the Nine Garrisons with their hundreds of barriers and passes.” See also Waldron, “Chinese Strategy,” 1994. 83 Once the Ming army began to use firearms, the importance of wagons (once the mainstay of ancient Chinese warfare until the introduction of cavalry) became crucial. As Chase, Firearms, 2003, p. 162, notes, wagons became “fighting platforms.” For an excellent illustration, originally from Zhao Shizhen’s Shengqi pu, that illustrates how fighting units utilizing different kinds of weaponry from pikes to firearms mounted themselves behind wagon walls, see Chase, Firearms, 2003, p. 164. The original drawing may be found in Shengqi pu, 3:7b. On the use of firearms in the Imjin Waeran, see Chase, Firearms, 2003, pp. 186–93. Huang, 1587, 1981, pp. 179–81, gives a detailed description of Qi’s use of folangji. For an inventory of firearms in use during the Ming, see Mingshi, 92:2263–6. 84 Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993. On Wanli’s early interest in didactic picture books and Zhang’s instruction on military matters, see Murray, “Didactic Picturebooks for Late Ming Emperors,” 2008, pp. 243–8. 85 Huang, 1587, 1981; Zurndorfer, “Old and New Visions of Ming Society and Culture,” 2002. 86 Mote, Imperial China, 1999, p. 731. 87 Waldron, The Great Wall of China, 1992, p. 187. Zhang’s military reforms are discussed at length in Zhang, Zhang Juzheng gaige, 1993, pp. 29–60. 88 Huang, “Military Expenditures in Sixteenth Century Ming China,” 1970, pp. 56–7. 89 Waldron, The Great Wall of China, 1992, p. 186. 90 Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, p. 123, based on Quan and Li, “Ming zhongye,” 1973. 91 Huang, “The Ming Fiscal Administration,” 1998, p. 164. 92 DMB, pp. 1553–6. 93 DMB, pp. 830–2. 94 Mingshi, 322:8357. 95 Kang, Diplomacy and Ideology, 1997, pp. 90–1. 96 Kang, Diplomacy and Ideology, 1997, p. 93. 97 Li, Wanli ershi san nian feng, 1967, provides detailed documentation of the entire rescue operation. A more recent narrative study in Chinese, also well-referenced, may be found in Zheng, Mingdai Zhong-Ri guanxi yanjiu, 1985, pp. 578–624; and in English, Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009.

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98 WLDC, p. 673. 99 WLDC, p. 674. 100 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 279, points out that about the same time the Chinese saw defeat by the Japanese, the Koreans had waged a successful struggle against the enemy, “isolating Konishi Yukinaga’s army at P’yŏngyang and securing Chinese waters free from the fear of Japanese attack, so the ‘the Celestial Army could come by land to the assistance’ of Korea”; see also DMB, p. 832. It is highly likely that Zu Chengxun led cavalry forces into northern Korea and realized too late that the mountainous terrain, inundated by the summer rains, was unsuitable for such an operation. 101 DMB, p. 832; Song Yingchang’s own account of his work may be read in his Jinglüe fuguo yaobian (1592–4). Song Yingchang’s observations are analyzed in Li, “Chaoxian renchen Wohuo yu Li Rusong,” 1950, pp. 268–72. 102 DMB, pp. 1632–3. 103 Li Rusong was the eldest of five sons (all of whom became military leaders) of another renowned military commander, Li Chengliang (1526–1618), who distinguished himself by defeating repeated invasions of Mongols and Manchus into the Liaodong region. Interestingly, the Li family’s origins were Korean. See ECCP, pp. 450–2. Upon his appointment to the Korean campaign, Li Rusong was promoted to rank 1b tidu (Provincial Military Commander). For further information on Li Rusong’s role in the first phase of the Korean rescue, see Li, “Chaoxian renchen Wohuo yu Li Rusong,” 1950, and Wang, “Li Rusong zheng dong kao,” 1947. 104 WLDC, pp. 695–9. According to later reports in the same source, Japanese muskets and cannon proved inferior to this Chinese arsenal. On Japanese armour and related topics, refer to Chase, Firearms, 2003, pp. 177–96; see also Perrin, Giving up the Gun, 1979. 105 Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 568. Berry, Hideyoshi, 1982, p. 209, notes that Hideyoshi had as many as 158,700 soldiers at his disposal for the Korean invasion. It is unlikely that the Chinese command had intelligence of the Japanese potential military might. 106 DMB, p. 173. 107 On Guo Shi, see Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:497. 108 WLDC, pp. 698–9. 109 On Shi Xing, see DMB, p. 834. Huang, “The Ming Fiscal Administration,” 1998, pp. 152–5, summarizes the basic fiscal arrangements of the Ministry of War, and the options available if a military crisis should arise. 110 Shen, Wanli ye huo bian, 1980, p. 438. Shen Defu provides a rather amusing description of Shen Weijing as a veteran of wakō battles (where he picked up the Japanese language) and something of a “smooth talker.” For further info on Shen Weijing, see Ono, “Min Jitsu wahei kōshō o meguru seisō,” 1990; and DMB, p. 730. 111 Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:45–6. 112 Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 238, suggests that the Wanli emperor himself at this point offered 100,000 pieces of silver to Li Rusong’s troops, either as reward should China drive the Japanese out or as bounty compensation to their families should China meet defeat. 113 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 280. 114 Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 238. 115 Li Rusong’s entry into P’yŏngyang via the Small Western Gate and his brother Li Rubo’s incursion via the Great Western Gate are described in detail in Mao, Wanli san dazheng kao, 1971, pp. 36–7; and in Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:46. For a detailed analysis of the weather and terrain conditions that Li Rusong faced in Korea, see Wang, “Li Rusong zheng dong kao,” 1947, pp. 349–55.

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116 WLDC, p. 729. 117 DMB, p. 833. 118 DMB, p. 833. For a general discussion on the documentation related to accounting losses and gains, see Wang, “Li Rusong zheng dong kao,” 1947, pp. 343–7. 119 DMB, p. 833. 120 Wang, “Li Rusong zheng dong kao,” 1947, p. 348, and Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 281, both give varying estimates on how many Japanese were killed. Excellent maps concerning this first phase of the war may be found in Turnbull, Samurai Invasion, 2002, pp. 43, 76, 138, 144. 121 At this point the differences between Li and Song Yingzhang became more pronounced. Li wanted to abandon the entire rescue movement altogether, while Song aimed at continuing the operation by both fighting and negotiating. See DMB, p. 834. 122 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 280–1, discusses how, at this time (second month of 1593), Korean forces defeated the Japanese at Haengju, forcing the Japanese once again to retreat to Seoul. Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 570, suggests that Hideyoshi probably had the desire to push even harder, but he was “biding his time” to recoup his troops. He must have calculated “his grasp on power in Japan would not remain secure if there were a setback in Korea.” There were still skirmishes along the coast, culminating in the siege of Chinju in the sixth month (1593) under the leadership of Katō Kiyomasa. 123 On Liu Ting, see Wang, “Liu Ting zheng dong kao,” 1948. By the fourth month, the Japanese evacuation was complete. On 1593.4.19, Li Rusong and Song Yingchang entered the city to find a starving and brutalized community. 124 WLDC, p. 794. Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:49. 125 Wang, “Liu Ting zheng dong kao,” 1948, pp. 138–40. 126 Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 281. 127 DMB, p. 731. 128 The chapters in this volume by Kitajima and Sajima discuss the terms of negotiations in detail. See Berry, Hideyoshi, 1982, p. 214, who also lists all the conditions. The “annex” of Korean territory to Japan was made under the guise that the four southern Korean provinces and Seoul be “returned” to Korea. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 282, analyses Hideyoshi’s justification for his demands. 129 DMB, p. 731. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 283, notes that Hideyoshi blamed all bellicosity between China and Japan on the Koreans. See Sajima in this volume for a discussion of Hideyoshi’s view of Korea. 130 Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4709. 131 Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4709. 132 Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4711. 133 Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4711; Shenzong shilu, 264:4929 (dated 1593.9.25). 134 Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4711. It was well known that the Korean authorities had seen enough damage committed by Ming soldiers to question whether their presence was really for the good. See Hur in this volume for a discussion of the Korean view of the Ming rescue. 135 Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 2:957; Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:49. 136 WLDC, p. 794. 137 Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:49. 138 On He Qiaoyuan, see Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:297; DMB, p. 507. 139 Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 241. 140 Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:49.

228 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149

150

151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172

H.T. Zurndorfer Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:49. MTJ, 70:2753; Mingshi, 320:8294. WLDC, pp. 857–8; Shenzong shilu, 277:5130. Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4736; Shenzong shilu, 277:5130. Tan, Guoque, 1978, 76:4743. Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 243; Shenzong shilu, 280:5172. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 284. See also WLDC, pp. 867–8, 877. Naitō’s visit to the Ming court and the various exchanges are discussed throughout Shenzong shilu, 280–282:5172–209. See Fan, Wanli zhuan, 1993, p. 242; WLDC, pp. 828–9. Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:50. On Li’s perception of Hideyoshi, see WLDC, p. 953. Other sources claim Li abandoned the mission because during his stay in Pusan before departure to Japan he became (amourously) involved with the daughter of Konishi Yukinaga. See MTJ, 71:2764. Compare Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 284. See Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 217–18. WLDC, pp. 950–1. Dissension at court was still rife. When one censor, Cao Xuecheng criticized Shi Xing’s peace policy, Shi’s supporters had him arrested and sentenced to death. Only the appeal to the Wanli emperor, on behalf of Cao’s filial duty to his ninety-year-old mother, had his sentence commuted to imprisonment. See MTJ, 71:2764. Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 571. WLDC, p. 1039; Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, pp. 284–5. WLDC, p. 1041. WLDC, p. 1064; Mingshi, 320:8295. Shen and Shi were both sentenced to death in the ninth month of 1597. See MTJ, 71:2778. Berry, Hideyoshi, 1982, p. 233. DMB, pp. 822–6. Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:446. Chang, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin, 1965, 1:446. DMB, pp. 167–74. Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 572. WLDC, p. 1019. ECCP, pp. 885–6. Xing Jie had earned a good reputation as a Vice-Minister of War in charge of the campaign against Yang Yinglung in the southwest. See DMB, p. 1554. WLDC, p. 1030. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 286. Elisonas, “The Inseparable Trinity,” 1991, p. 287. Ledyard, “Confucianism and War,” 1988–9, pp. 86–7; Li Guangtao, “Ding Yingtai yu Yang Hao,” 1982. Yang Hao’s reputation during the Korean crusade may have been tainted by his failure later in the 1619 campaign in Liaodong. DMB, pp. 171–2, discusses these maneuvers. Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 574. On the Wanli san dazheng kao (1621) by Mao Ruizheng, see note 4 above. Mao, Wanli san dazheng kao, 1971, p. 86. The WLDC, p. 1125, estimated that the second Korean expedition cost 3 million taels as of early 1598. Qu, Zuben Wanli wu gong lu, 1980, p. 522a. On this publication, see Franke, An Introduction to the Sources of Ming History, 1968, p. 63. The Zuben Wanli wu gong lu outlines the military achievements of the Wanli era in the form of biographies of opponents inside and outside the frontiers of the empire. Gu, Mingshi jishi benmo, 62:44ff, also offers a similar sum for the costs of the Korean war. In their publications, both Mao and Qu also note the costs of each of the other two Wanli campaigns, settling on a figure of around two million taels for each of these crusades. Thus, one may conclude that the final sum of eleven to twelve million taels was the price of these military actions.

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173 Zhuge, Liangchao pingrang lu, 1969, p. 383. 174 See de Bary, Waiting for the Dawn, 1993, pp. 139–40. De Bary’s own commentary to Huang’s treatise confirms (on p. 238, n. 8) a figure of six to eight million taels for hiring mercenaries, based on his reading of the Mingshi fascicles 20 and 21. 175 As Huang wrote, “the people of one country support enough armies for two countries.” De Bary, Waiting for the Dawn, 1993, p. 139. 176 In the words of his biographer, “his protest (against Ming imperial institutions) breathes the fire of robust indignation.” De Bary, Waiting for the Dawn, 1993, p. 4. 177 It is unfortunate that further editions of the reliable work, Wanli kuai ji lu (Record of the accounting procedures of the Wanli reign, 1581), assembled under the auspices of the then Minister of Revenue Zhang Xueyan, were never issued. Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, p. 535, claims that if more of these compilations had been done then “the sorry reality [whereby] the diversity (of fiscal units and fiscal procedures) prevailing throughout the empire could never be totally integrated into a uniform system of management” would have been more obvious. One may argue that the contents of much of von Glahn’s book (Fountain of Fortune, 1996) challenges Huang’s statement. 178 Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, p. 121, citing Huang, “Military Expenditures in Sixteenth Century Ming China,” 1970, p. 53. 179 Tong, Disorder under Heaven, 1991, p. 242, note 146, citing Quan and Li, “Ming zhongye,” 1973, pp. 211–12. 180 See Huang, “The Ming Fiscal Administration,” 1998, pp. 106–41, for an explanation of this figure. 181 Von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, p. 161. Feng Menglong’s mention of the “sale of places in the Imperial College” may in fact have been a reference to the kuangshi which proved very unpopular and had to be withdrawn several years after its implementation. 182 Wang, “Realistic and Fantastic Images of ‘Dwarf Pirates’,” 2002. 183 Rawski, “China’s Relations with Korea and Japan,” 2009, p. 64.

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Rossabi, Morris. “Introduction,” in Morris Rossabi, ed., China among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983, pp. 1–13. Shao Xunzheng (S.J. Shaw). “[The] Historical Significance of the Curious Theory of Mongol Blood in the Veins of Ming Emperors,” The Chinese Social and Political Science Review 204 (1937): 492–8. Shen Defu (沈德符) (1578–1642). Wanli ye huo bian (萬暦野獲編) (1619). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980. Shenzong shilu (神宗實録) (1630, 596 fascicles). So, Kwan-wai. Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the 16th Century. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1975. Struve, Lynn. The Ming–Qing Conflict, 1619–1683: A Historiography and Sources Guide. Ann Arbor: Association for Asian Studies, 1998. Swope, Kenneth M. “A Few Good Men: The Li Family and China’s Northern Frontier in the Late Ming,” Ming Studies 49 (2004): 34–81. Swope, Kenneth M. “Bestowing the Double-edged Sword: Wanli as Supreme Military Commander,” in David M. Robinson, ed., Culture, Courtiers, and Competition: The Ming Court (1368–1644). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2008, pp. 61–115. Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Taizu shilu (太祖實録) (1418, 257 fascicles). Tan Qian (談遷) (1594–1658). Guoque (國榷) (1653). Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1978. Tong, James. Disorder under Heaven: Collective Violence in the Ming Dynasty. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1991. Tsai, Shih-shan Henry. Perpetual Happiness: The Ming Emperor Yongle. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001. Tsai, Shih-shan Henry. The Eunuchs in the Ming Dynasty. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1996. Tseng, Yu-ho. “Hsüeh Wu and Her Orchids in the Collection of the Honolulu Academy of Arts,” Arts asiatiques 2:3 (1955): 197–208. Turnbull, Stephen. Samurai Invasion: Japan’s Korea War 1592–1598. London: Cassell, 2002. van de Ven, Hans. “Introduction,” in Hans Van de Ven, ed., Warfare in Chinese History. Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 2000, pp. 1–32. von Glahn, Richard. Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China, 1000– 1700. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Wakeman, Frederic, Jr. The Great Enterprise; The Manchu Reconstruction of Imperial Order in Seventeenth Century China, 2 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985. Waldron, Arthur. “Chinese Strategy from the Fourteenth to the Seventeenth Centuries,” in Williamson Murray, Macgregor Knox, and Alvin Bernstein, eds., The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States, and War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994, pp. 85–114. Waldron, Arthur. The Great Wall of China: From History to Myth. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. Walker, Hugh D. “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement: Sino-Korean Foreign Relations, 1392–1592,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 1971.

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Wang Chongwu (Wang Ch’ung-wu, 王崇武). “Liu Ting zheng dong kao (劉綎征東 考),” Lishi yuyan yanjiusuo jikan (歴史語言研究所集刊) 16 (1948): 137–49. Wang Chongwu (Wang Ch’ung-wu, 王崇武). “Li Rusong zheng dong kao (李如松征 東考),” Lishi yuyan yanjiusuo jikan (歴史語言研究所集刊) 14 (1947): 343–74. Wang Tianyou (王天有) and Xu Daling (許大 齢), eds. Ming chao shiliu di (明朝十六 帝). Beijing: Zijin cheng chubanshe, 1991. Wang, Yong. “Realistic and Fantastic Images of ‘Dwarf Pirates’: The Evolution of Ming Dynasty Perceptions of the Japanese,” in Joshua Fogel, ed., Sagacious Monks and Bloodthirsty Warriors. White Plains, NY: Eastbridge, 2002, pp. 17–41. Wang, Yuan-kang. Harmony and War: Confucian Culture and Chinese Power Politics. New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Wanli dichao (萬曆邸鈔) (c.1617). Compiled by Qian Yiben (錢一本). Taibei: Zhengzhong shuju, 1982. Wei Qingyuan (韦庆远). Zhang Juzheng he Mingdai zhonghou zhengju (张居正和明代 中後期政局). Guangzhou: Guangdong Gaodeng liaosheng chubanshe, 1999. Wilson, Andrew R. “The Maritime Transformation of Ming China,” in Andrew S. Erickson, Lyle J. Goldstein, and Carnes Lord, eds., China Goes to Sea: Maritime Transformation in Comparative Historical Perspective. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2009, pp. 238–85. Wu Han (吳晗), compiler. Chaoxian Lichao shilu zhong de Zhongguo shiliao (朝鮮李朝 實錄中的中國史料) (1392–1863), 12 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980. Wu, Jihua (Wu Chi-hua). “Basic Foreign-policy Attitudes of the Early Ming Dynasty,” Ming Studies 12 (1981): 65–80. Yu Sŏngnyong. The Book of Corrections: Reflections on the National Crisis during the Japanese Invasion of Korea, 1592–1598. Choi Byonghyon., trans. Berkeley, CA: Insititute of East Asian Relalations, 2002. Yu Zhijia (于志嘉). Mingdai junhu shi xi zhidu (明代軍戶世襲制度). Taibei: Taibei xuesheng shuju, 1987. Zhang Haiying (張海灜). Zhang Juzheng gaige yu Shanxi Wanli qingzhang yanjiu (張 居正改革與山西萬暦清丈研究). Taiyuan: Shanxi renmin chubanshe, 1993. Zhao Shizhen (趙士禎). Shenqi pu (神器譜) (1598). 1808 Japanese edition, in Nagasawa Kikuya, ed., Wakokuhon Min Shin shiryō shū (和刻本明清資料集), Vol. 6 (長澤規矩 也). Tokyo: Koten kenkyūkai, 1974. Zheng Liangshe (鄭樑生). Mingdai Zhong-Ri guanxi yanjiu yi Ming shi Riben zhuan suo jian ji ge wen ti wei zhong xin (明代中日關係硏究: 以明史日本傳所見幾個問題 為中心). Taibei: Wenshizhe chubanshe, 1985. Zhu Yuanzhang (朱元璋) (Ming Taizu) (明太祖) Huang Ming zu xun (皇明祖訓) (c.1373). Ming chao kaiguo wenxian (明朝開國文獻) series. Taibei: Xuesheng shuju, 1966. Zhuge Yuansheng (葛元聲) (fl. 1600). Liangchao pingrang lu (兩朝平攘錄) (1606). Available in facsimile. Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1969. Zurndorfer, Harriet. “Consumption and Production in a Great Empire: Rethinking Economic and Social Development in Huizhou Prefecture (Anhui) during the Midto-Late Imperial Era,” in Tradition and Transformation of the Chinese Economy: Festschrift Volume in Honour of Professor Ch’üan Han-sheng on the Occasion of His Ninetieth Birthday. Taibei: Institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, 2001, pp. 3–43. Zurndorfer, Harriet. “Old and New Visions of Ming Society and Culture,” T’oung Pao 88 (2002): 151–69.

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Zurndorfer, Harriet. “Review of Frederick W. Mote, Imperial China: 900–1800,” American Historical Review 105:5 (2000): 1708–9. Zurndorfer, Harriet. “Tribute, Trade, and the Demise of the Chinese ‘World Order’ in Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1911) China,” Leidschrift-Historisch Tijdschrift 18 (2004): 17–32. Zurndorfer, Harriet. “What Is the Meaning of ‘War’ in an Age of Cultural Efflorescence? Another Look at the Role of War in Song Dynasty China (960–1279),” in Marco Formisano and Harmut Böhme, eds., War in Words: Transformations of War from Antiquity to Clausewitz. Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010, pp. 89–110. Zurndorfer, Harriet. “What the Concept ‘The Rise of the West’ Teaches Us about the Writing of Chinese History,” Theoretische Geschiedenis 25:4 (1998): 350–69.

11 The celestial warriors Ming military aid and abuse during the Korean War, 1592–8 Nam-lin Hur

Introduction Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s desire to invade the Korean peninsula proved to be an unprecedented test to the peaceful relationship between Chosŏn Korea and Ming China. Soon after the Korean envoys to Japan returned in the first month of 1591 and submitted conflicting reports on Hideyoshi’s military plot to King Sŏnjo, the Chosŏn court had to wrestle with the issue of whether or not to report the new intelligence on Japan to the Ming emperor. This issue became a diplomatic headache for two reasons. The first reason was the fact that the Chosŏn court had sent an embassy to Japan in 1590 without providing any notice to the Ming court. Chosŏn’s independent action could be construed as a deviation from the lord–vassal relationship between Ming China and Chosŏn Korea. Ming China, as Chosŏn Korea’s suzerain state, had keen interests in the latter’s foreign affairs. The second reason was that Chosŏn leaders were divided in assessing the intelligence on Japan. The ambassador of the 1590–1 embassy, Hwang Yun’gil, reported that Japan’s continental invasion seemed both likely and imminent; vice-ambassador Kim Sŏng’il insisted that there was no evidence pointing to an invasion. How did the two highest envoys of the same embassy – two people who were never apart during their visit to Japan – arrive at such contrasting conclusions? It seems that Kim’s strong anti-Japanese sentiments prevented him from objectively assessing the danger of Japan’s military strength while Hwang took a relatively realistic approach.1 Neither envoy was an intelligence or military expert, and their intelligence gathering was by and large within the Confucian moral framework of personal impressions and conjectures that they had collected through meetings with Japanese officials or encounters with things Japanese during their time in Japan. Their meeting with Hideyoshi was very brief and not particularly significant.2 Nevertheless, after returning from their “fact-finding” mission, each envoy submitted conclusive reports to the king, and each stood firmly by his findings. King Sŏnjo, who showed an intense feeling of abhorrence towards Japan’s political reshuffling, leaned towards Kim Sŏng’il’s report portraying Hideyoshi as an evil usurper.

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While the intelligence pertaining to Japan remained politically unsettled, in the fourth and fifth months of 1591 court officials debated how and what to report to the Ming emperor regarding Chosŏn Korea’s 1590–1 communication with Japan. Some court officials, led by Yun Tusu, who sided with Hwang Yun’gil, argued that Hideyoshi’s suspicious movements should immediately be reported to Ming, which would be in accordance with Chosŏn Korea’s track record of “having served the great,” or sadae. In particular, Defense Minister Hwang Chŏng’uk pointed out that, even though Hideyoshi’s alleged plot was insane, if Korea reported it to Ming China, then this would both strengthen the bond between the two countries and function to enhance their defense against the belligerent Japanese. Hwang Chŏng’uk warned that not to report Hideyoshi’s conspiracy would be construed as “an attempt to violate the Central Kingdom.” In contrast, Yi Sanhae insisted that reporting the matter to Ming China would inevitably reveal that the Chosŏn court had been in communication with Japan. He further argued that the contents of the letter Hideyoshi addressed to King Sŏnjo might mislead the Ming court into thinking that Korea and Japan had secretly been working together to foment a military scheme.3 Torn, King Sŏnjo hesitated for some time, but eventually decided to take the middle path suggested by Yu Kŭn. Yu Kŭn thought that the king should report the dispatch of an embassy to Japan without consulting Ming but that, at least for the time being, he should not report the contents of Hideyoshi’s letter. Yu Kŭn insisted that Chosŏn Korea should ignore Hideyoshi’s empty threats and thereby avoid agitating Ming China. At the same time this response would avoid upsetting Japan. In the fifth month of 1591 King Sŏnjo dispatched Kim Ŭngnam to Beijing, where the latter “lightly” mentioned to the Ming emperor that the Chosŏn court had sent a diplomatic mission to Japan. What he did not mention was the rumor that Hideyoshi was concocting a military plot against Ming China.4 Upon hearing the report, the Ming court became more suspicious than ever that Korea was hiding something. In fact, in possession of information transmitted in the fourth month of 1591 by the Fujian merchant Chen Jia (or Chen Shen) that there were “unusual” movements taking place between Korea and Japan, Ming China was keeping a watchful eye on its northeastern boundaries. Chen Jia, who was trading in Ryūkyū, informed the Fujian military commander Zhao Canlu of the rumor that Hideyoshi was mobilizing forces in order to invade China.5 Based on Zhao’s warning and other intelligence reports, the Ming court deduced that, if Hideyoshi invaded China, then his troops would pass through the Korean peninsula. It also deduced that such an action would not be possible without Korea’s collaboration. While Ming China’s suspicion remained, another informant, the Chinese physician Xu Yijun (or Xu Yihou) of Satsuma, transmitted the same intelligence to Fujian military headquarters in the ninth month of the same year. Realizing that its ties with Ming China might well be jeopardized over this, in the tenth month of 1591 the Chosŏn court dispatched an emergency embassy,

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led by Han Ŭng’in, to the Ming court and insisted on the falsity of the rumor that “Chosŏn had already submitted to Japan, sending three hundred Koreans, and [that] Japan would soon build up ships [for the invasion] and use those Koreans as guides.”6 In the eleventh month of 1591, when a regular annual embassy was sent to Beijing, King Sŏnjo reiterated Korea’s unfailing loyalty to the Ming emperor and explained Japan’s cunning fabrication of “Korea’s conspiracy.” Through Ambassador Yi Yuin, King Sŏnjo assured the Ming emperor that, if and when he obtained new information on the situation in Japan, he would immediately report it to the emperor. He further promised that, if necessary, he himself would lead an expeditionary force against Japan so as to return the favor the Ming emperor had conferred upon Korea. King Sŏnjo sounded sincere: “How could I possibly betray the parent country in favor of the Japanese enemy?”7 After poring over these diplomatic communications and intelligence reports, Ming leaders concluded that, even though they could not determine exactly when it might be put into action, Hideyoshi’s alleged plan of continental aggression should be taken very seriously. The Ming government began to strengthen its coastal defense and intensified its effort to collect information on the movements of Japan and Korea. In the second month of 1592 the War Ministry informed the emperor that Hideyoshi, along with the forces of Ryūkyū and a number of southern barbarians (Europeans), was likely to invade Ming China. And it suggested that, when this happened, Korea might well betray China and guide the Japanese troops. After this briefing, the Ming emperor sent spies to Korea in order to increase China’s surveillance of that country.8 As far as Ming China was concerned, its lord–vassal relationship with Chosŏn Korea was not set in stone; rather, it was precarious and subject to the whims of geopolitics, which could be motivated by forces beyond its control. In particular, after having barely struggled through the havoc wrought by “Japanese pirates,” who had devastated its southern coastlines in the 1550s and 1560s, Ming China could not completely shake off the specter of a vassal country (like Korea) joining forces with a non-vassal country (like Japan).9 From the Ming Chinese point of view, Hideyoshi – who had displayed amazing military prowess in subjugating the Japanese pirates and who had, thereby, pacified East Asian waters – was not a man whom it could afford to underestimate.10 To be sure, Chosŏn Korea reiterated its pledge to “serve the great,” but Ming leaders were not sure what might happen to this pledge should push come to shove over issues of security. The Ming–Chosŏn relationship had never been clearly defined in terms of reciprocal security arrangements, and its stability owed much to a peacetime environment within which Japan had by and large complied with the Sinocentric regional order. From the mid-sixteenth century on, however, Japan had emerged as a military power with the capability to tip the balance of the regional order. Nobody at the Ming court was sure what impact a unified Japan could bring to bear on the lord–vassal relationship

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between Ming China and Chosŏn Korea. Under the tension Hideyoshi was adding to the region, the previously trouble-free Korean–Chinese relationship was being pushed into uncharted terrain. It seemed that the Ming–Chosŏn relationship was being reconfigured, and it was looking as though this process of reconfiguration would transpire in military rather than in cultural terms. The following discusses how Ming China responded militarily to the Japanese invasion of one of its most trusted vassal states. The conventional terms of the lord–vassal relationship between Ming China and Chosŏn Korea suddenly lost their relevance as peacetime diplomatic exchanges were replaced by military operations. The presence of Chinese troops in Korea, which would double and quadruple as the war deepened, proved to be a crucial factor that would produce a new chapter in the Ming–Chosŏn relationship. However, at the same time, it should be noted that China’s military aid to Korea was more than what the word “aid” might convey. This aid was provided not so much for the sake of Chosŏn Korea as for the sake of China’s own national security. I examine the Chinese military intervention from the standpoint of Chinese defense strategies, which were geared towards sustaining Ming China’s claim to universal sovereignty. The Chosŏn government, with its limited military strength, understood that it could not repel the Japanese invaders on its own, and Korea became a de facto battle ground for China’s defense. Bearing in mind that there is no such thing as free military help, this chapter examines the heavy social, political, and material costs to Korea of the Chinese military intervention. In the final analysis, the sufferings and hardships that the Koreans had to endure did not invalidate Ming China’s military aid, but Korea, which survived the crisis, was left with many scars.

Dimensions of China’s military sovereignty Ming China sent tens of thousands of troops to Chosŏn Korea between the sixth month of 1592 and the tenth month of 1600, when its last troops crossed the Yalu River on their way back to Liaodong. Over this period, Ming China paid a dear price in lives and treasure. During the first phase of Japanese aggression, the Ming government committed a force of about 50,000, and during the second phase that number almost doubled. Ming China not only provided manpower but also food, horses, and other war supplies. The loss of a large number of its soldiers to battle, disease, and other misfortunes was extreme. The war eventually cost China more than eight million taels of silver and weakened its public treasury.11 In addition, China’s celestial warriors were stricken by crushing defeats at P’yŏngyang, Pyŏkchegwan and Sach’ŏn. All these sacrifices were undergone for Chosŏn Koreans – alien people to whom China often referred as “eastern barbarians.” Why did Ming China send its soldiers to fight an invader of a foreign country? There was no security arrangement that forced the Chinese to defend Chosŏn Korea. Did Ming China, being Chosŏn Korea’s suzerain state, feel

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morally obliged to defend it? Or was China’s military rescue operation actually more concerned with its own national security? Whatever triggered the Ming court to commit tens of thousands of its dwindling troops to the Korean war, it was a difficult decision made amidst other pressing troubles. At that time, China’s most serious problem was a mutiny on the part of its Sino-Mongolian troops. This mutiny had broken out in the third month of 1592 at Ningxia, a northwestern border town, and it was feared it might lead to a Mongol raid on Ming territory. In order to quash this rebellion, in the late seventh and early eighth months of 1592 the Ming court dispatched Li Rusong, along with reinforcements from the eastern military districts. It took almost three months for the government forces to quash the rebellion.12 Also a source of headaches was the southwestern border area, where an aboriginal people, the Miao, were allowed to govern themselves under the aegis of the Ming dynasty. During the 1590s the overlord of the region, Yang Yinglung, challenged the Ming authorities by launching raids on Ming forces. In suppressing this rebellion the Ming government had to mobilize an army of 200,000 troops from various regions, and the job was not completed until the war in Korea had concluded. In the end, 22,000 rebels were put to death during a sweeping crackdown.13 It should be noted that all these rebellions occurred when Ming China had lost much of its military vigor and financial health due to ongoing troubles within and disasters from without. The Japanese pirates, who devastated the southern coastal regions in the 1550s and 1560s, sapped much of China’s already waning military strength. On top of that, Zhang Juzheng’s (1525–82) successful reform efforts, which had been put into effect from the mid-1570s to the early 1580s, had given way to corruption and political incompetence right after his death.14 Nevertheless, by 1592 Ming China was still able to mobilize a sizable force, but it was doubtful if it could subjugate a Japanese invading force of around 150,000 tightly organized warriors – warriors who had been hardened through the long decades of the Warring States from the late fifteenth century. On receiving intelligence that Hideyoshi was preparing to invade the Korean peninsula, the Ming government strengthened its border defense while following up hearsay evidence indicating that Chosŏn Korea seemed to be collaborating with Japan. Soon after the first division of Japanese forces landed in Pusan on the twelfth day of the fourth month of 1592, Ming China seriously began trying to formulate a course of action. National security was the focus of the court debate, and options were weighed in terms of feasibility and probable cost. However, at that early stage, the idea of sending rescue troops to Korea did not rally strong support. The situation in Korea was no different, either. Initially, even though King Sŏnjo had been forced to flee and the Japanese had taken over Hansŏng, Chosŏn court officials were not united with regard to whether to ask Ming China for military help. For example, Yi Hangbok was in favor but Yun Tusu, who argued in favor of mustering a spirited self-defense, was not. However, all of them, including King Sŏnjo,

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soon realized that self-defense was not an option: the Japanese forces were simply too powerful. King Sŏnjo dispatched messengers to Ming China one after another, pleading for quick military help. Korea’s entreaties resulted in heated discussion among the officials at the Ming court, and suggestions ranged from mounting a defense at the Yalu River to dispatching limited rescue troops to Korea after consolidating a defense line along the Yalu River to an immediate full-scale military expedition against the Japanese invaders.15 The option of dispatching troops eventually won the approval of the Wanli emperor (Emperor Shenzong), but the Ming government implemented it in a cautious, step-by-step manner. The Chinese court made a major military commitment in the eleventh month of 1592. This was after the small-scale battle at P’yŏngyang in the seventh month of 1592 had proved disastrous, and all suspicions about Korea’s loyalty to China had been dispelled. King Sŏnjo, who had once gone so far as to ponder whether or not he should relocate his court to China, kept appealing to the Ming emperor for help; and the latter, who had claimed overlordship over Chosŏn Korea, finally approved a major military commitment. Nevertheless, it would be naive to believe that Ming’s decision to commit a large force to Korea was based on King Sŏnjo’s repeated pleas for help and the Wanli emperor’s “feelings of obligation toward Korea” as the tributary father of the former.16 Kenneth M. Swope writes that “Chinese officials demonstrated their anger that the Japanese did not realize that the Ming defense umbrella extended not only over Korea but also over Ryūkyū and the island countries of the south seas.”17 The fact of the matter is that “the Ming defense umbrella” never extended “over Ryūkyū.” When Satsuma forces invaded the Ryūkyū kingdom in 1609, Ming China did not, and could not, do anything about it. Wanli’s promise that “he would mobilize other tributary states like Siam, the Philippines, and the Ryūkyūs to help Korea”18 was nothing but haughty rhetoric. Swope does not entirely deny that Ming’s dispatch of a rescue force to Korea was also meant “to defend its own border,” or carried elements of self-interest, but his active estimation of “the importance of the tributary relationship” between Chosŏn Korea and Ming China prevents him from discerning the blurred lines between rhetoric and reality.19 Behind the decision to rescue Korea were Ming China’s national defense concerns, which were closely interwoven with its desire to claim universal sovereignty. In order to maintain universal sovereignty, Ming China had developed two key military strategies: waiyi jimi and waifan lifu. The combination of these two strategies formed a military framework for what it desired to obtain within the vision of a Sinocentric world order, and this is what forced China to send a major force to Korea. Waiyi jimi, which literally means “outer barbarians and the bridle and reins,” refers to a defense strategy that features “controlling wild horses and cows by pulling up or loosening the reins.”20 This idea was based on two assumptions. One was that ethnic groups outside China proper were uncivilized barbarians. These groups were collectively referred to as the “four barbarians” and were

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often likened to wild horses or cows. In this vision of Chinese world order, both the Koreans and the Japanese were classified as “eastern barbarians.” The other assumption was that the only effective way of controlling the wildness of “barbarians” was through the use of physical violence like “pulling up or loosening the reins,” namely, military power. It is commonly known that during the time of Ming China the so-called Sinocentric international order was premised on the acceptance of the Central Kingdom’s universal sovereignty and cultural supremacy, which required the surrounding vassal states to submit themselves voluntarily to its rule. Specifically, as an expression of their submission to the Central Kingdom, the kings of vassal states were expected to bring tribute to the Chinese emperor, who was regarded as the Son of Heaven. In return, and in accordance with the political principles of Confucian cultural decorum, the Son of Heaven was supposed to sanction the supplicant as the legitimate ruler of his state by granting him imperial investiture.21 This system of international order was justified through the assumption of Chinese political and cultural superiority. In reality, however, it was implemented through the means of the waiyi jimi strategy sustained with the backing of China’s overwhelming military power.22 Historically, when China failed to maintain military superiority over its surrounding countries, and when strong “vassal states” refused to submit to it, there was almost nothing the Central Kingdom could do to maintain its alleged universal sovereignty. In this case, the Central Kingdom was often forced to camouflage its military weakness through unusual diplomatic arrangements; sometimes it was even reduced to employing submissive tactics so as to pre-empt being humiliated by a stronger “barbarian” state.23 Without the protective shield of superior military power, the Sinocentric international order was nothing more than a cultural fantasy. Interestingly, Chosŏn Korea, which regarded itself as a continuum of the civilization commanded by the Central Kingdom, applied the same binary vision to itself and Japan as China did to non-Chinese countries; that is, Korea saw itself as civilized and Japan as barbarous. Unlike the Sino-Korean relationship, the Korean–Japanese relationship had been shaped by Korea’s bitter experiences with the Japanese pirates (waegu) from Tsushima Island and other island bases around Kyūshū. In denigrating Japan, Korea did not hesitate to use the image of these pirates as a collective representation of the entire nation. For Chosŏn Korea, Japan and the Japanese were all waegu. When contact with waegu was unavoidable, the Koreans tried to assert their cultural superiority by employing the strategy of waiyi jimi on their own. But the strategy of waiyi jimi towards Tsushima gradually fell into disuse in the sixteenth century as Korea’s military might struggled to deal with the increasing military vigor of the Japanese pirates; rather, the Chosŏn government turned more and more to the rhetoric of cultural diplomacy, a move that, in 1471, Shin Sukchu had already proposed in his Haedong chegukki (A Record of All Countries East of the [Yellow] Sea):

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The Japanese have a violent disposition and excellent military skills. They are well accustomed to navigation, and we are neighbors separated by the sea. To appease and control them, our relations must be controlled with ye [upright behavior] … The way to control barbarians is not to expel them, not to defend frontier areas militarily, but to depend on the law and order of Confucian decorum.24 Korea’s tactics usually included granting Tsushima islanders court titles, permitting them to conduct trade with Korea, offering them fishing facilities, and giving them rice and beans. Despite the rhetoric of cultural appeasement, these pre-emptive measures were meant to bribe the islanders. The cultural version of the waiyi jimi strategy served Chosŏn Korea well until Hideyoshi’s invasion.25 Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea posed an outright military challenge to the entire framework of the Sinocentric international order. Although military provocation was not unprecedented in Ming China, the Japanese challenge, which came through Japan’s occupation of China’s most trusted vassal state, Chosŏn Korea, was feared because it might jeopardize the Central Kingdom’s long-treasured defense strategy – waifan lifu or siyi fanping – a strategy that, along with waiyi jimi, sustained universal sovereignty. The waifan lifu strategy literally means “outer frontiers [represented by the four barbarians] and fences and bars” and implies that the function of the Central Kingdom’s neighboring barbarian countries was to protect the civilized country that they surrounded; that is, China.26 The Central Kingdom’s traditional strategic notion of national security involved seeing itself as being shielded by the four barbarians, who were supposed to fend off any barbarian entity attempting to attack China. In other words, China’s national security strategy amounted to fighting barbarians with barbarians. Like previous Chinese empires, Ming China tried to assign the proxy role of defender to the barbarian vassal states located along its boundaries. China believed that this was the most cost-effective and practical way to secure its long borders. Indeed, owing to the buffer zone supplied by Chosŏn Korea, Ming China’s northeastern boundaries were relatively secure and calm. Even during the havoc caused by the “Japanese” pirates during the 1550s and 1560s, the Ming court’s sovereignty over its northeastern areas was never seriously threatened. To be sure, Ming China was becoming increasingly uneasy about Sengoku Japan, which was emerging as a military power outside the margins of the Sinocentric geopolitical order. However, the strategy of employing “barbarians against barbarians” had worked well for China’s universal sovereignty – until the time of Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi’s invasion of Korea represented the most disturbing military challenge to the framework of Sinocentric international order in two centuries. Ming China construed the Japanese aggression as a crisis that might ruin the two cardinal defense strategies buttressing Chinese universal sovereignty and national security. It was clear that, so far from subjugating themselves to

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Chinese reins, the Japanese barbarians were apparently attempting to take over the entire region.27 Furthermore, the rumor that Korea was secretly collaborating with Japan put the strategy of pitting barbarians against barbarians to a serious test.28 It was within this context that the Ming court was forced to attempt to salvage its national security strategy and its assumption of universal sovereignty. The War Ministry urged Emperor Shenzong to dispatch a rescue army to Korea in the following terms: The defense of China against the Japanese should occur in the outer yard. The places adjoining the [Chinese] borderland are the outer yards of China. The four barbarians are simply a line of protective barriers. Defense lies with the four barbarians, but it is not for them. Korea is loyal and obedient, so when she is attacked, we should console her; when she asks for military help, we should immediately send aid; and when she brings prisoners of war to us, we should reward her. This is how we treat vassal states.29 In the end, the Ming court concluded that defending China against the Japanese invaders in Korean territory was the best course of action to prevent Chinese territory from being violated by the Japanese. Moreover, Chinese leaders anticipated that the burden of the fighting would be shared with the Korean troops and that, as a result, the loss of Chinese lives would be significantly reduced. As far as the Ming court was concerned, Korean soldiers could be used as a sort of surrogate force against the Japanese barbarians. Thus, Ming China’s decision to dispatch its troops to Korea, which was the first time in its history that it came to the direct military aid of a foreign country, was the product of a politico-military calculation. However, for Chosŏn Korea the Ming court’s military operation in the peninsula soon proved to involve more than military aid. Along with its troops, Ming China began to impose its own conditions with regard to all matters related to fighting and dealing with the Japanese. Two things in particular bothered Chosŏn Korea: (1) Ming China’s assumption of the command of Korea’s military forces when necessary and (2) its exclusive handling of all diplomatic negotiations with the Japanese. China’s exercise of its suzerain power infringed upon the sovereignty of Korea to the point where the Chosŏn court found itself cut off from decisions taken concerning its war against the Japanese. It was not only the Ming court but also the Chinese field generals who were eager to exercise their power over Chosŏn Korea. They believed that the purpose of China’s military aid was, in the last analysis, to shore up China’s national defense, not Korea’s. For example, when Li Rusong led a large army across the Yalu River, he clearly understood why he was being dispatched and what he was supposed to do:

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Liaodong is the arms of Beijing, and Korea is the fence of Liaodong. Tianjin is the gate of Beijing. In the past two hundred years the Japanese pirates troubled the Fujian and Zhejiang regions but could not penetrate into Liaoyang and Tianjin. Isn’t it because Korea served as a shield of protection? If the Japanese were to occupy Korea, then the people of Liaodong would not sleep at night.30 To Chinese field generals Korea was nothing but an outer fence dedicated to China’s defense, and it was only as such that Korea deserved protection. By extension, the Koreans were expected to carry out their masters’ demands. Indeed, Ming China’s military help did not come cheaply. Of all the demands Ming China imposed upon Korea, the most onerous was to share the burden of providing food supplies (mostly rice and beans) to the Chinese fighting forces and their horses. In addition, when grains were shipped from China to Korea, it was the latter’s responsibility to transport them to the Chinese troops. The Ming court worried that without the full cooperation of the Korean people it would not be easy to feed its forces and wanted to make sure that all matters related to food provisioning were in order. Initially, the Ming government planned to provide its soldiers in Korea with individual monthly salaries; however, it soon realized that they would have difficulty buying foodstuffs in Korea.31 Thus the Ming government purchased grains and fodder in China, shipped them to Korea, and asked the Korean government to distribute them. But there was one sore point. As the war dragged on, it became increasingly costly and cumbersome to supply feed for Chinese horses directly from China. The Ming government began to send silver to the Chosŏn government on the understanding that it would procure fodder for Chinese horses in Korea. At the same time, the Ming government increasingly pressured the Chosŏn court to contribute to food supplies for the celestial warriors. There is little evidence that Ming China deliberately tried to impose on the Korean people the tasks of feeding its soldiers and horses and of procuring weapons and other war supplies. However, China’s relatively modest expectation that the Chosŏn court should do something for the Chinese troops became an almost unbearable burden on the Korean people, who were struggling for survival. When the first division of celestial warriors was about to arrive, King Sŏnjo charged Yu Sŏngnyong with the task of procuring enough rice and other foodstuffs to feed 5,000 soldiers for fifteen days. Yu Sŏngnyong, in collaboration with local officials, was barely able to secure 500 to 600 sŏk (1 sŏk = 120 liters) of rice from the villages in the Kasan area.32 And this was only a very small, and the earliest, part of the price the Korean people would have to pay to maintain the Chinese troops. As more and more rescue forces arrived in Korea after Zu Chengxun’s defeat at P’yŏngyang, both Ming and Chosŏn officials began to pay a great deal of attention to the matter of securing food supplies for the Chinese fighting

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forces. Although by the eleventh month of 1592 the Ming court had been able to store enough grains to feed a force of 50,000 for two months, it soon established a long-term plan: it would purchase grains in the Shandong area and ship them to Liaodong for storage, thus securing enough food to sustain all the Chinese forces in Korea for at least one year. In the early twelfth month of 1592, Song Yingchang, the Ming commander in Korea, heard that the Chosŏn court had already secured grain enough to feed a Chinese force of 50,000 for twenty days as well as fodder for 20,000 horses. Song Yingchang’s concern over food supplies was such that he insisted that the stock be carefully inspected.33 Such meticulous planning and care had, to a great extent, relieved the Chinese forces of their constant concern with food and transportation, at least until the Japanese began to retreat to the south in accordance with the truce arrangements. As tens of thousands of Chinese troops began to be deployed in the southern provinces for longer and longer periods of time, the need to supply them with food spelled extreme hardship for Koreans. Local Koreans were forced to give up grain that was meant for their own consumption and, on top of that, they had to transport food supplies from the far north of the peninsula to the southern Chinese camps. The routes for transporting grain and foodstuffs from China to Korea involved crossing both sea and land: from Liaodong to Ŭiju involved a sea route, from Ŭiju to Yongch’ŏn involved a land route, from Yongch’ŏn to Kanghwa involved a sea route, and from Kanghwa to the southern camps involved both sea and land routes. The complex mix of transportation routes, which forced people to load and unload constantly, made the task of supplying food painful indeed. A shortage of ships was a constant problem, and, as far as land transportation was concerned, there were simply not enough horses or oxen to carry the many bags of grain. Most labor was supplied by Korean men and women, who were forced into labor whenever and wherever they were found. Enduring their own hunger, these corvée laborers had to carry heavy sacks of grain on their backs along the poorly maintained, narrow rugged roads leading to the south. Further compounding the problem was the casual corruption, extortion, and embezzlement committed by grain merchants and officials, who were often either greedy or negligent or both. In a number of cases, large amounts of grain were either stolen while being transported or were abandoned to rot due to lack of care.34 If a designated amount of grain was not delivered as had been ordered, then Korean laborers were often accused of theft or negligence and were harshly punished. Supplying food to Chinese troops was often a point of dispute between the Ming and Chosŏn courts as both sides struggled to cope with their own financial constraints. The Chosŏn court, which had no option but to rely on Ming China’s military help, was delighted when more and more troop reinforcements arrived from China. But its jubilation quickly dissipated when it had to wrestle with the burden of supplying these troops with food. By the same token, the Ming court was not always happy with how the Korean court was

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treating its celestial warriors. And Ming officials sometimes used their dissatisfaction as a reason for exercising tighter control over the Chosŏn court. In the second month of 1593, for example, Minister of Revenue Secretary Ai Zixin, who was in charge of supplying food to the Chinese troops in Korea, flogged Korean officials (Military Affairs Commissioner Kim Ungnam, Taxation Vice-Minister Min Yŏ’gyŏng, and Ŭiju Magistrate Hwang Chin) for not transporting food supplies fast enough.35 In any case, it was always ordinary Korean people who shouldered the largest share of the pain caused by the nationwide efforts to collect and transport grains for the Chinese soldiers. In the eighth month of 1593, as the truce negotiations dragged on even after the main body of Chinese forces had returned to their country, the task of feeding the remaining Chinese force of 18,000, which was to be stationed in Korea for one more year, increasingly fell to Korea. Under the threat of Chinese withdrawal, which Ming generals often mouthed, Korean officials ran about collecting food resources wherever they could find them, while local Koreans frantically hid food to ensure their own survival. In 1593 and 1594, due to widespread famine and epidemics, the situation was especially distressing.36 After having suffered unspeakable hardships for more than two years, in the eighth month of 1594 the Korean people saw the Chinese forces return to their country. The remaining Japanese troops were all confined to narrow strips along the southern coast, and by 1596 Korea had returned to relative calm. However, with the resumed movement of Japanese aggression in early 1597, which Ming China countered by dispatching an even larger force (close to 100,000 troops) than it had in its first stage of the war, the Korean people were once again plunged into despair. This time there was no doubt that the number of Chinese troops far exceeded what Chosŏn Korea could possibly support. Further to this, Korean officials, who were expected to treat a large number of Ming generals with appropriate protocol, found their task both materially and spiritually exhausting. In order to raise food supplies for these helping hands from its suzerain state, the Chosŏn court desperately dispatched a large number of grain collectors to the provinces. The effort to wrest food resources from starving people literally resulted in another war. King Sŏnjo succinctly referred to it as the “fear of the coming of Ming troops.”37 Those who could not endure the government’s endless commandeering of their dwindling food stocks deserted their villages, opting to become vagrants or bandits. The sufferers included more than helpless ordinary Koreans. Paradoxically, Korea’s fighting forces also fell victim to the nationwide effort to feed the Chinese troops; this was because, after the Chinese fighting forces gobbled up the dwindling food stocks, there was not much left for them. Throughout the war a chronic shortage of food crippled the combat strength of Korean soldiers.38 Unfortunately, in spite of receiving the best of the food and other resources, the Chinese soldiers rarely managed to garner sound victories over the Japanese; meanwhile, the Korean soldiers became demoralized, thus

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further draining the fighting spirit of the allied forces. This situation of double jeopardy prolonged the suffering of combatants and noncombatants alike. Out of frustration, in the fifth month of 1598, the Kyŏngju magistrate Pak Ŭijang insisted that local Korean warriors in the Kyŏngju area, who were struggling to maintain their fighting spirit, could be re-energized “if grain left over after feeding the Ming soldiers were supplied to them, even if it were rotten.”39 Hunger and malnutrition tortured the Korean people until the end of the war, but they knew that they must somehow bear it as long as the Japanese remained in the peninsula. Chosŏn Korea, which was not strong enough to repel the Japanese by itself, endured through these terrible times in the hope that the celestial warriors – no matter how inappropriate the adjective “celestial” was proving to be – would somehow save them. In fact, from the outset, Korean officials had little hope in the “celestial” nature of Chinese warriors because they knew precisely what it would take to bring foreign soldiers from a powerful country to the aid of a country on the brink of collapse. When the Chosŏn court debated asking Ming China for military help, some court officials worried that Chinese soldiers, once they set foot on Korean soil, might cause trouble for the Korean people. Soldiers from Liaodong were most feared as they were well known for their “roisterous” character. Fortunately, however, Dai Chaobian and Shi Ru’s 1,000 celestial warriors, who first crossed the Yalu River on the nineteenth day of the sixth month, 1592, turned out to be as orderly and disciplined as Yi Tŏkhyŏng had previously assured King Sŏnjo they would be.40 However, Zu Chengxun’s troops, who soon followed the first division, were unruly and rough. Local Korean officials at Ŭiju, shocked at the behavior of the Ming soldiers (who casually invaded people’s private homes whenever they felt like it), reported that “the people in the [Ŭiju] fortress have all deserted their residences.”41 More trouble followed with the arrival of Li Rusong’s 43,000 troops. Some Ming soldiers, who were competing with one another to produce Japanese heads (for which they expected to be rewarded), killed many Korean civilians and claimed that they were Japanese.42 Things got so bad that the Ming court had to dispatch inspectors to the Korean warfronts in order to distinguish between Korean heads (which were supposed to have a white impression on their forehead caused by horsehair headbands) from Japanese heads (with shaved foreheads).43 When there were no battles, Chinese soldiers easily transformed themselves into local tyrants, casually plundering the homes of civilians, raping women, and abusing local Korean officials with demands for food, liquor, and so on. Some Ming generals pressured the Chosŏn court to supply them with local staples such as candles, honey, rush mats, and other luxury items that would make barracks life more comfortable.44 The Chinese soldiers were usually at their worst right after a defeat or when they were about to head off to other fronts.45 The war turned into a stalemate with the start of ceasefire negotiations after the Pyŏkchegwan battle, and the Chinese soldiers lost much of their fighting spirit. Nonetheless, they persisted in inflicting hardships upon

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the Koreans. In fact, the Chinese troops who followed the retreating Japanese and entered Chŏlla Province and other areas from the summer of 1593 created so much havoc that local Koreans could often see no difference between them and the Japanese.46 The abuses committed by the celestial warriors were more frequent among the cavalry soldiers from northern China than among the foot soldiers from southern China. The northern soldiers saw themselves as Korea’s saviors and felt free to act in an unruly, violent, and arrogant manner. They simply did not concern themselves with the well-being of the Koreans.47 For example, Song Yingchang tried to maintain a high level of military discipline among his northern troops, and, among the thirty articles he issued, three specifically addressed the problem of civilian atrocities. He warned that those who cut down even one tree without reason, that those who raped women, and that those who killed Korean men and women (whether or not they had confessed to having collaborated with the Japanese) would receive the death penalty. But his efforts did not have much effect.48 In contrast, the majority of the southern soldiers were orderly. The southern soldiers were quite critical of the disorderly behavior and violence of the northern soldiers, and they tried to distinguish themselves from them by practicing strict military discipline. Generals like Wu Weizhong and Liu Ting, who commanded the southern troops, were able to maintain strict military discipline; indeed, they became famous for rarely causing the local people any trouble. For their part, Chosŏn officials, who were dismayed at what the northern soldiers were doing to the Korean people but who were nonetheless expected to provide them with food, went so far as to ask the Ming court to send southern soldiers only. The Chinese troops, who re-entered Korea in the summer of 1597 after the Japanese had launched the second major aggression, were no better than were the ones who had preceded them. Reports of the violence and plundering that Chinese soldiers were perpetrating upon innocent Korean civilians alarmed the Chosŏn court. It was even reported that Chinese soldiers, fleeing after their defeat at Namwŏn, destroyed and pillaged government storehouses and behaved more abominably towards local villagers than had the Japanese. When people heard that the Chinese were going to pass through their villages, it was said that they would hide in deep valleys and mountains during the day, venturing out only at night. It was also said that they would bury their tools, furniture, grain, and whatever else they were able to salvage.49 In the first month of 1598, after the attack on the Ulsan fortress had failed, the Chinese soldiers vented their frustration on whatever fell in their path as they retreated to the north. Some of Commander Ma Gui’s soldiers made a habit of straying into nearby villages under the pretext of seeking food, only to loot and rape civilians. According to Yi Tŏkhyŏng, villages within twelve or sixteen kilometers of the Chinese camps were completely emptied.50 The people in the southern provinces shunned the Chinese soldiers; and, when direct encounters could not be avoided, they fled.

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Despite the efforts of Chinese commanders such as Xing Jie, who did attempt to discipline their troops, it was almost impossible to keep the Chinese soldiers away from the Koreans. In general, Chinese commanders were rather sympathetic towards their soldiers who, after all, were thrown into a war in an alien country, were under the constant threat of losing their lives, and were suffering from disease, injury, malnutrition, and homesickness. There was almost nothing Chosŏn Korea could do about the atrocities committed by the Chinese soldiers: it knew that, without the help of Ming China, it simply could not defend itself.

Conclusion Ming China’s attempt to rescue Chosŏn Korea eventually turned out to be a success when, at the end of the eleventh month of 1598, the Japanese invaders decided to abandon their ill-fated military desires and return to Japan. But China’s success was a result not so much of its own military victories as of Japan wearying of prolonged and hopeless battles in a foreign country. It is not easy to list many battles in which the Chinese achieved a decisive victory over the Japanese. The Chinese soldiers, who were very concerned with selfprotection, were constantly trying to find ways of avoiding risky confrontations with the Japanese. In the case of a military failure, the Chinese usually tried to shirk blame through political maneuvering, such as, for example, after the Battle of Ulsan in late 1597 and early 1598. After the unsuccessful attack on Katō Kiyomasa’s Ulsan fortress, Field General Yang Hao returned to Hansŏng and attempted to blame his failure on the Korean troops by accusing thousands of Korean soldiers of collaborating with the Japanese. Similarly, Xing Jie, the supreme commander of the Ming forces, composed a false report for his emperor, stating that the imperial soldiers almost destroyed Katō Kiyomasa’s troops – who had been reduced to drinking rainwater and urine – but that he had to withdraw due to exhaustion and bad weather. He did not forget to add that it would have been only a matter of time before he and his troops would have annihilated the Japanese. The Ming emperor praised the valor of Xing Jie’s soldiers, but his pleasure was to be short-lived.51 In the sixth month of 1598, Ding Yingtai, a military superintendent (Ch. Zanhua shushi), sent the Ming court a series of secret reports that indicated what had actually happened at the Battle of Ulsan. They revealed that the Ulsan campaign had been a total failure; that there had been a high number of casualties; that the failure was attributable to Yang Hao’s ineffective command and to the poor leadership of the Chosŏn court; and that Yang Hao had conspired with King Sŏnjo to fabricate a misleading report. Upon hearing this, the outraged Ming emperor proceeded to punish Yang Hao and others involved in the scheme.52 For his part, King Sŏnjo, who was extremely concerned over Ding Yingtai’s charges, dispatched envoys one after another to the Ming court to explain his position until all accusations were

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fully exonerated in the spring of 1599.53 Amid this squabbling, Chief State Councilor Yu Sŏngnyong was blamed for not pushing hard enough in defending King Sŏnjo and was replaced by Yi Wŏn’ik. The avoidance of confrontation by the Ming military went so far as to involve a backdoor deal with the retreating Japanese. Consider, for example, the last battles of the war in the Waegyo and Noryang areas, where the allied forces of Chen Lin, Liu Ting, Yi Sunshin, and Kwŏn Yul were fighting the forces of Konishi Yukinaga. Despite possessing overwhelming power, the Ming commander Liu Ting seemed quite reluctant to strike down the Japanese force. It was rumored that he had made a secret deal with Konishi, who was desperate to find a way to escape from his Waegyo hideout.54 Hideyoshi had died two months previously, and the Japanese government decided to end the war by pulling all of its troops out of Korea. In an attempt to ensure a safe withdrawal, Konishi bribed Ming generals with swords, silver, and other precious metals. In the early eleventh month of 1598, Konishi’s troops, who were still trapped in their fort by the Chinese and Korean squadrons under Chen Lin and Yi Sunshin, made every effort to ensure a safe escape. An entry for 16.11.1598 in the Nanjung ilgi (War Diary of Yi Sunshin) reads: “Commodore (Ch. Dudu) Chen sent Chen Wentong to the Japanese camp. After a while three Japanese boats brought a horse, swords, spears, and other items and offered them to the Commodore.”55 The bribe seemed to have little effect, because the Chinese and Korean forces did not open up a way out. After a desperate rescue and intense sea battle at Noryang, the Konishi forces eventually made good their escape to Pusan, where they shortly set sail for Japan. Ming China provided military aid to its outer-fence state, Chosŏn Korea, in order to defend itself against the Japanese. This was considered to be a cost-effective way of dealing with the Japanese threat – to play one group of barbarians off against the other. In return for China’s help, Chosŏn Korea had to give up most of its sovereignty, diplomatic rights, and military force to Ming China. When King Sŏnjo realized what Ming China’s overlordship really meant, he found himself fighting not only the Japanese but also the “parent country,” which was making excessive intrusions into an already fragmented and struggling Korea. The problem did not stop there. The Chinese celestial warriors did not show much sympathy towards the Koreans; worse yet, some of them often harassed, humiliated, and plundered those whom they were supposed to protect. Nevertheless, it should be remembered that Ming China’s military aid was the determining factor in eventually derailing Japan’s ambitions. The presence of tens of thousands of Chinese troops, which were deployed from land and sea, disheartened the Japanese aggressors. The Japanese field generals realized that the Chinese military force was far larger and stronger than they had previously imagined. Before the invasion, Hideyoshi used to ridicule “the long-sleeved country of the Great Ming,” maintaining that it could not be a match for his “Japan, a country of warriors and furious internecine struggles.”56 His generals, as they advanced towards Hansŏng after having landed

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in Pusan, found that even the Korean peninsula was huge. And they never got the chance to see the far larger land mass of the Great Ming. As time went on, it seemed clear that Ming China was indeed a massive country that was in firm command of a regional geopolitical order. Ming China was never violated by Japan’s “furious warriors,” and Hideyoshi’s continental ambition fizzled. In this sense, Ming China’s defense strategies proved to be successful. To be sure, its celestial warriors had to undergo much suffering and sacrifice in an “outer barbarian country.” In addition, the drain on China’s public treasury did weaken the regime, forcing it to sink a bit further into dynastic decline. But this was the price paid for dealing with an imminent danger to national security. Korea was saved, but it was left in ashes and anguish. Nobody at the Chosŏn court challenged the view that the Chinese celestial warriors had helped prevent Korea from succumbing to an even worse fate. No matter what horrible things the celestial warriors did to the Koreans, and no matter how much they hurt the dignity and pride of the Chosŏn court, all of this was negligible next to the fact that they had preserved the country. King Sŏnjo had sometimes been bitter about Ming China’s haphazard exercise of suzerainty over Chosŏn Korea. However, after the war, he consolidated his grip on power by attributing Korea’s survival to his “loyal” devotion to the Chinese emperor. His regime continued to honor the principles of China’s universal sovereignty.

Notes 1 When Yu Sŏngnyong, who was perplexed by divided opinions at the court, asked Kim Sŏng’il what he would do if the Japanese invaded, Kim responded, “How could I guarantee that the Japanese would not invade? But I was afraid that the whole country would be frightened and confused (by Ambassador Hwang’s words), so that I said so in order to lessen the worry.” See Yu Sŏngnyong, Chingbirok, 1973, p. 246. 2 For how intelligence on Japan was gathered, see Kim Sŏng’il, Haesarok, 1985. 3 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:11b–12b (1591.4–5). 4 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 25:12b–13a (1591.5). For more details, see Kitajima Manji, “Jinshin Waran ki no Chōsen to Min,” 1992, pp. 129–31. 5 Shenzong shilu, 238:4416–17. 6 Sŏnjo shillok, 25:14a (1591.10.24). 7 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:18a (1592.6.26). 8 Shenzong shilu, 245:4571–2. 9 For a detailed account of Ming’s difficulties in dealing with the “Japanese pirates,” see Jurgis Elisonas, “Inseparable Trinity,” 1989, pp. 249–62. 10 Elisonas, “Inseparable Trinity,” 1989, pp. 262–5. 11 According to Shin Kyŏng, the author of Chaejo pŏnbangji, Ming China spent 5.832 million taels of silver for food supplies and another three million taels of silver for other expenses. See Shin, Chaejo pŏnbangji, 1985, p. 556. 12 Ray Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, pp. 566–7. See also Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 24–34. 13 Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, pp. 564–5. See also Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 34–40.

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14 For more details, see Huang, “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” 1988, pp. 518–29. For a counter-argument to Ming military decline, which proposes that “from about 1570 to 1610 the Ming military was probably at its strongest since the Yongle reign” (p. 24), see Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 13–24. 15 Yu, Chingbirok, 1973, p. 306. 16 Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, p. 123. 17 Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, p. 123. 18 Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, p. 125. 19 Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, pp. 123, 127. 20 That the waiyi jimi strategy appeared as early as the Han period is indicated by its appearance in the Shi ji and the Han shu. Ming China used this strategy to control the northern Jurchen tribes. See Yang, “Historical Notes on the Chinese World Order,” 1968, pp. 31–3. 21 For a helpful account of the origin of the Chinese world order, see Fairbank, “A Preliminary Framework,” 1968, pp. 4–11. 22 For how this issue was handled in Chinese historical works, see Wang, “Early Ming Relations with Southeast Asia,” 1968, pp. 36–54. 23 Diplomatic arrangements employed in an attempt to deal with stronger “barbarians” ranged from an agreement of courtesy, to the offer of political sanction and benefits of trade and culture, to threats and bribery, to the sending of hostages. 24 Shin, Haedong chegukki, 1973, p. 35. 25 Was this approach beneficial to Korea? The answer is both yes and no: yes in that it worked well (at least for security purposes) until the Imjin War; no in that, from the outset, Korea refused any possibility of incorporating trade benefits into its own economy. Korea regarded Japan as a political object, not as an economic or cultural counterpart; it firmly believed that nothing could be gained from Japan, either economically or culturally. This was a sort of reverse cultural chauvinism, and it directed the international behavior of traditional Korea towards Japan. 26 See Yang, “Historical Notes on the Chinese World Order,” 1968, pp. 21–2. 27 For a similar argument, see Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009, p. 11. 28 For details, see Shenzong shilu, 248:4613–28. 29 Shenzong shilu, 250:4649. 30 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 26:36a (1593.9). 31 A monthly salary for Chinese soldiers was set as follows: 6.8 taels of silver for southern soldiers, 6 taels of silver for northern soldiers, and 7.8 taels of silver and fodder for specially recruited soldiers. For a discussion of difficulties involved in procuring war supplies in the Korean market, see Han, Imin Waeran kwa HanChung kwangye, 1999, pp. 91–8. 32 Sŏnjo sillok, 27:10a–10b (1592.6.16). 33 Han, Imin Waeran kwa Han-Chung kwangye, 1999, p. 134. 34 Han, Imin Waeran kwa Han-Chung kwangye, 1999, pp. 135–6. 35 Sŏnjo shillok, 35:1a (1593.2.1). 36 For accounts of the terrible famine years of 1593 and 1594, see Ch’oe, Imjin Waeran chung ŭi sahoe tongt’ae, 1975, pp. 88–106, and Yi, Imjin Waeransa yŏn’gu, 1999, pp. 326–32. 37 Sŏnjo shillok, 89:48b (1597.6.30). 38 Yi, Imjin Waeransa yŏn’gu, 1999, pp. 245–51. 39 Han, Imin Waeran kwa Han-Chung kwangye, 1999, pp. 141–2. 40 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:10b (1592.6.17). 41 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:13a, 15a (1592.6.20, 22). 42 After the battle, Shandong Censor-in-Chief Zhou Weihan and Supervising Secretary of the Office of Scrutiny for Personnel Yang Tinglan reprimanded Li Rusong. Among the heads he had claimed as the product of the fighting, half of them were actually Koreans. Almost all 10,000 “enemies,” who had been burned

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to death or drowned in another lot, were also Koreans. Sŏnjo shillok, 34:15a (1593.1.11). Song, Jinglue fuguo yaobian, 1968, Vol. 2, pp. 640–1. Sŏnjo shillok, 35:46b (1593.2.22). When the Korean officials could not fulfill the demands of the Chinese, they were often killed or otherwise severely punished. In the ninth month of 1593 the Chinese soldiers stationed in Hwanghae tethered local Korean officials by their necks with ropes and hauled them out onto the streets. Sŏnjo shillok, 42:16b–17a (1593.9.6). Sŏnjo shillok, 41:37b (1593.8.14), 41:47b (1593.8.23), 42:17a (1593.9.6). Soldiers mobilized from the Jurchen tribe were particularly notorious for their reckless rampages and senseless killings. Some of them casually killed Koreans they encountered on the street and, after shaving the foreheads of those murdered, claimed they were Japanese. Sŏnjo shillok, 35:36b–38b (1593.2.20). Song, Jinglue fuguo yaobian, 1968, Vol. 1, pp. 270–1, 273–4. Sŏnjo shillok, 92:29b (1597.8.29). Sŏnjo shillok, 97:3b (1598.2.2). Shenzong shilu, 319:5934. Ledyard, “Confucianism and War,” 1988–89, pp. 86–8. For a detailed account of the matter, which dragged on into the fifth month of 1599, when King Sŏnjo was finally “exonerated” by the Ming emperor, see Ledyard, “Confucianism and War,” 1988–9, pp. 88–115. Cho, Nanjung chamnok, 1985, Vol. 7, pp. 216–19. Yi, Nanjung ilgi ch’o, 1935, p. 301. Asao, “The Sixteenth-Century Unification,” 1991, p. 76.

References Asao, Naohiro. “The Sixteenth-Century Unification,” in John Whitney Hall, ed., The Cambridge History of Japan, Vol. 4: Early Modern Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, pp. 40–95. Ch’oe Yŏnghŭi (崔永禧). Imjin Waeran chung ŭi sahoe tongt’ae (壬辰倭亂中㦮 社會 動態). Seoul: Han’guk yŏn’guwŏn, 1975. Cho Kyŏngnam (趙慶男). Nanjung chamnok (綧中雜錄), in Kug’yŏk Taedong yasŭng, Vols. 6–7 (國譯大東野乘). Seoul: Minjok munhwa mungo kanhaenghoe, 1985. Elisonas, Jurgis. “Inseparable Trinity: Japan’s Relations with China and Korea,” in The Cambridge History of Japan, Vol. 4: Early Modern Japan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989, pp. 235–300. Fairbank, John K. “A Preliminary Framework,” in John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968, pp. 1–19. Han Myŏnggi (韓明基). Imin Waeran kwa Han-Chung kwangye (㧚㰚㢲⧖ὒG 䞲㭧ὖἚG). Seoul: Yŏksa pip’yŏngsa, 1999. Huang, Ray. “The Lung-ch’ing and Wan-li Reigns, 1567–1620,” in Frederick W. Mote and Denis Twitchett, eds., The Cambridge History of China, Vol. 7: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part I. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988, pp. 511–84. Kim Sŏng’il (金誠一). Haesarok (海槎錄), in Haehaeng ch’ongjae, Vol. 1 (海行摠載). Seoul: Minjok munhwa mungo kanhaenghoe, 1985, pp. 183–360. Kitajima Manji (北島万次). “Jinshin Waran ki no Chōsen to Min (壬辰倭亂期の朝 鮮と明),” in Arano Yasunori (荒野泰典), Ishii Masatoshi (石井正敏), and Murai Shōsuke (村井章介), eds., Ajia no naka no Nihonshi, II: Gaikō to sensō (アジアのな かの日本史, II 外交と戰爭). Tokyo: Tokyo daigaku shuppankai, 1992, pp. 127–60.

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Ledyard, Gari. “Confucianism and War: The Korean Security Crisis of 1598,” Journal of Korean Studies 6 (1988–9): 81–119. Shenzong shilu (神宗實錄), 183 vols. Nan’gang: Zhongyang yanjiu yuanli shiyu yanjiusuo, 1962–8. Shin Kyŏng (申 炅). Chaejo pŏnbangji (再造藩邦志, A Chronicle of the Restoration of a Vassal Country), in Kug’yŏk Taedong yasŭng, Vol. 9 (國譯大東野乘). Seoul: Minjok munhwa mungo kanhaenghoe, 1985. Shin Sukchu (申叔舟). Haedong chegukki (海東諸國記), in Han’guk myŏngjŏ taechŏnjip: Haedong chegukki, Kanyangnok (韓國名著大全集: 海東諸國記, 看羊錄). Seoul: Taeyang sŏjŏk, 1973, pp. 31–163. Song Yingchang (宋應昌). Jinglue fuguo yaobian (經略復國要編), 2 vols. Taibei: Huawen shuju, 1968. Sŏnjo sillok (宣祖實錄). Sŏnjo sujŏng sillok (宣祖修正實錄). Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Wang, Gungwu. “Early Ming Relations with Southeast Asia: A Background Essay,” in John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968, pp. 34–62. Yang, Liensheng. “Historical Notes on the Chinese World Order,” in John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968, pp. 20–33. Yi Changhŭi (蝗章熙). Imjin Waeransa yŏn’gu (壬辰倭亂史 硏究). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1999. Yi Sunshin (蝗舜臣). Nanjung ilgi ch’o (綧中日記草), in Chosŏn saryo ch’onggan, cheyuk: Nanjung ilgi ch’o, Imjin chang ch’o (朝鮮史料叢刊 第蜄: 綧中日記草, 壬辰蟳 草). Kyŏngsŏng: Chosŏn ch’ongdokpu, 1935. Yu Sŏngnyong (蛢成龍). Chingbirok (懲毖錄), in Han’guk myŏngjŏ tae-chŏnjip: Sŏaejip, Chingbirok (韓國名著大全集: 西厓集, 懲毖錄). Seoul: Taeyang sŏjŏk, 1973, pp. 227–406.

12 International relations and the Imjin War James B. Lewis

Introduction As Northeast Asia regains its historical position as a world center, the history of regional relations to the nineteenth century becomes more critical. Heretofore, Europeans and Americans have largely considered East Asia for its failure to modernize, industrialize, and democratize. Now, with every East Asian success, considerations are shifting to: why are they successful while we languish? In addition to importing pedagogical approaches to improve the desultory state of Western secondary education, can we also find styles of international relations that might preserve peace?1 Why and how did Northeast Asia maintain nearly five centuries of international peace from 1400 to the late nineteenth century, and why was this peace broken by only one major war – the Imjin War?2 The questions are no longer antiquarian.

Pre-modern Northeast Asian international relations Europeans and Americans have overlooked Northeast Asian international relations for several reasons. First, historians focused on one-country studies because regional systems were shattered from the late nineteenth century by imperialism, colonialism, international and civil wars, and the Cold War, and because the linguistic demands are great. Second, scholars have often assumed that Northeast Asians were forced into the Westphalian system – the selfdetermination of states, the equality of states, and non-intervention – from the Opium Wars onwards.3 Therefore, relations that pre-date the nineteenth century have been seen as purely historical and of little relevance to the present. Since the 1990s, the limitations of single-country empiricist agendas, historical ignorance, and the limitations of transatlantic theory have become too great to ignore. The past of the region is now more relevant than ever to the present and the future. Indeed, transnational, transcultural, multilateral, comparative, and regional studies of East Asia have all begun to appear.4 Western scholars now seem to grasp that the West cannot view the rapid re-emergence of China in terms developed to explain the rise of Germany in the nineteenth century, and they are beginning to suspect that pre-modern relations before the irruption of

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Euro-American structures into the western Pacific in the nineteenth century might well set future styles of relations in the region and confound Western understanding.5 It has long been clear to historians of the region that until scholars in the West have a far richer body of data on specific cases and the ability to analyze that data, nearly all attempts at universalist theory, even theory designed for and limited in application to the transatlantic world, will have significant flaws and remain dependent on a narrow comparative field.

What to do with East Asia? The good news is that international relations (IR) scholars are beginning to question old assumptions.6 Alastair I. Johnston points out that East Asia is generally excluded from analytical scholarship published in the United States and Europe, although researchers believe that East Asia is the “most strategically important area of the globe.”7 Even when East Asia is included in datasets, studies of transatlantic relations risk errors because little or no attention has been paid to “local knowledge.”8 Johnston’s implication is that IR can never make valid general claims about human behavior if the field ignores variables and explanations suggested by East Asian history. Johnston argues for the usefulness of area studies to correct factual mistakes and to provide theoretical propositions. As a corrective to transatlantic limitations, he points out several new variables suggested by East Asian history and practice: different types of engagement, hedging techniques, and insurance (risk control). These behaviors have often been seen in a setting of benign hierarchy (tributary for Northeast Asia and mandala-like for Southeast Asia). The presence of hierarchy assumes civilizational narratives in which actors participate willingly. Civilizational narratives (such as Confucian identity), rather than narratives focused on states, might explain a lot of interstate relations, although Johnston points out that civilizational narratives have yet to be adequately explained for their causes and mechanisms.9 East Asian history also suggests the importance of racism as a significant factor in engagement between the region and the Atlantic world as well as within the region. Constructed historical memories are also relatively more important and often serve to bolster legitimacy.10 To these points we can add David C. Kang’s argument that East Asian history can inform theory in regards to legitimacy, hierarchy, and balance-of-power.11 Johnston and Kang lay out broad and fertile research agendas. But, returning to the Imjin War, we still need to ask how Northeast Asians maintained an international peace for over four centuries (c.1400 to the late nineteenth century), and why was this peace broken by only one major, interstate war? War was as endemic to European society as the pox, therefore an answer to this question is more than historical. Perhaps an answer lies in civilizational narratives, processes, or strategic cultures. Johnston has discerned at least two Chinese strategic cultures.12 One was the symbolic, idealized discourse of the Confucian–Mencian view (no or low levels of violence and reliance on moral suasion), and the other was an

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operational set, which he calls parabellum or a preference to use force to eliminate security threats. Strangely, he limits his research to the Ming Chinese concern with the Mongols.13 In focusing his attention on the Mongols, Johnston may be unnecessarily limiting his study. If democratic polities exhibit weaker aggressive tendencies,14 then a shared Confucian identity for Korea, Vietnam, and Japan may have contributed to the low frequency of interstate violence.15 A focus on the Mongols would overly limit the discussion, because the civilized/barbarian dichotomy was surely the meta-view in Northeast Asia with civilized states standing against the various threats of barbarism. The civilized/barbarian dichotomy defined the Mongols as beyond moral suasion and only amenable to brute force. The civilized/barbarian dichotomy also existed within Korean and Chinese societies, appearing as a guiding principle behind law. Those with a noble character, or those who were schooled in the Confucian– Mencian ideology, were governed by etiquette and rites, but commoners were governed by corporal punishments as prescribed in the penal codes. Likewise, the Confucian–Mencian strategy was mainly used for other Confucianized states or those already educated enough to understand moral suasion, and the parabellum strategy was for barbarians such as the Mongols or those who were savage and uneducated. Because Johnston primarily examines policies towards the Mongols, he finds that the parabellum discourse dominated Chinese strategic discussions. That conclusion would explain why he does not discuss the Imjin War, which differed from the Mongol case in that it was both a civilized–barbarian conflict and an intra-Confucian conflict.16 War involving other Confucianized states, even with Japan, was very rare, but such a rare event as the Imjin War was one of the most important defining moments of Ming Chinese strategic culture. The sixteenth-century conflict tested the limits of Northeast Asia’s meta-narrative, the civilizational discourse. Robert E. Kelly and David Kang have written on the civilizational narrative underpinning that intra-Confucian world. Kelly argues that a “Confucian substratum” produced East Asian peace and points to the Imjin War as the “one major pre-Westphalian conflict” in Sino-Japanese relations and to the Chinese invasion of Vietnam (1788–9) as the only “intra-Confucian war” in the period 1644 to 1839.17 Kelly focuses on the Confucian attributes of respect for age and concern with social harmony and hierarchy as the shared Confucian culture that kept the international peace.18 His argument is heavily cultural and he takes issue with the “realist” proponents.19 Kang leans towards realpolitik and points to the benefits of living under Chinese hegemony, stressing hierarchy. Clearly, China’s peripheral states accepted some sense of benefit, as evidenced by their disinclination to form alliances in an attempt to check Chinese power. Kelly discounts Kang’s argument for Chinese hegemony or what Kelly calls a “Sinic Peace.”20 Nevertheless, Kelly and Kang are not at odds. They are merely emphasizing two aspects of the same cultural power. “Cultural power” has a long pedigree in Northeast Asia. There was

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an international order that put great emphasis on the intangibles of prestige, standing, or honor. Northeast Asia did not live in a state of international anarchy.21 Nevertheless, while Kang and Kelly may partly explain the bilateral peace between China and the peripheral states in the region, their arguments have difficulty explaining the peace that held between the peripheral states, and they cannot explain the startling outbreak of Japanese state-directed violence towards Chosŏn Korea in 1592. Answers are most likely to be found in the history of relations between the peripheral states and in their own self-conceptions and constitutions. Over the several decades from the 1980s, historians of Korea and Japan have been discussing the re-creation of Chinese-style tributary orders by the peripheral Confucian polities, including Japan, in premodern times. For example, it is now widely accepted that the Chosŏn court and intellectual society after the middle of the seventeenth century (and perhaps even earlier) saw themselves as a sohwa. The term is often translated as “small China,” but that is not its meaning. The English word “China” is too limiting. Rather, the term could be rendered as something along the lines of “a legitimate successor to civilization.”22 For the peripheral states, the Confucian–Mencian reliance on moral suasion was paramount, because they might not have the luxury of the parabellum option or they might become the object of parabellum action and had to explain why that would be a mistake. In short, the peripheral states had more invested in being regarded as civilized than the Middle Kingdom itself. That desire for respect was not just for the good times. While the continent might become corrupt or be overrun by barbarians, the peninsula and the islands could bank the fires of civilization in anticipation of the continent regaining its vigor, as it did with the Ming dynasty. In this sense, the Korean self-conception in sohwa reproduced a central kingdom order on the peninsula and that explains why the Chosŏn state created its own tributary order.23 The Japanese case is more complex but the ideals still held true even in the chaos of the islands, primarily directed towards Ezo/Hokkaidō and the Ryūkyūs. The study of IR, as developed from Euro-American case studies, is still in its infancy, because it suffers from the natural limitations of being derived from a narrow regional base – the transatlantic. Only by learning about the diplomatic histories of other regions will the Western academy finally come of age. Northeast Asian countries possess some of the most elaborate, perhaps the most elaborate, historical document bases in the world, and they are open for investigation. As we learn more about East Asia (or any other region for that matter), we learn more about the peculiarities and universalities of the Atlantic world. It might be instructive to consider three aspects of the Imjin War where contemporary IR theory could find profit. Due to ignorance and space constraints, the following points are offered as merely suggestive. The first point relates to the nature of what constituted “just war” in Northeast Asia and could be taken forward into comparative studies of international law. The

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second looks at the mechanics of hierarchy and hegemony in a crisis, and the final point begs the question of the geopolitical lessons of the Imjin War.

Just war A shared civilizational narrative can be revealed through a study of “just war.” Willem J. Boot discusses the word seibatsu (chastisement24) in the title of a 1659 Japanese text chronicling the war.25 The term seibatsu implies a war waged by a lord to defend or restore the unity of the kingdom, even civilization itself. Before 1592, Hideyoshi had already waged three seibatsu wars (Shikoku, Kyūshū, and Odawara) in his campaigns to unify Japan, and then he looked to do the same with Korea and East Asia. Hideyoshi’s seibatsu campaigns had five aspects: (1) when the opposite number rejected his reasonable demands, action was justified; (2) action was public, took time, and involved overwhelming force; (3) demands were issued for the opposite number to become a vassal and send hostages to Hideyoshi; (4) Hideyoshi would confer on the new subordinate a recognition of possession of lands; and (5) to demonstrate loyalty, the new subordinate would lead the vanguard for the next campaign.26 Boot treats us to a historical judgment in a denunciation of Hideyoshi’s Imjin campaign from Kaibara Ekiken (1630–1714), a retainer of the lord of the Fukuoka domain. Ekiken called on the authority of the Zuo Zhuan in outlining five types of war: just war (J. seigi), defensive war (J. jiei), avaricious war (J. hinyoku), arrogant war (J. gōman), and malicious war (J. akui), and declared that only the first two are wars waged by “superior men” and can be called just. Ekiken concludes that the Imjin War was an avaricious, arrogant, and malicious war and not a just war. Houses fall for waging unjust wars, and the destruction of the Toyotomi house in 1615 demonstrated this principle.27 Kim Shiduk (Kim Shidŏk) picked up on Boot’s theme and elaborated the idea of just war (J. seibatsu or C. zhengfa) in Chinese classical literature and how terms for just war, such as seibatsu, were used in early-modern Japanese popular literature towards Korea, the Ryūkyūs, and the Ainu, or the three Japanese frontiers: east, south, and north. Kim emphasizes the classical Chinese use of “just war” as referring to the type of action required to suppress barbarism in the name of civilization, even barbarism within one’s own kingdom. This view was adopted by the smaller Sinified states surrounding China and saw extensive elaboration in Tokugawa period martial literature (gunkimono).28 In Japan, though, the idea of “just war” was modified and the object of just wars became the external, savage barbarian (on the northern frontier), and other countries.29 The question of what constituted “just war” is far more complex than these brief notes suggest. Even if we can identify the language used, only a few scholars have begun to examine that language critically. Kim and Boot are chasing the associations and resonances of rhetoric in both classical and contemporary texts and pointing to contextual settings and usage. Future research

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could open into comparative philosophical and legal discussions within the Northeast Asian region as well as between Northeast Asia and Europe.

Hierarchy Hierarchy and hegemony were (and perhaps are) significant questions for Northeast Asia. Tributary relations were designed to demonstrate hierarchy, but in the crisis of the Imjin War, the Korean king’s 1592 plea to the Ming court for permission to seek refuge in China illustrates where custom left off and innovation took over. In a crisis where the Korean king was asking for shelter in Liaodong, we can see that the participants had different conceptions of the mutual responsibilities between suzerain and tributary. The Korean king was willing to explore new arrangements, but the Ming court was not. A brief review of events can remind us of the moment when King Sŏnjo considered leaving his own country. The narrative is fairly well known.30 On the thirteenth and fourteenth days of the fourth lunar month (1592.4.13–14), the Pusan Garrison and the Tongnae county offices fell to the Japanese. From the first reports of the Japanese attack, the court began formulating counter-policies: appointing generals to stop the Japanese advance, planning for defense of the capital by sending instructions to each province to supply reinforcements, establishing Prince Kwanghae as the crown prince, and begin planning a possible retreat by King Sŏnjo from Hansŏng. When Ch’ungju fell just fourteen days later, the following three policies were put into effect: the king would retreat to P’yŏngyang,31 two princes would be sent to Kangwŏn Province and Hamgyŏng Province to raise troops,32 and troops would be requested from the Ming. While in P’yŏngyang, the king dispatched a regular, congratulatory envoy to the Ming court on the twenty-ninth day of the fifth month, 1592, about six weeks after the beginning of the invasion. The envoy was instructed to raise the question of naebu (C. neifu, “incorporate,” “internally attach,” or “come and submit”),33 or, in other words, the possibility of King Sŏnjo fleeing to Liaodong. On the eleventh day of the sixth month, 1592, the king sent a formal note to the Ming requesting troops and left P’yŏngyang. Two days later, he arrived in Yŏngbyŏn, intending to go into Hamgyŏng in the northwest, but he was persuaded by Yi Hang-bok to go to Ŭiju on the Yalu River at the Chinese border and await Ming troops. On the same day (1592.6.13), the king deputized the crown prince to handle state affairs in his absence. Also on the same day, in a discussion with his courtiers, the king defended his intention to “enter China to have an audience with the Emperor” (K. ipjo), by citing the example of the Ming intervention of 1407 to restore the Tran dynasty in Vietnam.34 On the following day (1592.6.14), King Sŏnjo made plans to go to Liaodong. He sent an official dispatch regarding naebu to the Liaodong Regional Military Commissioner (Liaodong dusi),35 gave the ancestral tablets to the crown prince, sent him to Kanggye for safety, and divided his courtiers,

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sending some with the crown prince.36 According to the Kijae sach’o by Pak Tongnyang, King Sŏnjo wrote a farewell to the crown prince: Alive, I am the prince of a ruined country; dead, I will become a demon in a foreign land. Father and son part, and the day when we will see each other again is [probably] not [to be]. My only hope is that the Crown Prince will re-create the old order. Above, he comforts the spirits of the ancestors. Below, he welcomes the return of his father and his mother.37 On that day, the king left Yŏngbyŏn bound for Ŭiju. The next day, P’yŏngyang fell to the Japanese. On the sixteenth day of the sixth month of 1592, the king and his officials arrived at Kasan and discussed the appeal to the Ming Court for naebu. The king stated his willingness to go anywhere the Ming might direct if not Liaodong.38 The next day, the king arrived at Chŏngju and heard that a Ming force of 1,029 troops with 1,093 horses had crossed the Yalu River on the fifteenth.39 Five days later (1592.6.22), the king arrived in an abandoned Ŭiju. All the local people had fled at word of the fall of P’yŏngyang and at rumors that Ming forces had crossed the river and were intent on pillage. The king ordered preparations to decamp to Liaodong, but his courtiers argued that it would be premature to raise the matter.40 On the twenty-sixth, King Sŏnjo heard that the Chinese had looked at his letter regarding naebu and that they were planning to billet the king in an empty government building in Kuandian-pu. The news must have been unappealing, since he then decided on a lengthy stay in Ŭiju.41 Early in the seventh month (1592.7.3), the king’s envoy, Yi Tŏkhyŏng, arrived back from Liaodong with news of the requests for troops and for naebu. The response to the troop requests was quite positive, and assurances were given by regional commanders that military assistance would be extended, but the response to the request for naebu was less than enthusiastic. Yi Tŏkhyŏng was told by the Chinese that if Korea is completely overrun, then even without an imperial order, the regional commanders would confer about the Korean king seeking refuge in China. Later in the discussion, Yi iterated that, if one village is left untouched by the Japanese, then the king and court would have to stay in the country. He went on to report that the Liaodong officials said that they have no appropriate accommodation, and if the king were to go to Liaodong, he should come with only a small retinue. Yi elaborated on the rugged roads, sparse settlements, bad lodgings, unclean water, and bad climate in further attempts to dissuade the king.42 Eight days later (1592.7.11), we see a memorandum in the Chosŏn veritable records of what appears to be a note from the Chinese Ministry of War addressed to the Liaodong Regional Military Commissioner with an appended Imperial edict. The memorandum recognizes Korea as an upstanding, even leading member of the international community (K. taeguk,

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C. daguo) and laments the “appalling” invasion by the Wae (C. Wo). It goes on to state that, if that country (Korea) loses its national altars (K. sajik, C. sheji, that is, its sovereignty) and [the Korean king] comes suddenly as a refugee only to meet with no offer of refuge, then [this] external dependency (K. waebok, C. waifu, that is, Korea) will lose its sense of reliance (K. angnoe, C. yanglai) [on China]. In short, this appears to be a leaked memorandum that grants the Korean king entry to China without using the word naebu or anything vaguely similar. It goes on to limit the number of people he can bring with him to 100. Finally, it quotes the emperor pledging to defend and restore the Chosŏn king.43 The Ming veritable records carry nearly the same document, but there we can see slight differences. Again, the message is from the Ministry of War to Liaodong officials: the Wae bandits crossed the Taedong River. The [Korean] Prince and his ministers have already gone into hiding. [We] are afraid that the king’s army will be defeated and [he] will enter (K. ip, C. ru) Liao[dong]. To resist this would be inhumane (K. puin, C. buren), but to grant this would pose difficulties. The emperor’s statement is also attached and iterates the same sympathetic sentiments as those in the Korean veritable records.44 The Ming Dynastic History’s basic annals refer not to naebu but merely state that the Koreans requested aid (K. kugu, C. qiujiu).45 The Dynastic History’s historical biographies section devoted to Korea does not mention naebu but mentions naesok (C. neishu, “internal attachment”).46 The Guo Quan mentions naesok as well, but also states that the request was refused (K. puhŏ, C. buxu).47 The Wanli shilu mentions that on the sixth day of the seventh month “Chosŏn begged for naebu.”48 Hugh Walker describes King Sŏnjo’s request as unprecedented in Korean history and the “culmination of Korea’s ascent to the zenith of its intimate relationship with China,”49 but he dwells on the discrepancies in language between the Chinese and Korean sides.50 It is clear that both sides did not share a language to discuss what King Sŏnjo was proposing. Walker did not find the Korean term (naebu) at all, and I have found it in only one Chinese reference. The closest Chinese term seems to have been neishu (K. naesok), but most reports simply record “enter.” Amidst the vagueness of both positions, Walker argues that King Sŏnjo may have been proposing a closer dependency on China that would have created a new category of relations, as yet undefined. King Sŏnjo probably considered the status temporary until his kingdom was restored.51 He may have known of at least one instance of a Jurchen coming down from the north and requesting naebu from the Chosŏn

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Kingdom.52 In that case, the term meant that the individual wished to come and live in Chosŏn. It did not imply that any territory was being attached to Chosŏn or ceded to Chosŏn. Of course, King Sŏnjo’s ministers did not want him to go to Liaodong, because his departure would have been extremely bad for morale and would have rendered his court officials powerless. The king had already given the crown prince the ancestral tablets and deputized him to direct the government in its war effort. In essence, the king had already taken one step shy of abdication by giving his son sweeping responsibilities. Crossing the Chinese border would have completed the process of abdication. Therefore, it is likely that King Sŏnjo’s intention was to go to Liaodong temporarily, but he may have been naive concerning the significance of crossing the Yalu River. His use of the term naebu never seemed to have implied that Korean territory would be attached to China. Concern rested primarily with the physical whereabouts of the king and securing Chinese military help to expel the Japanese and restore the king to his throne. Finally, there is no indication that the Ming court came to any conclusion about what the request meant. The lack of discussion on the Chinese side clearly indicates hesitation and lack of enthusiasm. The Ming court apparently lacked any appetite to take direct and long-term responsibility for the Korean peninsula, but it did busy itself in preparing to expel an invader from its buffer state. If we accept that Northeast Asia maintained an international society and that hierarchy was its dominant mode of operation from c.1400 to the late nineteenth century, then we have about 500 years of diplomacy, trade, and war in the operation of a very different system from the transatlantic world. The Imjin War is a case of hierarchy being tested to the limit. Future research has the power to examine the precise function of hierarchy and hegemony in East Asia and to relativize the Westphalian egalitarianism of the transatlantic world.

A Korean war Kenneth M. Swope refers to the Imjin War as the First Great East Asian War and suggests that the Japanese campaigns from 1931 to 1945 were the Second Great East Asian War. The chief commonality was the Japanese attempt to displace China as the center of an East Asian system. For this reason, he dismisses earlier wars, such as the Shillan unification, and he has nothing to say about the Korean War of the 1950s.53 His interpretation has validity, if we were to consider the Imjin War merely as a contest between Japan and China. But the view is Sinocentric and Japanocentric and risks overlooking the relations between Korea and Japan and the process of the war itself. The following focuses on a few geopolitical principles of the war and characterizes the Imjin War as one in a series of a type I would like to call “a Korean war.” The first instance of “a Korean war” was in the seventh century. Competitive wars among Koguryŏ, Paekche, and Shilla had been going on for centuries,

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but from the 550s, Shilla gained the Han River basin, and direct access to China became possible. Shilla could by-pass Paekche and seek a Tang alliance against its old rival Paekche: Tang helps Shilla to destroy Paekche and Shilla helps Tang to destroy Koguryŏ. The twelfth-century Samguk sagi relates how the aristocrat, diplomat, and future king Kim Ch’unch’u traveled to the Tang court and fashioned an alliance. The prestige of the Chinese connection must have helped Kim become king, but the concrete alliance was designed to put Paekche in a pincer between Shilla and Tang and then put Koguryŏ in the same pincer. After Paekche and Koguryŏ were conquered, Shilla was to get Paekche; Tang was to get Koguryŏ. Shillan forces pressed into Paekche from the east, while one of Ch’unch’u’s sons, who had been left at the Tang court as a hostage, led a Tang fleet to land on the Korean west coast. The pincer movement was too much for Paekche, even with its ally the Yamato state. The Paekche capital at Sabi fell in 660, and a Paekche restoration attempt supported by a massive fleet and army from Yamato was defeated at the Paekgang River54 in 663.55 Once Sabi had fallen and the Paekche restoration crushed, the Tang and Shillan forces then turned to defeat Koguryŏ, which fell in 668. Tang policy then betrayed the alliance and sought to establish a puppet Paekche state, while also seeking to subvert and suborn Shilla. A war of resistance began that primarily involved Shilla cutting off supplies to the Tang army and repelling Tang naval attacks in the West Sea in 671 and 675.56 Tang was eventually forced to abandon P’yŏngyang in 676 and withdraw to Liaodong. The Liaodong region saw a local rebellion that started along the Liao River in 696 and eventuated in the establishment of the Manchurian state of Parhae (K.) or Bohai (Ch.) (712–926). Tang eventually made peace with Shilla and Parhae/Bohai, but it was never able to extend its forces east of Liaodong again. What should we take from this series of wars and campaigns to constitute what I mean by “a Korean War”? There were three principles at work. The first is control of the West Sea. A Shillan prince guided a Tang fleet to the west coast, enabling a landing that directly threatened Sabi from the west while Shillan armies entered Paekche from the east, leaving no way out, and the Paekche state fell. A Paekche restoration was attempted with support from Yamato, which brought force to bear from the West Sea, but the attempt was defeated at sea and on land. It appears that whichever force controlled the West Sea access could decide Paekche’s fate and threaten the entire west coast of the peninsula. The second principle is the importance to any outside power of having a peninsular ally. Tang forces on the peninsula had to rely on logistical support and even security from their Shillan allies, because their logistics lines led back to continental Chinese granaries and armories. When Tang began to betray Shilla, local support was withdrawn, and logistical difficulties overwhelmed Tang, forcing it to withdraw or to respect the original agreement with Shilla. Because logistical and tactical difficulties on the frontier with Koguryŏ had

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provided one of the motivations for Tang to ally with Shilla in the first place, Tang leadership surely knew the risks in betraying Shilla. If they failed to anticipate the risk, it must have become clear in hindsight. Finally, the third principle is the importance of the northern frontier. As Tang ships lost control of the West Sea and as Shilla withdrew from provisioning the Chinese, Tang found itself back where it began in facing a hostile Korean frontier. Over the next twenty years the security of the Chinese–Korean frontier became precarious, and the Tang court faced two prospects. Either it could commit vast resources for little hope of gain or it could withdraw, make peace with the peninsular power, and thereby neutralize any threat from the peninsula. It chose to withdraw, and that experience from the seventh century has remained a part of the Chinese historical memory towards the Korean peninsula into the present. At least, later behavior strongly suggests this to be the case. The Imjin War displays the same principles at work. Although the invading Japanese seemed triumphant and drove King Sŏnjo from his capital, the Japanese met resistance on land and especially at sea that resulted in their campaign stalling on the Korean peninsula.57 As early as the late summer of 1592, the Japanese had essentially lost the war and found that they could not move forward and could not withdraw without Japanese leadership facing serious questions of legitimacy. Why did the Japanese fail strategically? First, they were never able to gain unfettered access to the West Sea to re-supply their forces moving northwards. That denial of access was a result of Admiral Yi Sunshin’s strategic and tactical brilliance and was the fatal frustration to the invasion. While Japanese armies could cover land quickly and reach nearly to the Yalu River, their logistics lines on land were over-stretched and vulnerable to Korean guerrillas. The key to the China campaign lay in securing unfettered access to the Korean west coast and control of the entirety of southern Korean rice production. The Korean navy withheld those prizes. Second, Japanese vulnerability to logistical weaknesses – having to supply themselves largely from Kyūshū – was a direct result of not having a Korean ally on the peninsula. Ming troops, like the Tang troops seven centuries earlier, were able to operate on the peninsula, in part, because they had a Korean ally who could raise supplies locally and who did not harass them.58 Third, the northern frontier was not contested by the Koreans. The Chinese could move easily and securely back and forth. The truly interesting difference between the seventh century and the sixteenth century lay in the fact that the Ming court resisted King Sŏnjo’s unclear flirtation with placing Chosŏn Korea under the suzerainty of China, and the Ming armies did not remain in Korea; nor did the Ming attempt to extract territorial concessions. The Chinese were greatly concerned about the security of the peninsula but rejected direct control.59 From as far back as the eighth century and the rapprochement with Shilla, Chinese courts came to see a stable and friendly Korean power on the peninsula as the preferable way to maintain an important buffer. That lesson was repeated with the experiences

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of the Liao, Jin, and Yuan dynasties, three successive waves of invaders from the tenth century to the fourteenth century that came down from the north and entered the central Chinese regions. The invaders were able to move south into Chinese territory because they had neutralized the Korean Koryŏ state, which held their left flank. Our third Korean War is, of course, the conflict of the 1950s. The conduct of the war is also well known and also displays the three principles outlined here. Similar to the seventh century, the Chinese became embroiled in a Korean civil war, but the conflict also saw engagement by outside powers, similar to both the seventh and the sixteenth centuries. Kim Ilsung’s attempt to unify the peninsula was met with an unexpectedly negative external response. United Nations forces aligned themselves with the Republic of Korea, thereby giving them an ally on the peninsula with a base in Pusan, open to the sea. MacArthur’s strategic genius was to see control of the West Sea as the key to any successful drive northwards, and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) was undone by not having at its command a Yi Sunshin to block MacArthur. MacArthur’s mistake was to underestimate the importance of Korean security to China and push northwards to threaten the Chinese frontier just as Hideyoshi had done. Just like every preceding Chinese dynasty, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) could not allow the Korean peninsula to be under the sway of a non-Chinese state or to be governed by a Korean state hostile to China. By approaching the Chinese frontier, MacArthur provoked a war with China, but that may have been his intention anyway. The Korean frontier with China remained beyond UN control, and the DPRK opened it to the Chinese People’s Liberation Army. The war was protracted, in part, because both the PLA and the UN forces could maintain footholds on the peninsula by virtue of their Korean allies. I have argued that there are three principles at work that had to be met for any successful campaign in Korea. First and foremost is control of the West Sea. Because the theater of operations is a peninsula, the East Sea should be as significant,60 but a north–south mountain range presents an obstacle to a ground force moving from an east coast landing to the fertile west coast plains where all major cities have historically been and are still found today. Any force that can control the seas around the south and into the West Sea will be able to leap-frog enemy positions on land and marshal supplies and reinforcements almost anywhere along the coast even as far north as the Chinese frontier. Second, an ally on the peninsula that can provide supplies and security is necessary for any external force. Finally, control of the Chinese–Korean frontier is essential for the security of any Korean state and for the security of any state seeking to establish itself in the area we call Manchuria. Neutralization of that frontier was necessary for all the conquest dynasties and for the security of the Chinese central plains. Parhae/ Bohai, the Khitan Liao, the Jurchen Jin, the Mongols, and the Manchu Qing all appreciated this consideration, which was also not lost on the Ming court or on the leadership of the PRC.

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Conclusion Johnston, Kang, Kelly, and other IR scholars share a desire to produce more regional and comparative work on the history of East Asian relations. The notes and bibliographies of their studies reveal the growing curiosity among many of their colleagues, but IR theorists will, in the near term, continue to meet with frustration in their attempt to find universal, generalizable findings. The reason is not because East Asia and other non-European regions lack systems and theory in need of explication to Western analysts, or that all situations are unique and cannot be accommodated within theoretical constructs. The reason that frustration will be slow to dissipate is because ignorance of the most important facts of East Asian history is still widespread in Western societies. Historically documented cases are the only data available for the social sciences, and we do not have very many of these. Interstate wars in East Asia were, relative to the Atlantic world, atypical events. Nevertheless, the sixteenth-century Imjin War provides us with a number of lessons. In this chapter, I have suggested just a few departure points for research: we can range over the philosophical content of what made a “just war”; we can take a micro-historical peek at the mechanics of hierarchy; and we can explore the relation between geography and history and try to identify the dominant characteristics of war in Korea. There are many more opportunities for research. Wars are very geo-specific, but they are also set within historical and cultural contexts that temper the behavior of the actors. We should consider cultural narratives to contextualize the behavior of actors, but we must remember that cultural narratives were not the only factor at work and they were not immutable, despite their apparent longevity in recent centuries. We can see changes in Chinese behavior, but some patterns have held. In the seventh century, Tang China sought to control Korean territory directly. That policy failed and has not reappeared again, despite the opportunities presented in the late sixteenth and mid twentieth centuries. A perceptive reader will note that I have not discussed the first Sino-Japanese War of 1894–5 during which Qing China fought to control Korea. Kirk W. Larsen makes a convincing case that late-nineteenth-century Qing China changed its views and ways of dealing with Korea to the point that Qing policies became indistinguishable from the imperialist policies of Japan and the Euro-American powers.61 Qing imperialism was blocked by a rising Japan, so it is impossible to say what would have been the result of those new policies. I have also not touched on the second Sino-Japanese War of 1931–1937–1945.62 One might offer the rejoinder that the 1890s and the 1930s were anomalous times and that these wars were not fought on the Korean peninsula, nor was any state on the peninsula attacked. Nevertheless, Larsen’s salutary lesson is that cultural narratives, historical precedents, or even geographical limitations do not determine Chinese, Korean, or Japanese policies; they merely predispose those policies to follow familiar precedents.

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When we return to a focus on the Korean peninsula, there are patterns. The Chinese predisposition tends towards a wariness regarding intervention and a disinclination to occupy the peninsula for long periods. The Korean predisposition tends towards a low degree of militarization but a high degree of resistance when attacked. Resistance is coupled with appeals to Chinese interests to secure aid. The Japanese predisposition tends towards ambiguous engagement with the dominant order holding hegemony on the continent and the peninsula, often standing outside of it, participating when profitable, and occasionally engaging in active subversion. The background to these predispositions are to be found in the history of East Asian diplomacy, in the geography of interstate relations surrounding the Korean peninsula, and also in the cultural narratives of the region.

Notes 1 Amitav Acharya and Barry Buzan, in Non-Western International Relations Theory, 2010, ask why is there no non-Western international relations theory? Their “goal is to introduce non-Western IR traditions to a Western IR audience” (p. 2), but they find that there is generally nothing to introduce: “There is not much current IRT to be found in Asia” (p. 222). They fail to mention that Western researchers often do not know enough of the languages or history of East Asia to appreciate its classical theory and contemporary application. 2 Kang, East Asia Before the West, 2010, p. 90ff. Kang finds only two interstate wars between the late fourteenth and early nineteenth centuries: Japan and China in Korea in the 1590s and a Chinese invasion of Vietnam in the early 1400s. 3 For a discussion of how the tributary order and the Westphalian system were both veneers for power relations, see Kirk Larsen, “Comforting Fictions,” 2013. For a discussion of how the Westphalian system was not a sudden shock to East Asia, see SeoHyun Park, “Changing Definitions of Sovereignty in Nineteenth-Century East Asia,” 2013. 4 From 2000 to the present, the annual conference of the Association for Asian Studies has promoted “Border Crossing” panels that find coherence across disciplines, periods, countries, and regions, usually within East or South or Southeast Asia but also across these regions. While the Association is focused on humanist concerns in a context of area studies, scholars trained in international relations are attempting the same. See the Journal of East Asian Studies 13:2 (2013), edited by David Kang, for articles that employ historical cases from East Asia to address the theoretical concerns of international relations. 5 Kang, in “International Relations Theory and East Asian History,” 2013, p. 182, implies as much: “Because of the triumph of the nation-state system, it is forgotten that other international orders have existed, and might exist again.” 6 For a cogent but brief survey of theoretical concerns, see Kang, “International Relations Theory and East Asian History,” 2013. 7 Alastair Johnston, “What,” 2012, p. 54. 8 Johnston, “What,” 2012, p. 57. 9 Civilizational narratives may explain the apparent lack of regional institutions as compared to the Atlantic world. The thinness of regional institutions in ASEAN may illustrate not a more primitive state of affairs but a focus on “processes of integration, not degrees of integration” (Johnston, “What,” 2012, p. 64, emphasis in original). The ASEAN process creates “shared identities” (Johnston, “What,” 2012, p. 63) rather than standardization (with its EU-like intrusion into sovereignty) and finality (as sought by Euro-American bureaucratism and adversarial legalism).

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10 Johnston, “What,” 2012, pp. 66–9. Regarding memory, its construction, uses, and significance, see the chapters by Han Myung-gi (memory and foreign policy), Kuwano Eiji (legitimacy and state rituals), Choi Gwan (popular literature), and Michael Pettid (social and gender relations) in this volume. 11 Kang, “International Relations Theory and East Asian History,” 2013. 12 Although Johnston discusses “Chinese” strategic cultures, he argues that they are not “self-evidently unique.” Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. xii. Johnston’s propositions might be profitably compared to Kenneth M. Swope’s chapter in this volume, which melds the parabellum approach of the state with cultural narratives. 13 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 59. 14 Johnston, Cultural Realism, 1995, p. 264. 15 Japanese involvement with the continental order was always precarious, and that precarious character is illustrated in the chapters by Saeki Kōji, Han Moon Jong, and Kenneth R. Robinson in this volume. 16 Robert E. Kelly depicts it as an intra-Confucian conflict, but that would depend on how “Confucian” one considers sixteenth-century Japan to have been. Kelly, “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’ in pre-Western East Asia?,” 2012. 17 Kelly, “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’,” 2012, pp. 413, 419. 18 Kelly, “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’,” 2012, p. 412. 19 Kelly, “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’,” 2012, p. 424. 20 Kelly, “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’,” 2012, p. 422. 21 See the chapter by Kenneth M. Swope in this volume for a Chinese desire to create “awe.” Richard Lebow argues for the importance of prestige to societies and states and assumes that there is an international society where identity relies heavily on self-esteem, which is largely derived from prestige. See Lebow, A Cultural Theory of International Relations, 2008. 22 Sun Kwan Song, “Intellectuals and the state,” 2013, p. 78. Song translates the phrase as “legitimate successor to Chinese civilization,” but the insertion of “Chinese” is too limiting as other “civilizations” were not recognized. 23 The reader should refer to the chapter by Kenneth R. Robinson in this volume for suggestions of a Korean world order. 24 “Chastisement” is my translation. Willem J. Boot’s essay is only in Japanese and Korean. 25 Chōsen seibatsuki (A Record of the Chastisement of Korea) (my translation). See Boot, “Chōsen seibatsuki,” 2008, pp. 263–319, particularly pp. 284ff. The earlier Korean version is: W.J. Bot’u, “Chosŏn chŏngbŏlgi sok ŭi Imjin Waeran,” 2007, pp. 233–84. 26 Boot, “Chōsen seibatsuki,” 2008, pp. 287–8. Elsewhere in this volume, Sajima Akiko and Kitajima Manji elaborate on Hideyoshi’s views of jus ad bellum (the right to go to war) and jus in bello (right conduct in war). Boot adds that in the post-bellum world, Hideyoshi intended to seize China’s central authority, take what it had, insert the Japanese in the place of the Chinese, and acquaint the world with the feudal order Hideyoshi had established in Japan, but he was not interested in setting up a larger tributary order focused on Kyōto. 27 Boot, “Chōsen seibatsuki,” 2008, pp. 285–6. 28 For more on gunkimono, see the essays by Kitajima Manji, Murai Shōsuke, and Choi Gwan in this volume. 29 Kim Shiduk, Ikoku seibatsu senki no sekai, 2010, in particular pp. 4–34. 30 The narrative is drawn from Nakamura Hidetaka, Nissen kankeishi, 1969, pp. 148– 52, and Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, pp. 284–92, unless indicated otherwise. 31 The belief was that, if P’yŏngyang could be held, the kingdom could be held.

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32 They were turned over to the Japanese by the local populace. 33 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 285, translates naebu as “internally attach” or “incorporate.” 34 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 285, n. 89. Sŏnjo shillok, 27:7b (1592.6.13). 35 I have been unable to find the text of this document in the Sŏnjo shillok, the Ming Shenzong shilu, or the Mingshi. The Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe editors of the Chungguk Chŏngsa Chosŏnjŏn (note 512, p. 201) found corroboration in the Chinese records (Mingshi jishi benmo) that a request was made, but they also fail to find any document from the Korean king. 36 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 285. Sŏnjo shillok, 27:8b (1592.6.14). 37 Quoted in Nakamura, Nissen kankeishi, 1969, p. 151, n. 11. 38 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:10a–b (1592.6.16). 39 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:11a (1592.6.17). 40 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:15a (1592.6.22). 41 Sŏnjo shillok, 27:16b (1592.6.26). 42 Sŏnjo shillok, 28:7a–8a (1592.7.3). 43 Sŏnjo shillok, 28:15a–b (1592.7.11). 44 Ming Shenzong shilu, 250 (1592.7.2), p. 4648. 45 Mingshi, benji, 20:12a (1592.5). 46 Mingshi, liezhuan 208, waiguo (外國) 1, Chaoxian (朝鮮), 320:14b (1592.5). See Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 287, for “internal attachment.” 47 Guo Quan, quoted in the Mingshilu, Linguo Chaoxian pian, 1983, p. 320. 48 Wanli shilu, quoted in the Mingshilu, Linguo Chaoxian pian, 1983, p. 321. 49 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, pp. 286, 290. 50 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, p. 287. 51 Walker, “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement,” 1971, pp. 288–9. See a brief discussion of this matter in note 8 in the chapter by Zurndorfer in this volume. 52 Yŏnsan’gun ilgi, 12:22a (1496.2.4). 53 Kenneth M. Swope, A Dragon’s Head, 2009. Some of the issues mentioned here have already been discussed in my review article on Swope’s book. See Lewis, “The Wanli Emperor,” 2011. 54 The common term in South Korea is the Battle of the “Paek River,” and the site was near the mouth of the river formerly known as the Paek River (Paekgang) but now known as the Kŭm River (Kŭmgang). Upstream at Paekche’s capital of Puyŏ, where some 3,000 court women are said to have thrown themselves off a cliff into the river rather than be enslaved by the Tang or Sillan armies, the river was called the Paekma River (Paekmagang). Scholars of Japanese history usually refer to the site of the battle as Hakusukinoe (“white village river”) and render those characters into Korean pronunciation as Paekch’on (River). 55 The Paekche refugees to the Yamato court in the late 600s fashioned a great deal of the governance and culture of the Yamato state and were absorbed into island aristocracy. Their descendants are present in the Shinsen shōjiroku of 815 where we can see that fully 30 percent of island aristocracy was peninsular and continental. The seventh century is the leading example of Japanese dividends from forays into Korea, but Ha Woo Bong in this volume discusses the loot, booty, and cultural riches taken back to Japan by Hideyoshi’s armies. As he points out, though, the flow was two-way. 56 Koreans refer to the West Sea; Chinese refer to the Yellow Sea. 57 For discussions of the Korean resistance offered on land and at sea, the reader should refer to the chapters in this volume by Yi Min’ung and Nukii Masayuki. 58 For a discussion of the Korean costs to support the Chinese military, see the chapter by Nam-lin Hur.

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59 The Ming court, including the emperor, was very engaged with the war, and the finances of the empire allowed the engagement. For more discussion on these topics, see the chapter by Harriet Zurndorfer. 60 Koreans refer to the East Sea; Japanese refer to the Sea of Japan. 61 Larsen, Tradition, Treaties, and Trade, 2008. 62 As mentioned above, Swope sees strong parallels between the 1590s and the 1930s in Japanese powers setting out to dislodge China from centrality in the Northeast Asian system.

References Acharya, Amitav and Barry Buzan, eds. Non-Western International Relations Theory: Perspectives on and beyond Asia. London; New York: Routledge, 2010. Boot, Willem J. (ウィム ዘブート). “Chōsen seibatsuki ni kakareta sensō: sengo no aru Nihonjin jugakusha no shisen kara mita Hideyoshi (『朝鮮征伐記』に描 かれた戦争: 戦後のある日本人儒学者の視線から見た秀吉),” in Chŏng Tuhŭi (㩫⚦䧂, 鄭杜熙) and Yi Kyŏngsun (㧊ἓ㑲, 蝗璟珣), eds., Kim Munja (ₖⶎ㧦, 金文子) and Obata Michihiro (小幡倫裕), trans., Jinshin sensō: 16 seiki Nit-ChōChū no Kokusai sensō (壬辰戦争: 16世紀日 ዘ朝 ዘ中の国際戦争). Tokyo: 明石 書店, Akashi shoten, 2008, pp. 263–319. [The same essay in Korean is W.J. Bot’u (W.J. ⽊䔎). “Chosŏn chŏngbŏlgi sok ŭi Imjin Waeran: chŏnhu han Ilbon yuhakja ŭi sesŏn ŭ ro pon Hideyoshi («㫆㍶㩫⻢₆ (朝鮮征伐記)»㏣㦮 㧚㰚㢲⧖: G㩚䤚G䞲G 㧒⽎G 㥶䞯㧦㦮G 㔲㍶㦒⪲G ⽎G 䧞◆㣪㔲),” in Chŏng Tuhŭi (㩫⚦䧂, 鄭杜熙) and Yi Kyŏngsun (㧊ἓ㑲, 蝗璟珣), eds., Imjin Waeran tong Asia samguk chŏnjaeng (㧚㰚㢲⧖ ☯㞚㔲㞚 ㌒ῃ㩚㨗, A Transnational History of the Imjin Waeran 1592–1598: The East Asian dimension). Seoul: Hyumŏnisŭt’ŭ, 2007, pp. 233–84. Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe (國史編纂委員會), ed. Chungguk Chŏngsa Chosŏnjŏn, yŏkju, 4 (中國正史 朝鮮傳 譯註, 4). Seoul: Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1990. Guo Quan (國權) quoted in the Mingshilu, Linguo Chaoxian pian (明實錄, 隣國朝鮮 篇). Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan (中國社會科學院), 1983. Johnston, Alastair Iain. Cultural Realism: Strategic Culture and Grand Strategy in Chinese History. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1995. Johnston, Alastair Iain. “What (If Anything) Does East Asia Tell Us about International Relations Theory?” Annual Review of Political Science 15 (2012): 53–78. Kang, David C. “International Relations Theory and East Asian History: An Overview,” Journal of East Asian Studies 13:2 (2013): 181–205. Kang, David C. East Asia Before the West: Five Centuries of Trade and Tribute. New York: Columbia University Press, 2010. Kelly, Robert E. “A ‘Confucian Long Peace’ in Pre-Western East Asia?” European Journal of International Relations 18:3 (2012): 407–30. Kim Shiduk (Kin Shidoku, Kim Shidŏk, 金時得). Ikoku seibatsu senki no sekai: Kan hantō, Ryūkyū rettō, Ezo chi (異国征伐記の世界:韓半島 ዘ琉球列島 ዘ蝦夷地). Tokyo: Kasama shoten, 2010. Larsen, Kirk W. Tradition, Treaties, and Trade: Qing Imperialism and Chosŏn Korea, 1850–1910. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2008. Larsen, Kirk W. “Comforting Fictions: The Tribute System, the Westphalian Order, and Sino-Korean Relations,” Journal of East Asian Studies 13:2 (2013): 233–57. Lebow, Richard Ned. A Cultural Theory of International Relations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008.

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Lewis, James B. “The Wanli Emperor and Ming China’s defence of Korea against Japan, a review article of A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598, by Kenneth M. Swope,” International Journal of Asian Studies 8:1 (2011): 73–80. Mingshi (明史), benji (本紀). Mingshi (明史), liezhuan (蕝傳), waiguo (外國) 1, Chaoxian (朝鮮). Mingshi jishi benmo (明史紀事本末). Ming Shenzong shilu (明神宗實錄). Huang Chang-chien (黃彰健), ed. Ming shilu, fulu, jiaokan ji (明實錄, 附錄, 校勘記). Taibei: Chungyang yenchiu yüan Lishih yüyen yenchiuso, 1963–8. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村榮孝). Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, chū (日鮮關係史の硏 究, 中). Tokyo: Yoshikawa Kōbunkan, 1969. Park, SeoHyun. “Changing Definitions of Sovereignty in Nineteenth-Century East Asia: Japan and Korea Between China and the West,” Journal of East Asian Studies 13:2 (2013): 281–307. Song, Sun Kwan. “Intellectuals and the State: The Resilience and Decline of NeoConfucianism as State Ideology in Joseon Korea,” Ph.D. dissertation, SOAS, University of London, 2013. Sŏnjo shillok (宣組實錄). Swope, Kenneth M. A Dragon’s Head and a Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2009. Walker, Hugh Dyson. “The Yi–Ming Rapprochement: Sino-Korean Foreign Relations, 1392–1592,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, Los Angeles, 1971. Wanli shilu (萬曆實錄), quoted in the Mingshilu, Linguo Chaoxian pian (明實錄, 隣國 朝鮮篇). Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan (中國社會科學院), 1983. Yŏnsan’gun ilgi (燕山君日記).

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Part III

Impact and memory

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13 “The inestimable benevolence of saving a country on the brink of ruin” Chosŏn–Ming and Chosŏn–Later Jin relations in the seventeenth century Han Myung-gi (䞲ⳛ₆)

Introduction The Imjin Waeran began with Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s invasion of Chosŏn Korea in the fourth month of 1592, and developed into a “world war” in Northeast Asia from the seventh month, when the Ming Chinese army joined the battle. Chosŏn was overwhelmed by the crisis, and Ming China participated on Chosŏn’s side after a request for reinforcements. Ming’s participation, however, was motivated more by self-defense than by the intention to help Chosŏn. At the time, Japan had explicitly declared its plans to “borrow a road to enter the Ming.” Because of this, Ming feared for the security of Liaodong, and eventually came to worry about the threat to Beijing from a Chosŏn occupied by a Japanese army. I recall that when the Imjin Waeran broke out in Chosŏn, we gathered and mobilized all of our military power from the start. Why did China exhaust her wealth and strength to save this wretched little tributary state? To save Chosŏn was to save Liaodong, and to save Liaodong was to protect Beijing.1 As stated above by Li Zhengyi in 1618, Ming participated in the Imjin Waeran in order to secure its own safety by stopping the Japanese army in Chosŏn. The Ming army entered the war on Chosŏn’s side and was stationed in Korea for a long period of time. It came to violate Chosŏn’s sovereignty by meddling in internal affairs, and its demands created a great nuisance for ordinary people. The Ming army left behind many negative repercussions.2 Nevertheless, by defeating the Japanese at the Battle of P’yŏngyang in the first month of 1593, Ming forces reversed a war situation characterized to that point by a one-sided Japanese military superiority. Soon after receiving news of the victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang, the Chosŏn court and the common people celebrated Ming’s assistance as a “benevolent deed to re-establish the country.” This understanding steadily deepened towards the end of the Imjin

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Waeran to the point where the Ming army’s military involvement came to be praised as chaejo chiŭn, or “the inestimable benevolence of saving a country on the brink of ruin.” From that time onwards, the concept of chaejo chiŭn became a primary factor in Chosŏn relations with Ming China. After the Imjin Waeran, as the power of the Jianzhou Jurchen (later known as Later Jin and Qing China), led by Nurhaci, began to grow, the drift towards the Ming–Qing transition came into view. The Chosŏn court agonized over a response to these changes. Was Chosŏn to continue adhering to the Ming-centric Sinitic world order? Or was Chosŏn to accept the reality of Later Jin’s increasing power? These were the central concerns. Political strife that involved these two positions developed within the court during the reign of Prince Kwanghae (r. 1608–23). In 1623, political power shifted with the coup d’état that brought King Injo to power and dethroned Prince Kwanghae. Shortly after the coup, in 1627, the country suffered the Chŏngmyo horan or the first Manchu invasion. In 1636, Korea had to endure a second Manchu invasion, the Pyŏngja horan, that resulted in the state’s submission to Qing. Taking these events into account between the end of the Imjin Waeran and the mid-seventeenth century, the following examines the Chosŏn ruling class’s responses to the changing international order at the time of the Ming–Qing transition. Specifically, I examine the formative process of Korean gratitude towards Ming, or the chaejo chiŭn ideology that emerged with Ming’s participation in the Imjin Waeran, and consider the political influence and significance that chaejo chiŭn carried. Finally, this study attempts to observe the influence that chaejo chiŭn had on Chosŏn–Ming and Chosŏn–Later Jin relations by the time the Ming–Qing transition became a conspicuous reality in the early seventeenth century.

The Imjin Waeran and Chaejo chiŭn Ming sent an army to Chosŏn in order to prevent its own country from becoming a battleground during the Japanese invasion. From Ming’s viewpoint, merely tying down the Japanese army on Chosŏn territory was enough to fulfill the minimal goal behind its participation in the war. With that limited goal as the background and with battlefield progress and Ming domestic circumstances in the foreground, the Chinese army advanced or retreated or engaged in decisive battles with the Japanese. A circumscribed goal is clearly evident following the victory at P’yŏngyang in the third month of 1593 and Ming’s pursuit of the Japanese. As soon as the Chinese met defeat at the Battle of Pyŏkchegwan shortly after P’yŏngyang, the Ming army abandoned decisive battles against the Japanese forces and sought to end the war through negotiations. The peace negotiations between Ming and Japan were not carried out successfully and only delayed matters.3 Once the negotiations started, the Ming army did not attempt to fight the Japanese army, but merely settled into

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positions opposite the Japanese. Nevertheless, Chosŏn had to continue supplying the Ming army with provisions, and the Chosŏn people suffered greatly as a result of these impositions. Because of this, a few Chosŏn officials complained of the uselessness of the Ming army. For example, in the second month of 1599, Hong Yŏsun stated: “The Ming army, merely causing chaos among the people of the border regions, was of no help in stopping the Japanese army.”4 Moreover, a Ming official at the time of the war, Xu Guanlan, criticized the role of the Ming army, stating: “What has the Ming army achieved since coming to Chosŏn? The Ming army cannot be relied on,” and emphasized that Chosŏn needed to establish its own measures for self-strengthening.5 Despite these sorts of deprecating evaluations of the Ming army and its role, why was there admiration for its participation in the war as trumpeted by the term chaejo chiŭn? What were the grounds for respect and admiration? Moreover, why was it that chaejo chiŭn developed into a type of ideology after the invasion and continued to impart great influence politically and ideologically throughout the late Chosŏn period? Here we must draw attention to the degree of desperation that the country as a whole faced during the Imjin Waeran. As King Sŏnjo, his court officials, and the ruling class became acutely aware of imminent danger, the implication of the Ming army’s participation and assistance could only become more significant, and the formation of chaejo chiŭn was natural. The Chosŏn court became aware of extreme danger from the beginning, when the Japanese army landed in Pusan on the thirteenth day of the fourth month of 1592, and the sense of crisis mounted as the Japanese won battle after battle. The Chosŏn army repeatedly collapsed without being able to put up a credible resistance, and King Sŏnjo had to flee his capital. Under such circumstances, the ruling class and the common people concluded that the country would eventually perish. Fearing an end to the monarchy and the Chosŏn government, a great number of officials avoided accompanying King Sŏnjo on his journey or started out in attendance only to abandon him and run away later on.6 During their flight, King Sŏnjo and his court officials witnessed first-hand how they had lost the support of the people. As the king left the palace, one of the commanders said in a veiled rebuke, “This enemy did not come from Heaven. He was created by man.” The extremity of the situation was such that a common soldier even said, “[The Japanese army] has now arrived and saved us. I will gladly receive the enemy.”7 The people of Kaesŏng threw stones at the king’s palanquin as it left Kaesŏng and again headed north. The people of P’yŏngyang blocked the queen’s procession and assaulted the Minister of Taxation, Hong Yŏsun, who was accompanying her.8 Among the people of Sukch’ŏn in P’yŏng’an Province, there were some who scribbled information on walls for the Japanese army that pointed to the direction of the king’s flight.9 Kuk Kyŏng’in, a traitor from Hamgyŏng Province, captured and delivered Prince Imhae and Prince Sunhwa to the Japanese army commander Katō Kiyomasa.

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Under these circumstances, there was a sharp increase in the number of people who became friendly towards the Japanese as their pacification efforts intensified. In the villages that they occupied, the Japanese army put up proclamations that included statements such as: “We will not kill you. We have come because your king has mistreated you.”10 When the Japanese army stationed in Hwanghae Province, where there existed great animosity against the royal court from before the Imjin Waeran, publicly pledged to reduce and exempt corvée labor, it is said that the people of Hwanghae Province quarreled among themselves and then surrendered.11 There was even a widespread rumor that half of the Japanese army consisted of Koreans.12 King Sŏnjo was eventually driven as far as the Ming–Chosŏn border city of Ŭiju, where he insisted on crossing the Yalu River and going to Liaodong. When his ministers objected to the idea of seeking refuge in China, he revealed his wretched despair at the impasse, saying, “If you can tell me of a more suitable place, I will not go to Liaodong.”13 For King Sŏnjo and his ministers, pursued by the Japanese army and witnessing first-hand the complete desertion of public support during their harried flight, the Ming army’s participation was, in a word, the “gospel” (K. pogŭm). As soon as the Ming army achieved victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang in the first month of 1593, the war situation reversed itself, and the Japanese army was forced to retreat. In that moment, King Sŏnjo was, for the first time, able to escape from the worst of the crisis and maintain his political power. In fact, on the ninth day of the first month of 1593, when the king heard the news of the Ming victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang, he declared: “As the Emperor’s benevolence is immeasurable, I am at a loss for words.”14 The next day, officials from the Ministry of Rites stated: “The recovery of the country was solely due to Ming’s victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang.”15 A deep gratitude for the Ming army’s victory prevailed in the Chosŏn court from that moment forward. After the victory at P’yŏngyang, the royal court of Chosŏn began to serve the Ming army commanders with great devotion.16 In summary, the early stages of the Imjin Waeran offered nothing but opaque circumstances where the survival of the country hung in the balance following defeat after defeat in battle. The king and his officials felt the sting of clear, popular defiance against them during their flight, and the realization of imminent danger reached its climax among the ruling class. It was at this stage, when the Ming army joined the war, and with their victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang, that the Chosŏn ruling class gave birth to the notion of praising Ming benevolence, or chaejo chiŭn. After the victory at P’yŏngyang, the royal court of Chosŏn began the work of exalting the meritorious service of the Ming generals. Immediately following the victory at P’yŏngyang, in the second month of 1593, the court decided to erect a monument praising the services of Li Rusong, produce his portrait, and construct a shrine in his honor (K. saengsa-dang).17 Subsequently, they built the Muyŏlsa shrine in P’yŏngyang, raised portraits of the Ming Minister of War Shi Xing and the four generals Li Rusong, Li Rubo, Yang Yuan, and

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Zhang Shijue, and performed sacrificial rites in their honor every spring and fall.18 In 1599, the Chosŏn government constructed the Sŏnmusa shrine to the memory of Supreme Commander Xing Jie and there hung a plaque with the words “chaejo pŏnbang” (lit. rebuilding a vassal country) brushed by King Sŏnjo himself and carved in relief.19 Moreover, the court founded the Board of Compilation for Officials from the Heavenly Court (Ch’ŏnjo changgwan ch’anjip ch’ŏng), which published documents recording the meritorious services of Ming officials who came to Chosŏn.20 But the people to whom Chosŏn was most grateful were the Wanli emperor Shenzong and the Coordinator of Korean Affairs (Ch. Jingli yushi) during the second invasion of 1597, Yang Hao. During the war, Shenzong particularly concerned himself with the Imjin Waeran while bothering with his own government affairs only three days out of a month. For this, he was known as the “Son of Heaven of Korea” (Ch. Gaoli tianzi, K. Koryŏ ch’ŏnja) in Ming China.21 Yang Hao was appraised as having been the most devoted in his duties among the Ming soldiers who had come to Chosŏn, and for his great efforts to stop his soldiers causing trouble he was called the “Premier of Korea” (Ch. Gaoli zaixiang, K. Koryŏ chaesang).22 In 1611, the Chosŏn court erected a commemorative stele praising Yang’s good deeds, and produced a collection of poetry titled “A Verse Manuscript to Eulogize the Virtue of the Coordinator of Korean Affairs Yang [Hao]” (K. Kyŏngni ŏsa Yang sŏnsaeng songdŏk sigo, Ch. Jingli yushi Yang xiansheng songde shigao). As such, the sense of gratitude towards the “benevolence of the Ming” developed with time. Towards the end of the Imjin Waeran, the situation was such that there were men among the Chosŏn officials who referred to the Imjin Waeran as “the rebuilding” (K. chaejo).23 Given the elite sentiment, we should ask what did the common people at the time think of the Ming army and their participation in the war? As there are very few documents related to this, we cannot know for certain. However, from the saying, “When ordinary people meet someone in Ming Chinese army uniform, they fear and respect him,” we know that the common people also regarded the Ming army cordially.24 Although the common people may have been grateful for Ming’s benevolence, the extent of their gratitude was different from that of the ruling class. The reason is that the common people experienced great hardship from abuse at the hands of the Ming army and suffered from the Ming army’s requisitioning of food provisions and war supplies. Kwŏn Chin memorialized: In the seven years of the Wae [Japanese] bandits’ rampage, the flames of war continued, and the fighting did not stop. Fortunately, however, the Emperor’s benevolence extended so far that our country has been rebuilt … After suffering from the flames of war, the people have no stable livelihood and have been scattered, living everywhere. Moreover, since the Ming army continuously infringes on them with the transportation of provisions, press-ganging of troops to fill the ranks, and all sorts

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In fact, the situation was such that Ko Sang’an (1553–1623), a local magistrate during the Imjin Waeran, stated: “As a result of giving all of our country’s grain supplies to the Ming army in 1593 and 1594, the Chosŏn people have been starving to death, and the country has weakened.”26 The abuses gratuitously delivered to the people by the Ming army were so severe that the saying “The Japanese army is a fine-tooth comb, and the Ming army is a wide-tooth comb” began to spread. This situation developed to the point where people came to have antagonistic feelings against the Ming army, and eventually these feelings developed into animosity against the ruling class, which did not sufficiently restrain the reckless abuse of the Ming army. This fact is confirmed in oral folklore that depicts lower-class mentality at that time.27 In short, the attitude towards the Ming army among the lower classes – those who suffered damage because of the Chinese soldiers – was one of disapproval, and the extent of their respect for chaejo chiŭn was most certainly weaker than that of the ruling class. What then was the significance of the veneration of chaejo chiŭn by the ruling class during the Imjin Waeran? In the early period of the invasion, there were many instances of local magistrates and military commanders running away from the fight against the enemy. As previously observed, King Sŏnjo also failed to present countermeasures to stop the enemy and was intent on taking flight. On the other hand, many literati out of office such as Kwak Chae’u raised irregular armies (K. ŭibyŏng, “righteous soldiers”) and fought against the Japanese. The reason why Chosŏn did not perish but was able to persevere during the early stages of the Imjin Waeran was owing to the righteous army’s activities.28 Naturally, the authority of the righteous army leaders Kwak Chae’u, Chŏng Inhong, and Kim Tŏngnyŏng rose, while the authority of King Sŏnjo and the men in office fell. Moreover, the righteous army leaders and the people criticized the officials who displayed irresponsible and craven behavior during the war. Among certain circles, there were even insinuations that “the government and the people had become enemies.”29 During the invasion, there were also continuous popular uprisings, both big and small. For example, Song Yujin, the leader of a rebel army, demanded that King Sŏnjo abdicate. Furthermore, certain members of the literati class advised King Sŏnjo to abdicate in favor of Prince Kwanghae. In these circumstances, where the king’s authority was declining due to the challenges made by the lower classes and the gentry out of office, King Sŏnjo’s sense of crisis deepened. Accordingly, his dependence on the Ming army also naturally increased. Even after the Ming unilaterally entered peace negotiations and avoided combat with the Japanese army, King Sŏnjo supported the Chinese army, saying, “If the Ming army were not here, we would not be able to sustain our country.”30 Furthermore, he actively stressed the important role

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of the Ming army. In the third month of 1601, when the question of honoring people of merit in the war was raised, King Sŏnjo stated the following: It is solely owing to the Ming army that we have now suppressed the Japanese [K. Wae] bandits. Our army troops occasionally followed behind the Ming army, and merely obtained the heads of straggling enemy soldiers by a stroke of luck. They never cut off the head of a single enemy chief or plundered a single enemy camp. Among them, the victories of admirals Yi Sunshin and Wŏn Kyun at sea and the great victory of Kwŏn Yul at Haengju shine to some extent as glorious deeds. If you ask why the Ming army entered the war, it is because numerous, faithful officials, despite falling down along the rugged road, followed me all the way to Ŭiju, and appealed to Ming. It is because of this that we were able to suppress the enemy and recover our territory.31 In the statement above, King Sŏnjo ascribes full credit to the Ming army for ending the war, but does not mention a single word about the role and service of the irregular guerrilla forces. Meanwhile, he quietly stresses that the main agents to call on the Ming army – the force that “suppressed the conflict” – were himself and the officials who had followed him. What kind of significance does this hold? In the end, King Sŏnjo was able to restore some of his debased authority by stressing Ming’s role, or chaejo chiŭn. Hence, by ascribing all the merit involved in overcoming the disturbances of war to the Ming army, while also highlighting that it had been the court who had called in the Ming army, King Sŏnjo and his loyal officials were attempting to restore the authority that had collapsed with their successive defeats and flight in the early stages of the war. In other words, emphasizing chaejo chiŭn was an important means to heighten the political currency of King Sŏnjo and his officials.

Chaejo chiŭn and Chosŏn–Ming relations during the reign of Prince Kwanghae Others besides the ruling class of Chosŏn emphasized chaejo chiŭn. As time passed, the imperial court of Ming China and the commanders of the Ming army also began to stress that they had “displayed benevolence to Chosŏn.” For example, shortly after the Battle of P’yŏngyang in early 1593, the Ming army’s group of leaders reproached the Chosŏn government for sitting still and merely observing the situation while they had fought for their lives, won back P’yŏngyang, and saved Chosŏn on the brink of ruin.32 After the second invasion of 1597, the Ming military leaders also used the term chaejo chiŭn.33 In 1599, after the Supreme Commander Xing Jie pointed out that the war was over, he insisted that Chosŏn had to provide part of the funds required for the Ming palace construction. He was urging Chosŏn to repay Ming financially for the “benevolence” Ming China had provided.34

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In reality, the Ming government suffered great losses in military and financial terms by participating in the Imjin Waeran. With the prolongation of the war and war expenditures, Ming China’s financial problems became noticeable, and this overlapped with the problems associated with the Mining Excises and Commercial Taxes (Ch. kuangshui), which was causing problems in China at the time.35 A sense of crisis emerged that was epitomized in the statement: “We helped the Koreans, but it may be that Ming is ruined before Chosŏn.”36 This sort of awareness was naturally followed by a Ming request to Chosŏn to return the favor for its “benevolence.” An air of pride as Chosŏn’s “benefactor” became notably conspicuous by the time of Prince Kwanghae’s reign, which began in 1608. The Dispatched Commander [Ch. Zhihui shichaiguan] of Liaodong Jiang Tianze came [to Chosŏn] with an official document … “As our court gathered all of our people and made them run into a fire pit nineteen years ago in the ‘war to help Chosŏn [Imjin Waeran],’ the number of losses in death has been more than several tens of thousands. This was an act of abandoning our own people and stopping a disastrous war in a foreign country, and our benevolence, extreme and heavy, covered the whole world in love. The people who survive in Chosŏn today, the goods that have been produced there since, and the wealth, sons, and daughters [that the country enjoys now] – who made all this possible?”37 The Ming administrator Jiang Tianze, sent to Korea in 1610, uttered these words. He emphasized the fact that Ming China had “sacrificed herself for Chosŏn” during the Imjin Waeran and that Chosŏn Korea should repay the kindness. The Ming state was being challenged by Nurhaci’s Jianzhou Jurchens after the Imjin Waeran and the idea spread that the Ming court must actively draw in and use Chosŏn troops to restrain the Jurchens. In this context, the court urged the Chosŏn government to repay the favor of chaejo chiŭn. Shortly after Nurhaci attacked and occupied Fushun, Ming’s Supervising Secretary in the Office for Scrutiny of Revenue (Ch. Huke geishizhong), Guan Yingzhen, asserted that the Chinese should use Korean troops as follows: The Supervising Secretary Guan Yingzhen states three measures to ward off the barbarians. … When Chosŏn was hit by the invading Japanese, it received an enormous favor with our aid. Naturally, we must borrow troops and cavalry from north of the passes and attack the right flank of the barbarians, and mobilize two to three thousand riflemen from Chosŏn, have them cross the Yalu River with our soldiers, and attack the left flank of the barbarians. This is generally striking at Nurhaci by way of mobilizing submissive barbarians.38 The above plan presented by Guan Yingzhen was a typical example of the policy of using barbarians to control barbarians. Throughout the reign of

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Prince Kwanghae the Ming court based its policies on such thinking and imposed the concept of chaejo chiŭn in order to put pressure on the Chosŏn government. Chosŏn government policies towards China during Prince Kwanghae’s reign had to tread a fine line. Nurhaci’s threat to the Ming state became significantly greater after the Imjin Waeran. From 1599, Nurhaci began full-scale attacks on the Haixi Jurchens, and his intention to establish an autonomous country was clearly revealed with the proclamation of the country’s name as Jianzhou in 1605. This was an explicit challenge to Ming authority, which up to that time had restrained the emergence of powerful groups among the Jurchen through policies of divide and rule. The development was also a great threat to Chosŏn, which had lived peacefully within the Ming-centered Sinitic world order.39 Faced with these circumstances, Prince Kwanghae unfolded a skillful foreign policy. He assumed the traditional policy of submission (K. sadae chŏngch’aek) towards the Ming state while deploying a restraining policy (K. ki’mich’aek) towards the Later Jin state in an attempt to maintain peace. Because he was an illegitimate child born to a concubine, Prince Kwanghae encountered great difficulties as the new ruler in gaining the Ming emperor’s approval. From the time he ascended the throne, he had to fight to secure his royal authority, and despite his vulnerable political state, securing the peace and safety of the border regions was a pressing matter. With a flexible view of foreign affairs – “Even in the event of war, my envoys must always remain in between” – Prince Kwanghae unrelentingly gathered information related to both Ming China and Later Jin.40 The core of his policy towards Later Jin lay in discerning trends from intelligence, preventing invasions through a restraining policy, and establishing countermeasures to cope with the worst possible case during the time bought by restraint.41 In 1618 Prince Kwanghae’s efforts to avoid being mixed up in the confrontation between Ming China and Later Jin crashed into a wall. In the same year, Later Jin issued “seven grudges” against the Ming court and attacked and occupied Fushun. This was Later Jin’s declaration of war against China as well as the de facto trigger for the developments that would eventuate in the Ming–Qing transition. While forming an expeditionary army to punish Later Jin, the Ming government also pressured Chosŏn to mobilize a military force and participate together in the fight. In considering whether or not to accept Ming China’s demand for the dispatch of troops, the positions taken by Prince Kwanghae and the officials of the Border Defense Council (K. Pibyŏnsa) divided along two lines. Prince Kwanghae tried to reject the request in light of the extreme difficulties facing Chosŏn in the aftermath of the Imjin Waeran, while the officials of the Border Defense Council stressed that Chosŏn had to accept the Ming court’s request in order to repay them for chaejo chiŭn.42 In the end, Prince Kwanghae’s hope to refuse a dispatch of troops dissolved under pressure from the Ming government. In the first month of 1619,

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a Chosŏn army of around 10,000 soldiers led by commander-in-chief Kang Hongnip crossed the Yalu River to attack Later Jin, and shortly afterwards was placed under the command of the Ming commander Liu Ting. In the third month of that year, the Chosŏn army, pushed out into the battlefield and stripped of independent tactical authority or command authority, was defeated by the Later Jin army at the Battle of Shenhe, and Kang Hongnip surrendered to Nurhaci. At the time, Nurhaci displayed a sympathetic attitude43 that accepted Chosŏn’s participation as the result of Chinese demands and Chosŏn’s return of favors in response to chaejo chiŭn. Peace was maintained between the two countries even after the Shenhe battle. After the Shenhe battle, Prince Kwanghae returned to promoting a neutral foreign policy. He repeatedly rejected conscription requests from the Ming court and attempted to detect Later Jin’s intentions by sending envoys to their encampments. Moreover, to the greatest extent practicable, he returned to Ming the Chinese refugees from Liaodong, who had poured into Chosŏn after Liaodong fell to Later Jin, and he held in check the Ming commander, Mao Wenlong, who had entered Chosŏn clamoring for the “reclamation of Liaodong.” On a few occasions, he also enacted policies to deceive the Ming court.44 Through such diplomatic acumen by its ruler, the Chosŏn state was able to maintain neutrality between Ming China and Later Jin. In short, Prince Kwanghae’s foreign policy, which tried to avoid being dragged into the confrontational frame that had developed between Ming China and Later Jin, contained steps that pragmatically adapted to the realities and vicissitudes of the period referred to as the “Ming–Qing transition.” However, his policy stood in fundamental opposition to the Chinese policy of using barbarians to control barbarians by deploying Chosŏn troops through invocations of repayment for chaejo chiŭn. From that point onwards, though, it was also a policy that could not avoid a clash with high-ranking government officials who cherished a worldview that separated the “civilized” from the “barbaric.” The result of these stresses was the military coup in 1623 (K. Injo panjŏng) by the man who would become King Injo.

Chaejo chiŭn and Chosŏn–China relations during the reign of King Injo In 1623, Injo, who was Prince Kwanghae’s nephew, and the Westerner’s faction (K. Sŏin) initiated a military coup, dethroning Prince Kwanghae. Carrying forward their coup d’état, the plotters stated an important pretext for their actions, “Prince Kwanghae had betrayed chaejo chiŭn and tried to establish friendly relations with Later Jin.” When the coup took place in Korea, the Ming court criticized it as an act of illegal usurpation. Among the Ming officials, there were even some who asserted that they should mobilize a military force and reinstate Prince Kwanghae. However, the Ming government decided to exploit the coup in order to impose leverage over the Chosŏn court.

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Hence, for the price of investing Injo as the “King of Chosŏn,” the Ming court wanted to involve Chosŏn troops in the fight against Later Jin.45 The success of the Injo coup suggested that later developments in the Chosŏn government’s foreign policy, or the Chosŏn court’s response to the Ming–Qing transition, would be based on a traditional civilized vs. barbarian paradigm. In truth, after the coup, sentiments proliferated arguing the necessity of repaying the favor of Ming’s chaejo chiŭn during the Imjin Waeran. In the third month of 1623, King Injo criticized Prince Kwanghae to a Ming official for “betraying chaejo chiŭn.”46 Moreover, shortly after the coup, Shim Kwangse (1577–1624) emphasized Ming’s benevolence as follows: During the Imjin Waeran, the Wanli Emperor turned down many people’s objections, and raised back up a country that was about to be obliterated. For seven years he consumed funds, twice mobilized the masses, and gave life back to our country. Among our Chosŏn people, there is no one who has not benefited from Shenzong’s resuscitating grace.47 In short, right after the coup, a widespread sentiment was on the rise that glorified chaejo chiŭn, insisted on its repayment, and was “pro-Ming and antiLater Jin.” In reality, however, the direction of the foreign policy, as chosen by the leaders of the coup between the time of the coup’s success and the eruption of the Manchu invasion (K. Chŏngmyo horan) in 1627, was by no means unambiguously “pro-Ming, anti-Later Jin.” While “pro-Ming” was undoubtedly stressed towards the Ming court and its representatives, the policy towards the Later Jin government was not necessarily “anti-Later Jin.” Considering the policy towards Later Jin proposed to Injo by the Border Defense Council shortly after the coup’s success in the third month of 1623,48 and considering that most of the individuals who had carried out foreign policy during the reign of Prince Kwanghae were reappointed,49 the new policy was essentially one of maintaining the status quo. Furthermore, in the fourth month of 1624, when Mao Wenlong asked the Chosŏn court for a military force to attack Later Jin and proposed that Ming and Chosŏn armies attack Later Jin together, the Chosŏn court demurred. If worse came to worst, the Chosŏn government intended to clothe its soldiers in Ming uniform and dispatch them.50 Inasmuch as they had raised a coup d’état and assumed political power with difficulty, the leaders of the coup were not going to launch into an escapade that would irritate Later Jin and jeopardize their position. In contrast to Prince Kwanghae’s cold reception of Mao Wenlong, the Injo administration warmly received Mao. Each year, they provided him with a generous supply of rice provisions and offered intelligence information related to Later Jin. Moreover, because King Injo had received continuous help from Mao Wenlong during the process of obtaining his investiture from the Ming emperor, the Chosŏn court could not treat Mao indifferently.51 In

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short, repayment for chaejo chiŭn during the reign of King Injo essentially materialized as elaborate receptions for Mao Wenlong. Between the time of the Injo coup and the Manchu invasion of 1627 the character of Chosŏn government policy towards Later Jin was, in actuality, maintenance of the status quo. The Chosŏn court took the view that if the existing, traditional Sinocentric world order did not waver greatly and the Chosŏn state could remain within that order, then Chosŏn Korea could coexist with Later Jin. This is shown by the fact that when the invasion, which was provoked by Later Jin’s economic and military needs, occurred in 1627, King Injo and the ruling class formed peaceful and fraternal relations with Later Jin without any particular trouble or conflicts.52 However, with their continuous increase in military and political capacity, Later Jin challenged the Ming-centered Sinitic world order. In 1636, the rulers of Later Jin changed the name of their state to Da Qing, or Great Qing, adopted the reign name Chongde, and declared Great Qing to be an imperial country. This was something that the Chosŏn court, which was still hoisting a pro-Ming standard and thinking of chaejo chiŭn, could not possibly accept. When the Chosŏn government refused to acknowledge these changes, the Qing ruler decided to invade, and the result was the second Manchu Invasion in 1636 (K. Pyŏngja horan). As Qing’s invasion ended with Chosŏn’s surrender, the Chosŏn state joined a new Sinocentric world order with Qing China as its center. With the imminent realization of Ming collapse, and the shock of having “surrendered to barbarians,” general sentiment in Chosŏn ruling circles was unsettled. Qing broached the possibility of directly controlling Korea and meddled in the internal politics of Chosŏn Korea by driving a wedge between King Injo and his crown prince and cultivating a pro-Qing faction at the Chosŏn court. By doing these things, Qing set out to tame the Chosŏn state.53 Even after the 1636 invasion, a dual attitude emerged within the Chosŏn court, which involved actual submission to Qing but ideological service to an already fallen Ming. The “Strike North” (K. puk pŏllon) thesis at the time of King Hyojong (r. 1650–9) – “We must revenge the Ming by striking at the Qing” – was the most extreme example of this posture. Symbolically, efforts were made by many Korean intellectuals to retain their loyalty to Ming by declaring themselves “recluses who remain loyal to Ming” (K. sunjŏng ch’ŏsa or taemyŏng kŏsa), even after having experienced the 1636 invasion and learning of Ming’s collapse in 1644.54 Since the veritable records of Chosŏn have become more widely known, we can see that the Chosŏn court never abandoned its loyalty and respect for the Ming dynasty and to its very end considered the Qing dynasty to be barbarous. Nearly 200 years passed since calls from Ming remnants to exclude the Manchu people were last heard in China, but they reappeared after Qing’s power weakened. During this time, there was not a moment when Chosŏn did not wish for Qing’s immediate destruction, even during the height of the Qing.55

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This point is made by the modern Chinese historian Meng Sen. He has also compared the policies of Ming and Qing China towards Chosŏn Korea and emphasizes that the Ming state actually imposed considerable socioeconomic damage on Chosŏn Korea, while the Qing state tried to appease Chosŏn Korea by reducing the level of such abuse. Meng points out that despite this difference the Chosŏn court held Qing rule of China in contempt.56 As such, the feelings of antagonism and rejection against Qing rule that extended across the Chosŏn intelligentsia from the seventeenth century was something that even the Chinese found unusual. It is obvious that the veneration of the Ming state, formed with the participation of the Ming army in the Imjin Waeran and encapsulated in chaejo chiŭn, long remained in the background. In short, chaejo chiŭn was an essential factor that cannot be disregarded in understanding the relationship between Chosŏn Korea and China in the seventeenth century.

Conclusion Ming China participated in the Imjin Waeran in order to protect its own security. The Ming army’s participation in the war and the long-term stationing of troops resulted in many adverse consequences, including interference in Chosŏn Korea’s domestic politics and abuses of the local populace. However, the Ming army’s direct involvement and assistance were inevitably Heavensent for the Chosŏn ruling elite who were in great danger of losing their ancestral shrines because of the army’s serial defeats. In the early stages of the Imjin Waeran, when the ruling elite had fallen into panic because of the Japanese army’s pursuit of them northward and had encountered firsthand the alienation of the populace, the Ming army’s victory at the Battle of P’yŏngyang offered an opportunity for the restoration of their power, and ultimately that situation could only be grasped as “[Ming’s] benevolence in restoring the country.” After the Battle of P’yŏngyang, the Chosŏn court worked hard to repay the favor of chaejo chiŭn by, among other things, building shrines to commemorate Ming army commanders such as Li Rusong. In short, chaejo chiŭn was forged in an awareness of extreme crisis. On the other hand, there was a specific political background to King Sŏnjo and the Chosŏn ruling class’s emphasis on returning the favor for chaejo chiŭn. It was used as a means to restore an authority that had been debased with the war and to break the challenge thrown up by the righteous army commanders and lower classes to government authority. In fact, many members of the lower class groaned under abuses at the hands of the Ming army and the burden of having to provide them with war supplies. Taking these matters into account, there were clearly different views on chaejo chiŭn, depending on one’s social class. From around the time of the end of the Imjin Waeran, as Ming officials also used terms such as chaejo chiŭn and “rescue the east” (K. tong’wŏn), they posed as Chosŏn Korea’s savior. This tendency became conspicuous in the

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time of Prince Kwanghae’s reign, when the military threat from the Later Jin was increasing. In the midst of Later Jin’s aggrandizement, Prince Kwanghae laboriously attempted to spy out Later Jin’s movements, all the while working hard to maintain amicable relations with the Jurchen. In 1618, the Ming court demanded that the Chosŏn government send reinforcements and participate in a joint assault on Later Jin. To this, Prince Kwanghae tried to decline in consideration of Korea’s lack of recovery from the wounds of the Imjin Waeran, while the officials of the Border Defense Council wished to accept the Chinese demand, insisting on repaying the favors for chaejo chiŭn. In 1619, the Chosŏn government eventually sent an army, but they were defeated at the Battle of Shenhe. These events show that chaejo chiŭn remained as the underlying core of the Chosŏn state’s relations with Ming China in the time of Prince Kwanghae’s reign. Prince Kwanghae refused the Ming court’s continuous demands for assistance even after the Battle of Shenhe. He not only avoided the second dispatch of an army but also avoided, whenever possible, settling the Liaodong refugees in Korea and receiving Mao Wenlong. These actions were, again, taken in order to maintain harmonious relations with Later Jin. While attempts at an equidistant policy by Prince Kwanghae were outstanding in that they prevented war, it gave his internal political adversaries a pretext. In 1623, he was dethroned following a military coup by Injo. King Injo and the leaders of the coup d’état claimed “Prince Kwanghae’s betrayal of chaejo chiŭn” as their justification. Even then, while Chosŏn raised a pro-Ming banner after the coup, the government composed a policy that also sought to maintain the status quo with Later Jin. By treating Mao Wenlong very hospitably, the Chosŏn court clearly practiced a pro-Ming policy while not exercising an antiJin policy towards Later Jin; that is, not until the rulers of Later Jin changed the name of the state and established its first emperor. Later Jin declared itself an empire in 1636, and when the Qing court demanded that the Koreans subjugate themselves, the Chosŏn court refused. The result was the invasion in 1636. After the 1636 invasion, while the Chosŏn government was obedient to Qing in practical terms, it looked up to the now deceased Ming state in ideological terms. In the background to this type of dualistic attitude, there undoubtedly remained consideration of chaejo chiŭn. Chaejo chiŭn, formed on the occasion of the Ming army’s participation in the Imjin Waeran, bore great influence in the seventeenth century not only in regard to Chosŏn Korea’s relations with China but also in regard to Chosŏn’s internal politics. In short, we can say that relations between Chosŏn Korea and China from the time of the Imjin Waeran until the mid seventeenth century took place within a “chaejo chiŭn system.”

Notes Translated by Grace Koh with James B. Lewis. 1 Li, “Zaoji,” in Chouliao shuohua, 4:3a–3b. 2 Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 125–45.

Chosŏn–Ming and Chosŏn–Later Jin relations 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49

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Sajima, “Jinshin Waran,” 1994. Sŏnjo shillok, 109:1a–1a (1599.2.1). Sŏnjo shillok, 109:5a–5a (1599.2.2). Sŏnjo shillok, 27:13b–13b (1592.6.21). Sŏnjo shillok, 26:13b–14a (1592.5.14). Sŏnjo shillok, 27:3b–4a (1592.6.10). Sŏnjo shillok, 27:18b–18b (1592.6.28). Sŏnjo shillok, 26:3b–3b (1592.5.3). Yi, Saryujae chip, 1990, 8:28b–28b (1592.6.4), p. 332. Sŏnjo shillok, 26:6a–6a (1592.5.4). Sŏnjo shillok, 27:10b–10b (1592.6.16). Sŏnjo shillok, 34:9a–9a (1593.1.9). Sŏnjo shillok, 34:10a–10a (1593.1.10). Sŏnjo shillok, 36:10a–10a (1593.3.6). Sŏnjo shillok, 35:2b–2b (1593.2.2). Sŏnjo shillok, 77:24b–25a (1596.7.29); Sŏnjo shillok, 99:22b–23a (1598.4.21). Sŏnjo shillok, 117:2a–2b (1599.9.1); Sŏnjo shillok, 118:5b–5b (1599.10.5). Sŏnjo shillok, 119:3b–4a (1599.11.4). Kim, Yuyŏndang chip, 1978, 3:28–9. Kim, Yuyŏndang chip, 1978, 3:26. Ko, T’aech’on chip, 4:13a–13a, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan, 2000–9, Vol. 59, p. 259. Yi, Obong chip, 14:28a–28b, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan, 2000–9, Vol. 59, p. 543. Sŏnjo shillok, 107:12b–13a (1598.12.12), pp. 543–4. Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, p. 142. Im, Sŏrhwa, 1989, pp. 102–13. Sŏnjo shillok, 32:15a–b (1592.11.16). Yi, Song’am chip, 3:11a–11a, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan, 2000–9, Vol. 54, p. 52. Sŏnjo shillok, 42:20b–20b (1593.9.9). Hosŏng sŏnmu (1601.3.13), 1999, p. 11. Sadae mun’gwe, 3:12a–12b (1593.1.15). Ming Shenzong shilu, 317:5904–4 (1597.12.5). Sŏnjo shillok, 110:4b–4b (1599.3.8). Translator’s note: Richard von Glahn describes the kuangshui or “Mining Excises and Commercial Taxes,” between 1596 and 1606, as an attempt by the Wanli government to bolster its coffers by obtaining as much additional revenue as possible from the commercial sector. It was “undoubtedly the single most vilified feature of Wanli’s highly controversial reign.” Von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, 1996, p. 161. Ming Shenzong shilu, 314:5872–3 (1597.9.13). Kwanghaegun ilgi, 25:2b–3b (1610.2.4). Ming Shenzong shilu, 569:10718–19 (1618 Intercalary 4.17). Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 224–9. Pibyŏnsa tŭngnok, Vol. 1, p. 20 (1617.4.10). Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 224–44. Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 244–55. Qing Taizu shilu, 6:16a–16b (1619.3.21). Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 280–6. Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 348–52. Injo shillok, 1:24a–24b (1623.3.22). Shim, Hyuong chip, 4:2b–3a, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan, 2000–9, Vol. 84, pp. 369–70. Injo shillok, 1:34b–34b (1623.3.27). After the success of the Injo coup, Yi Kyŏngjŏn, Yun Hwŏn, and Yi Minsŏng, who were dispatched to Ming to inform them of the change, all held important posts under Prince Kwanghae. Moreover, Yun Hwi, who positively supported Prince

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54

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Kwanghae’s even-handed diplomacy, held high office after the 1627 invasion. (Injo shillok, 15:12b–13b (1627.1.21)). Pibyŏnsa tŭngnok, Vol. 1, p. 216 (1624.4.27). Han, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 374–84. Kim, “Chŏngmyo Horanshi,” 1978. After receiving the Chosŏn court’s surrender, the Qing government worried over methods to handle Chosŏn Korea. Certain Qing high officials at that time insisted that they leave King Injo with two provinces and that the Qing government directly govern the remaining six provinces. This proposal was not realized, but the Qing court later used this argument to control the Chosŏn court. Injo shillok, 43:22a– 22b (1642.10.12). In seventeenth-century Korea, there were many who styled themselves as sunjŏng ch’ŏsa or taemyŏng kŏsa. For example, Pak Such’un (1572–1652) and Kim Sion (1598–1669) posed as sunjŏng ch’ŏsa and Yi Hŭiryang (1584–1646) fancied himself a taemyŏng kŏsa. Meng, “Huang Mingyi minfuxu,” 1980, p. 156. Meng, “Huang Mingyi minfuxu,” 1980, pp. 155–7.

References Han Myŏnggi (Han Myung-gi, 䞲ⳛ₆). Imjin Waeran kwa Han-Chung kwangye (㧚㰚㢲⧖ὒG䞲㭧ὖἚ). Seoul: Yŏksa pip’yŏngsa, 1999. Hosŏng sŏnmu ch’ŏngnan kongsin togam ŭigwe (扈聖宣武淸難功臣都監儀軌). Seoul: Seoul Taehakkyo, Kyujanggak, 1999. Im Ch’olho (㧚㻶䢎). Sŏrhwa ŭi minju ŭi yŏksa ŭisik (說話㢖 民衆㦮 蔫史意識). Seoul: Chimmundang, 1989. Injo sillok (仁祖實錄). Kim Taehyŏn (金大賢). Yuyŏndang chip (悠然堂集), in Kyujanggak, No. 5472. Kim Jongwŏn (金鍾圓). “Chŏngmyo Horanshi ŭi Hu-Jin ŭi ch’ulbyŏng tonggi (丁卯胡 亂時㦮 後紼㦮 出兵 動機),” Tongyang sahak yŏn’gu (東洋史學硏究) 12–13 (1978): 55–93. Ko Sang’an (高尙顔). T’aech’on chip (泰村集), in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan (韓國文 集叢刊), Vol. 59. Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 2000–9. Kwanghaegun ilgi (光海君日記). Li Zhengyi (蝗徵儀). “Zaoji fangjiao yi gufeng jiangshu (早計防剿以固封疆疏),” in Chouliao shuohua (籌蘹碩畵), 1620. Meng Sen (孟森). “Huang Mingyi minfuxu (皇明遺民傳序),” in Ming–Qing shi lunshuo jikan (明淸史論著集刊). Taibei: Shijie shuju (世界書局), 1980. Ming Shenzong shilu (明神宗實錄). Pibyŏnsa tŭngnok (備邊司謄錄). Qing Taizu shilu (淸太祖實錄). Sadae mun’gwe (事大文軌). Sajima Akiko (佐島顕子). “Jinshin Waran kōwa no hatan o megutte (壬辰倭亂講和の 破綻をめぐって),” Nenpō Chōsengaku (年報朝鮮學) 4 (1994): 23–40. Shim Kwangse (葘光世). Hyuong chip (休翁集), in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan (韓國文 集叢刊), Vol. 84. Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 2000–9. Sŏnjo sillok (宣祖實錄). von Glahn, Richard. Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China, 1000– 1700. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996.

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Yi Chŏng’am (G蝗廷馣). Saryujae chip (四留齋集). Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 1990. Yi Homin (G蝗好閔), Obong chip (五峰集) 14:28b–28b, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan (韓國文集叢刊), Vol. 59. Seoul, Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 2000–9. Yi No (蝗編). Song’am chip (松巖集), in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan (韓國文集叢刊), Vol. 54. Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 2000–9.

14 Chosŏn Korea and Ming China after the Imjin Waeran State rituals in the Later Chosŏn period Kuwano Eiji (桑野栄治)

Introduction Following the outbreak of the Imjin Waeran at the end of the sixteenth century, the Chosŏn government established two shrines, the Kwanwangmyo shrine in honor of the military god Guan Yu and the Sŏnmusa to deify the generals of the Ming army. Rituals performed at Kwanwangmyo shrine and Sŏnmusa were recorded in a compilation of rituals (K. sajŏn) as state sacrifices or rites to honor the gods of heaven, earth, and man as performed by a kingdom. This manner of public worship provided a space in which Confucian beliefs could be enacted visually. The Chosŏn state noted all its rituals in a compilation of ritual protocol, producing Kukcho oryeŭi (The Five Rites of the State) in 1474.1 In the mid-eighteenth century, the government compiled a supplement, entitled Kukcho sok oryeŭi (Supplement to the Five Rites of the State), completed in 1744.2 It was in this book of protocol from the later Chosŏn period that the Kwanwangmyo shrine and the Sŏnmusa, two shrines closely associated with the Imjin Waeran, newly gained their places as sites of low rituals.3 Because the rituals celebrated a military god and soldiers, the chief celebrants at the Kwanwangmyo shrine and the Sŏnmusa were military officials (Jr. 2) rather than civil officials.4 Kukcho oryeŭi divided all state rituals into three categories: high, middle, and low.5 High ritual was conducted at the Sajikdan, a shrine to the gods of the land and an altar for the worship of the millet of the gods of a rich harvest, and at the Chongmyo, the royal shrine that housed the spirit tablets of former kings. Although rituals for Confucius were middle level, the Chosŏn court used Neo-Confucianism as its ruling ideology and placed emphasis on rites celebrating Confucius (K. munmyoje, J. sekiten). The government established altars in the Sŏnggyungwan, which was the state university, and in provincial schools.6 To emphasize the legitimacy of the Chosŏn kingdom, the government also conducted middle-level rituals for the founders of various Korean kingdoms such as Tan’gun and Kija of Old Chosŏn, King Tongmyŏng, Onjo, and Pak Hyŏkkŏse of the Three Kingdoms, and Wang Kŏn, the dynastic founder of Koryŏ.7 However, Chosŏn rituals differed from the Chinese case in certain ways.8 For example, the Wŏn’gudan rituals that celebrated Tiandi,

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the highest deity of Heaven for Confucians, were excluded from the Chosŏn roster, because the only person who could celebrate Heaven was the Ming emperor.9 This understanding of the Wŏn’gudan rituals carried over into the late Chosŏn period. Recognition of the Kwanwangmyo shrine and the Sŏnmusa as state rituals in the period after the Japanese invasion marks a radical break with the period before the invasion. Formerly, the Chosŏn government had been renowned for placing more importance on the pen than the sword. Now, they were sanctioning the worship in Chosŏn Korea of the military god Guan Yu and the Chinese generals who came to Chosŏn’s aid. Needless to say, in the background to this break with tradition were the wars of the Imjin Waeran and the Manchu invasions, as well as the change in the greater circumstances of East Asia as seen in the dynastic change from Ming to Qing. Nakamura Hidetaka pointed out that small shrines to worship the Ming generals had already been constructed by the time the Kwanwangmyo shrine was built in Hansŏng. Reverence for the Chinese relief army increased together with the promotion of a general cult of remembrance and adoration for the Chinese aid extended during the Imjin Waeran (K. mo’myŏng sasang).10 The term mo’myŏng itself referred to “admiration of the Ming.” Furthermore, Nakamura also pointed out that during the reigns of King Sukcho (r. 1674–1720) and King Yŏngjo (r. 1724–76), the Chosŏn government actively encouraged state rituals that inspired adoration of Ming China.11 For example, under King Sukcho, the Ming Wanli emperor Shenzong (r. 1572–1620) and the Chongzhen emperor Yizong (r. 1627–44) were worshipped in the Mandongmyo, a shrine built privately by Kwŏn Sangha, a disciple of Song Shiyŏl, in 1703 in Hwayang-dong at Mt. Koe in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province (Song Shiyŏl’s home). Of course, Wanli was the emperor who provided relief aid to Korea during the Imjin Waeran, and Chongzhen was the last emperor to rule Ming China. Song Shiyŏl’s desire was to encourage village scholars and officials to honor the victims of the Japanese and Manchu invasions, and to realise the establishment of a national shrine to venerate the Ming.12 The year 1704, one year after the completion of the Mandongmyo, was the sixtieth anniversary of the end of the Ming dynasty in 1644, and the Chosŏn government showed its respect to Ming China, who had rescued the Korean dynastic house from extinction, by constructing the Taebodan (also known as the Hwangdan) in the Ch’angdŏkkung palace to celebrate the Wanli emperor.13 The Taebodan was a ritual institution that embodied Chosŏn’s consciousness of itself as a smaller incarnation of Sinitic civilization (K. so Chunghwa ŭishik). King Yŏngjo later deified two Ming emperors, the Hongwu emperor (r. 1368– 98), founder of the Ming dynasty, and the Chongzhen emperor, to be worshipped alongside the Wanli emperor.14 After another sixty years, on the nineteenth day of the third month of 1764, the king himself conducted an elaborate state ritual at the Taebodan to display gratitude towards Ming China on behalf of the whole nation. The nineteenth day of the third month

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was the day Emperor Chongzhen committed suicide on a hill behind the Forbidden City. There are several studies on state rituals in Korea from the second half of the seventeenth century that offer information on how Korean intellectuals viewed rituals and how they viewed the Chinese in the later Chosŏn period. In the following, I will consider how the Chosŏn government dealt with the Chinese from the time of the Imjin Waeran to the Ming–Qing transition. It has been noted that the Chosŏn government was mistrustful of the Chinese army;15 how then did the Chosŏn government justify including state rituals that had such strong links with the Chinese army? This chapter will examine changes in state rituals from the end of the sixteenth century to the first half of the seventeenth century and consider the impact of the Imjin Waeran on the views and behavior of late Chosŏn society towards the Ming and Qing dynasties.

The Kwanwangmyo shrine rituals for Guan Yu during the Imjin Waeran: praying for victory in war The Guan Yu cult was brought to Korea by Ming generals. In the fourth month of 1598, the Ming generals who led the Korean relief operation erected the South Kwanwangmyo shrine outside the Sungnyemun (Namdaemun) gate of Hansŏng. In the eighth month of 1601, the Chosŏn government complied with a request made by Ming generals to have an East Kwanwangmyo shrine built outside the Hŭng’inmun (Tongdaemun) gate.16 The Ming generals did not restrict the construction of Kwanwangmyo shrine to the royal capital in Hansŏng. They also built shrines to pray for victory in war at Kangjin (1597) and Namwŏn (1599) in Chŏlla Province and at Sŏngju (1597) and Andong (1598) in Kyŏngsang Province. Because Korea had never seen anything like the Kwanwangmyo shrine, with its worship of Guan Yu as a militaristic deity, the dynastic government could not hide its nervousness when there was only a day left before the thirteenth of the fifth month, Guan Yu’s birthday. The Board of Rites expressed its opinions to King Sŏnjo in the following memorial: Our country has no precedent of observing the rites of the Kwanwangmyo, and we have yet to be able to make a final decision on the formalities for the ceremony. Needless to say, it would be distressing to treat this matter lightly. If the Celestial Generals (Ming generals) strongly urge his Majesty to worship, then it becomes unavoidable. Perhaps we could, for the time being, do as the Border Defense Council (K. Pibyŏnsa) has suggested, which is to conduct a simple ceremony of burning incense to show our respect. The King ordered that to be done.17 A report submitted to King Sŏnjo by the Border Defense Council on the same day records a dialogue exchanged between the High State Councilor

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(Uŭijŏng), Yi Tŏkhyŏng, and a Ming general. “Our senior generals always make four bows, so we suggest the Korean king do the same,” said the general; “We see no reason why the King of Chosŏn should not kneel before the Kwanwangmyo shrine once. After all, it was built specially for Korea.”18 It was not only the Border Defense Council and the Board of Rites that regarded the Kwanwangmyo shrine ceremony with perplexity. The Office of the Special Counselors (K. Hongmun’gwan) scholars studied documents on ceremony after receiving the king’s order, but could find no previous examples that would be useful as a model for the Kwanwangmyo shrine ceremony. By consulting Da Ming huidian (Collected Statutes of Great Ming), the Office of the Special Counselors was at least able to report that in China they dispatched officials to take part in ceremonies on the festival days of “the beginnings of the four seasons” (first, fourth, seventh, and tenth months in the lunar calendar were designated as the first months of the four seasons), the year-end festival, and Guan Yu’s birthday.19 The Chosŏn government had frequently turned to Da Ming huidian for instructions on maintaining a sound administrative structure in the past, and they had printed and distributed a Korean imprint of the Chinese manual to officials during the reign of King Myŏngjong (1545–67).20 In China, the Hongwu emperor performed rites for Guan Yu in Nanjing, and after the capital was moved to Beijing, the third emperor, Yongle, also held regular services for Guan Yu. The Wanli emperor was an avid patron of the Guan Yu shrine in Jiezhou, Shanxi Province (Guan Yu’s birthplace) and in Luoyang, Henan Province, where Guan Yu’s head was entombed. The Wanli emperor idolized the military god to the extent of conferring the title of “Emperor” on him.21 The news of Ming fervor for Guan Yu even reached Chosŏn. For example, Yu Sŏngnyong (1542–1607) saw Guan Yu’s shrines along the route between Liaodong and Beijing and recounted them in the popular collection of his writings, Sŏae chip, printed in 1633.22 Later, when King Sŏnjo gave audience to Xu Guowei, he learned from the Ming commander that during the reign of Taizu, Guan Yu was enfeoffed as King Wuan as a result of his secret support for Taizu, and in 1585 he was enfeoffed as the Xietian Dadi, or “Great Emperor that Collaborated with Heaven.”23 In the end, King Sŏnjo knelt before the South Kwanwangmyo shrine, lit incense, raised a toast in honor of Guan Yu, and then performed a kowtow.24 This was the first instance of a Kwanwangmyo shrine ceremony having been conducted by a Korean king. Although Sok Taejŏn, the basic civil code of the later Chosŏn period compiled in 1746, specifies that the king of Chosŏn perform the kowtow when he visits the Kwanwangmyo shrine,25 King Sŏnjo’s personal conduct of the rituals was a rare case. In the following year (1599), on the thirteenth day of the fifth month, Sŏnjo dispatched an official of the Board of Rites to the South Kwanwangmyo shrine to conduct the ritual, a more typical case.26 Under the formality of “administrative conduct,” the Chosŏn government sent bureaucrats to conduct rituals instead of the king.27

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In short, the government was not enthusiastic about the Kwanwangmyo shrine rites. The likely scenario was that the Chosŏn court felt obliged to establish these rituals, because the Ming generals observed Guan Yu’s birthday. Herein, we can glimpse an image of Ming China. In the sixth month of 1599, the Chosŏn government finalized plans to construct the East Kwanwangmyo shrine, but the work was delayed due to the general confusion in the country following the war and the tremendous burden it would have placed on the people, not to mention the size of a Chinesescale edifice.28 The following comments by court historians represent a view shared by members of the Chosŏn government towards China: Corvee labor to build the Kwanwangmyo is absurd in the extreme. It was wrong to have the Kwanwangmyo outside the Namdaemun [Great South Gate] in the first instance, but we could not stop it being built. Now the government is about to embark on raising another one outside the Tongdaemun [Great East Gate]. How do we expect the survivors of the war to live?29 Guan Yu is not even a Buddha, but the Chinese have an ashram set up in their Kwanwangmyo. This is abominable.30 The Chosŏn government was opposed to the construction of both the South and the East Kwanwangmyo shrines. In the eyes of the Confucian bureaucrats, the sight of the Ming generals worshiping at the Kwanwangmyo shrine was bizarre. To Nakamura Hidetaka, “It appears that the Chosŏn government attached greater importance to the East Kwanwangmyo shrine. This is natural, because the Koreans themselves constructed this Kwanwangmyo shrine in the midst of hardship.”31 Nakamura poses a hypothesis of Korean interest, but there is no evidence in Sŏnjo shillok that Sŏnjo actually worshipped at the East Kwanwangmyo shrine after it was completed. Additionally, we find no evidence of any discussions concerning the management of the Kwanwangmyo shrine ceremonies between the tenth month of 1601 and the end of the Sŏnjo era. At least during Sŏnjo’s reign, therefore, we cannot say that the Chosŏn government took any particular interest in the East Kwanwangmyo shrine. The Office of the Inspector General summed up the situation: “From the beginning, the construction of the Kwanwangmyo shrine was never of national significance, but this shrine was built over three years of resentment.”32 References to such antipathy against the establishment of the Kwanwangmyo shrine can also be found surviving from the King Kwanghae period (r. 1608–23). According to the Kwanghaegun ilgi manuscript preserved in the T’aebaeksan archive, King Kwanghae ordered the Board of Rites in 1612 to improve the maintenance and repair of the Kwanwangmyo shrine, but in the process, he divulged his true feelings: “If only the Ming generals had not bothered to build the Kwanwangmyo shrine, we would not be in this position.”33 The

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T’aebaeksan manuscript note was deleted during the editing of the Korean veritable records,34 but it illustrates that the establishment of the Kwanwangmyo shrine did not have the wholehearted support of the Chosŏn government. One suspects that King Kwanghae had no choice but to resign himself to the situation as it was then. We cannot find any evidence in Kwanghaegun ilgi of King Kwanghae having conducted a ceremony in person, or of even having attended any services. The Chosŏn government merely dispatched officials to conduct rites at the Kwanwangmyo shrine twice annually, the first at kyŏngch’ip (when insects awaken and appear in the second month of the lunar calendar, or early March), and the second at sanghang (when the world surrenders to frost in the ninth month of the lunar calendar, or late October or early November).35

Muyŏlsa shrine and the Sŏnmusa shrine: ritual ceremonies for the Ming auxiliary army The construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine A saengsa, which is a “shrine for the living,” is a small shrine erected in recognition of a celebrated living person. The oldest example of a saengsa is documented in the Chinese chronicle, Hanshu.36 The first mention of state rituals for the purpose of the Ming auxiliary troops appears in Sŏnjo shillok in the second month of 1593.37 The Border Defense Council presented a memorial proposing to erect a stone monument bearing an inscription honoring Supreme Commander (Ch. Tidu) Li Rusong of Ming China and proposing that his portrait be commissioned and enshrined in a saengsa. As is well known, in the twelfth month of 1592, Li Rusong led an army of 40,000 men drawn together as an “Eastern Expedition Army,” crossed the Yalu River, and recaptured P’yŏngyang in the first month of 1593.38 Li Rusong had serving directly under him the Left Commander Yang Yuan, the Middle Commander Li Rubo, and the Right Commander Zhang Shijue. It is important to note that the Chosŏn government first put a plan forward to have a saengsa constructed for Li Rusong rather than the Minister of War (Ch. Bingbu Shangshu) Shi Xing, who was included as an after-thought. King Sŏnjo authorized this plan to go ahead, but it took some time before the Muyŏlsa shrine was finally completed. Nakamura Hidetaka observed that the exact establishment of the Muyŏlsa shrine “is not clear.”39 The following 1593 extract from Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok illustrates the point: Li Rusong was outstanding in appearance and magnanimous in character … Later, under the command of his majesty the king, a shrine dedicated to Shi Xing and Li Rusong was erected in P’yŏngyang, and Li Rubo, Zhang Shijue, and Yang Yuan were also enshrined as subsidiaries. In the

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Kuwano Eiji hall of prayers a plaque was hung, inscribed with the characters muyŏl [military passion or merit].40

Taedong chiji by Kim Chŏngho, completed in 1864, mentions the installation and worship of memorial tablets for the five heroes in the Muyŏlsa shrine: Shi Xing, Li Rusong, and the three Ming commanders in 1593.41 The gazetteer compilation Yŏji tosŏ, from the Yŏngjo period (1724–76), mentions the construction in 1593 by Governor Yi Wŏn’ik.42 Certainly, Yi Wŏn’ik was in service as both the civil and military governor of P’yŏng’an Province at the time, and he recaptured P’yŏngyang with Li Rusong.43 These notes make it appear that the Muyŏlsa shrine was built in 1593, but the completion seems to have been much later. The available evidence is vague and lacks sufficient detail to determine the matter. Concrete debate over the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine appears in the veritable records from 1594. In that year the Chosŏn government decided to authorize the worship of Shi Xing and Li Rusong in the same shrine in P’yŏngyang: The Border Defense Council memorialized His Majesty, “Minister Shi is the one who deserves the greatest accolade, because it was he who helped us in the beginning by defying a barrage of counter-arguments and sending an army. We must have a tablet prepared in his name, have it enshrined alongside Supreme Commander Li and the other three commanders, and offer rites. That would represent our most earnest and respectful feelings towards him.” The king replied, “Do just that. But I feel that three commanders are too many, so discuss the matter further.”44 Originally, the Border Defense Council had planned to enshrine Li Rusong in P’yŏngyang, but they were now considering the outstanding qualities of the Ming Minister of War Shi Xing. King Sŏnjo approved of this but expressed reservations about rites for “the three commanders,” Li Rubo, Zhang Shijue, and Yang Yuan. It is quite possible that the difference of opinion was the reason behind the delay in the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine. When the new year arrived, King Sŏnjo sent an official note to the Royal Secretariat (K. Sŭngjŏngwŏn): The matter regarding Minister Shi’s saengsa has been finalized. Although we cannot build a saengsa for any other Ming generals, Minister Shi and Commander Li will be commemorated together. There will be a state ritual performed in their honor before the Celestial Ambassador comes to court. This news must be communicated to the “civilized men” [hwa’in or Ming Chinese].45

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King Sŏnjo was in favor of holding commemorative services for Shi Xing and Li Rusong, but delayed a decision about doing the same for Li Rubo, Zhang Shijue, and Yang Yuan. It must be noted, however, that neither Li Rusong’s portrait nor a stone monument bearing an inscription had been prepared at that point. A stonemason was standing by with a suitable stone to start work on the stele in P’yŏngyang, but he had to wait for the return of the Minister of Rites Yun Kŭnsu, who was away in Beijing on a mission, before he could inscribe Yun’s commemorative message on the stone.46 Thus a realistic date of commencement for the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine was after the first month of 1595. Another reason for delays in the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine was resistance or dissatisfaction from among the commanders. Among the three commanders, Yang Yuan made the following objections to the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine. As he was one of the people to be worshipped there, his comments are rather interesting. I have heard that in Chosŏn, you paint a portrait of commanders and hang that in the shrine, but today the merit accruing from the subjugation of the enemy lies with the martial prowess (K. wimu) of the Ming Emperor. Why are you denigrating the achievements of His Majesty and talking of my strength?47 Yang Yuan emphasized the Wanli emperor’s “martial prowess,”48 but herein we can find a hint of jealousy directed towards Li Rusong. Again, it seems that the construction date of the Muyŏlsa shrine is unclear from this evidence, but there is more information that does allow a rough estimate. A Korean veritable record source dating after this time tells us that Chŏng Kiwŏn, the Sixth Royal Secretary of the Royal Secretariat (Sŭngjŏngwŏn Tongbusŭngji), was in China as Sŏnjo’s royal envoy. He was delivering a message from his government, asking for military support in preparation for Japan’s renewed attack. On this occasion, Chŏng Kiwŏn said to Yang Yuan, “We cannot forget the achievements of Li Rusong, so we have built a shrine in his honor in P’yŏngyang.”49 It was in the eleventh month of 1596 that Chŏng Kiwŏn went to China under King Sŏnjo’s command, following the breakdown of the peace negotiations between China and Japan.50 We can deduce from this that by the eleventh month of 1596, at the latest, the construction of the Muyŏlsa shrine had been completed in P’yŏngyang. Afterwards, news arrived in Chosŏn of Shi Xing’s dismissal as Minister of War, having been held responsible for the breakdown of peace negotiations between China and Japan in 1597. Two years later, a report arrived stating that he had died in prison.51 Li Rusong, on the other hand, was a KoreanChinese, and according to T’aengniji (1754, by Yi Chunghwan), Li Rusong always used to say, “I am Korean in origin.”52 Chonju hwip’yŏn (c.1830) reports that in the Yŏngjo era, Li Rusong was enshrined at the Taebodan as a

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subordinate to Emperor Wanli.53 The Chosŏn government rated the achievements of Li Rusong, who actively took charge of the situation in Korea, higher than those of Shi Xing, who commanded the military rescue from his desk in Beijing. The construction of the Sŏnmusa shrine Following the end of the Imjin Waeran, in 1599, the Chosŏn government enshrined Military Commissioner (Ch. Junmen) Xing Jie in Hansŏng.54 This was the Sŏnmusa shrine. The conditions under which it was built, however, were different from the Muyŏlsa shrine in P’yŏngyang. The idea of erecting the Sŏnmusa shrine did not come from the Chosŏn government but was constructed at the request of the Ming official himself. According to Sŏnjo shillok, the Border Defense Council addressed the following to the king: It was the Military Commissioner himself who told us to prepare a shrine and poetry in his honor. It would be wise to do as he says quickly to placate him. The problem is that if we prepare a shrine and poetry for the Military Commissioner, the commanders of the four route armies [east, middle, west, and water made up the “Eastern Expedition Army”] will undoubtedly want to be treated in the same way. An uncomfortable situation will arise if we treat them unfairly, for those who are denied their shrine and poetry will become indignant. What I suggest is, first, tell the Military Commissioner about our plan to build his shrine and then be slow about painting his portrait and constructing the building. As for the poetry, that should be composed first and sent to him. The King agreed and ordered it done.55 It is clear that the Border Defense Council, unwilling to accept Xing Jie’s request straight away, advised King Sŏnjo to deal with the painting of the portrait and the construction of the shrine with discretion. Although the portrait and the shrine were both completed about six months later in the ninth month of 1599, the ceremonial program, the offerings to be placed in front of the altar, and even the name for the shrine remained undecided. The comptroller of state rituals, the Board of Rites, memorialized the following to the king: Because the portrait has been finished, we should hang it in the shrine, but the protocol for the rite has not been completed, so we have delayed matters until the present. Now, considering carefully the guidelines for the shrine that celebrates Supreme Commander Li [Rusong] [emphasis added], it appears that the ceremony should take place on a designated day in the middle of every second month [mid-spring] and eighth month [mid-autumn]. We should prepare the offerings to be placed in front of

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the altar according to Jingzhonglu [1585] and in consideration of our own military rites (K. tukche). The decision over the name of the shrine has been assigned to the Office of Royal Decrees.56 The Muyŏlsa shrine that celebrated Li Rusong and others served as a model when the Board of Rites was considering how the Sŏnmusa shrine rites should be performed. The memorial above makes it clear that the offerings at the Muyŏlsa shrine were decided in accordance with the guidelines specified in Jingzhonglu,57 and that the ceremony structure was organized with the tukche military rites in mind. The character tuk refers to military banners and che to rites. During King Sejong’s reign (1418–50), the military rites were classified as low ritual in the official directory of state rituals.58 Since Koreans had no precedent in worshipping a historical figure as a military god, they followed the example of the Chinese and worshipped military standards that symbolized war gods. Evidently, the Board of Rites had conducted a thorough survey into matters relating to the shrine. For the Chosŏn government, this would be the first time it had conducted state rituals to enshrine a portrait dedicated to a living person. For this reason, the Border Defense Council asked King Sŏnjo to have the Board of Rites conduct deliberations. Not only the Border Defense Council and the Board of Rites, but the king as well exercised caution in this matter and sent the following directive to the Royal Secretariat (Sŭngjŏngwŏn): On the day when we hang the portraits in the shrine we should compose a special address as the ceremonial statement for the enshrined spirits, dispatch an official, and have him read it. This is not just ceremonial liturgy, but is also done in hopes that our resident generals will hear of it. Discuss this proposal and tell me what you think.59 All this would not matter so much if the Ming armies had already withdrawn, but they were still in the country. For this reason, King Sŏnjo must have been carefully considering the ceremonial questions in connection with the presence of the Ming generals. Above all, he pressed for the content of the special address to avoid any disparagement of dignity (K. ch’aemyŏn).60 There is a difference between preserving “dignity” and “remembrance and adoration for the Chinese.” In response to the king’s directive, the Board of Rites offered a compromise proposal stating, to compose a special address as the ceremonial statement and go into detail regarding the intentions behind establishing the shrine with its portrait and reading this on the day of enshrinement should pose no conflict with the annual recitation of the memorial statement already sanctioned by His Majesty. The king accepted this.61

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It is obvious that the Board of Rites structured the Sŏnmusa shrine ceremony according to the precedent of the Muyŏlsa shrine in P’yŏngyang, but there was another similarity. Let us return to the expression in the Korean veritable records for the Muyŏlsa shrine, “the shrine that celebrates Supreme Commander Li [Rusong].” Although the memorial tablet celebrating Shi Xing was dominant over the others enshrined in the Muyŏlsa shrine in P’yŏngyang,62 the Chosŏn government favored the subordinate Li Rusong, and this is why the veritable records refer to the Muyŏlsa shrine in this fashion. The Sŏnmusa shrine was to have a similar favorite who was also a subordinate deity. In the seventh month of 1604, Sŏnjo commanded that Yang Hao, a Commissioner (Ch. Jingli) for the Ming government, also be honored as a subordinate hero in the Sŏnmusa shrine.63 Yang Hao is famous for directing an army of elite troops to Mount Chiksan in Ch’ungch’ŏng Province where they successfully blocked Japanese troops from advancing on Hansŏng.64 The Chosŏn government may have constructed the Sŏnmusa shrine in compliance with the wish of the Ming generals, but the idea to revere Yang Hao was Sŏnjo’s own. In the tenth month of 1599, Sŏnjo instructed the Royal Secretariat to have the four characters that meant “rebuilding a vassal country” (K. chaejo pŏnbang), which he had personally brushed, carved on a board for display at the Sŏnmusa shrine.65 The four characters signified that the suzerain state, China, had reconstructed its subordinate, bulwark state, Chosŏn.66 The meaning of the four characters becomes clear from the internal debate over the installation of Yang Hao. In this connection, let us consider King Sŏnjo’s memoranda (K. pi’manggi) to the Royal Secretariat. In 1597, Namwŏn fell, and the bandit forces were victorious and streaming northwards. They were pressing on Kijŏn. The local people had fled into hiding and the capital was in a panic. At that moment, Commissioner Yang [Hao] came to our aid from P’yŏngyang. He donned his armor and covered twice the distance in half the time, entering the capital and taking command. He distributed the commanders between Ch’ŏn’an and Chiksan for an ambush, put the bandits in a pincer, and defeated them. Because of this, the capital was secured and we restored our superior position … In the old days, as soon as a shrine was built, we always chose subordinates to be worshipped alongside the main figures, but the Sŏnmusa has no subordinate. I wish to put forward Commissioner Yang to take this subsidiary position. Discuss this widely and report to me. If it is deemed satisfactory, tell the Border Defense Council to determine how the Winter Envoy to Ming China could bring back a portrait [of Yang Hao].67 Send my most loyal officials to the Sŏnmusa and have them perform rites. As for the shrines dedicated to the Celestial (Ming) soldiers, the Minch’ungdan, send bureaucrats to the shrine in Hansŏng, and for those

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in the provinces, appoint provincial governors and county magistrates as celebrants.68 King Sŏnjo addressed the first paragraph of the above extracts to the Border Defense Council and the second to the Board of Rites. On receiving this royal directive, the Board of Rites replied, “Rites have already been performed at the Sŏnmusa shrine, so it would be proper, from the perspectives of both sentiment and decorum, to hold rites at the Muyŏlsa shrine as well.” The king responded to this advice by ordering that specially chosen government officials from Hansŏng be sent to conduct the Muyŏlsa rites.69 It was clear that, in the Chosŏn period, the two state rituals – the Sŏnmusa and the Muyŏlsa – were closely related. No record exists in the Korean veritable records for 1604 of how the rituals honoring Ming soldiers at the Minch’ungdan (to be discussed below) were conducted in either Hansŏng or the provinces. The Border Defense Council’s reply to the king was slightly later than that from the Board of Rites. The Border Defense Council raised no objections to the king’s wishes in both matters, the appointing of Yang Hao as a subsidiary god and acquiring a portrait of him.70 On the contrary, the Border Defense Council assessed the achievements of Yang Hao – that he helped rebuild Chosŏn – very highly, even to the extent of recommending that he be made the main deity in the Sŏnmusa shrine. As they did for the Muyŏlsa shrine, the Chosŏn government attached more importance to the subsidiary deity in the Sŏnmusa shrine, Yang Hao, than to its primary deity, Xing Jie. The following provides an insight into the level of respect Yang Hao had won. Yang Hao left Chosŏn, having been dismissed from his post. His majesty the king led all the officials [outside the city walls] as far as the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador (K. Hongjewŏn)71 shedding tears to bid final farewell to Yang Hao. The townsfolk of Hansŏng, both men and women, shook their heads in despair, and the elderly went out from the city walls reciting prayers for Yang Hao’s safe journey. In recognition of the illustrious career of Yang Hao, our country has erected a stone stele in the Mohwa’gwan extolling his accomplishments and the officials composed poetry as a parting gift.72 The above extract is taken from Shin Kyŏng’s Chaejo pŏnbangji, a work that documents the relationship between Korea and China during the Imjin Waeran. It was published in 1753 in Yŏngch’ŏn, Kyŏngsang Province.73 According to Shin Kyŏng, an erudite pundit of the early seventeenth century, Yang Hao’s sacking was a result of slander, and he went back to China in the eighth month of 1598.74 King Sŏnjo, very sorry to have to part with the Chinese hero, traveled beyond the city walls of his capital to see him off, even as far as the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador. Shin states that the Chosŏn government erected a stele in honor of the Chinese general. This

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memorial tablet was later transferred to the Sŏnmusa shrine on the occasion of the Taebodan ritual in 1764.75 The Sŏnmusa shrine and the Muyŏlsa shrine in the early half of the seventeenth century Now let us turn our attention to how the dynastic government after King Sŏnjo dealt with the Sŏnmusa shrine and the Muyŏlsa shrine ceremonies. From the first half of the seventeenth century, hardly any Korean veritable records regarding the shrines are left. From the King Kwanghae era, only the following record from 1614 appears. Repair work on the Nampyŏlgung, the Taep’yŏnggwan, the Kwanwangmyo, the Sŏnmusa, and the Yang Ŏsa [Ch. Yang Hao] memorial tablet building are carried out without fail when we expect a visit from the Ming envoy, but once he leaves, the buildings once again fall into decay. From now on, give strict orders to the ministry responsible for maintaining these properties so that they are kept in good condition.76 This kingly directive dating from 1614 was omitted from the later manuscript version of Kwanghaegun ilgi or the Chŏngjoksan archive manuscript for unknown reasons. At the time, King Kwanghae raised questions about the maintenance of the two diplomatic residential buildings used for Ming embassies, the Nampyŏlgung and the Taep’yŏnggwan. He also mentioned the Kwanwangmyo shrine, the Sŏnmusa shrine, and the Yang Ŏsa memorial tablet building, which were institutions connected with the Chinese military aid during the Imjin Waeran. The Nampyŏlgung was an alternative royal residence, but during the Imjin Waeran the Supreme Commander of the Japanese army, Ukita Hideie, and his Chinese equivalent, Li Rusong, both billeted there.77 Afterwards, the successive Korean kings received ambassadors from Ming and Qing at the Nampyŏlgung. The Taep’yŏnggwan was built as a reception hall for Ming envoys.78 The Yang Ŏsa stele was erected in 1612 by the Chosŏn government honoring Yang Hao. It was placed beside the Mohwa’gwan, an arrival and departure reception hall for Ming envoys.79 The Chosŏn government erected all these buildings for the benefit of its suzerain state, Ming China. Some time later, when news reached his court that a Ming envoy was coming, King Kwanghae had repair work carried out on the East Kwanwangmyo shrine and the Yang Hao tablet hall.80 Hence, we can see from King Kwanghae’s directive the solicitous concern of the Chosŏn kingdom towards Ming China. At the same time, it speaks of negligence following the Imjin Waeran towards the buildings with Chinese diplomatic and military associations. In the succeeding King Injo period (1623–49) are two Korean veritable record entries relating to the Muyŏlsa shrine and Sŏnmusa shrine. The following extract from Governor Chang Shin’s report from P’yŏng’an Province illustrates the state of the Muyŏlsa shrine after the Manchu invasion of 1627.

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The Muyŏlsa of P’yŏngyang is actually a shrine for the five generals of the Eastern Expedition at the time of the Imjin Waeran. The shrine structure survived the 1627 Manchu invasion, but of the five portraits only the one of Minister Shi [Xing] remains unimpaired. Li Rubo’s portrait is missing from the waist down, and we do not know what has become of the remaining three. Sooner or later, we are bound to receive an envoy from Ming China, and even at this moment we have a “Tang general” [Ming general] staying here. Someone will notice the missing portraits. Please have deliberations begun in the appropriate ministry [about what to do].81 When Chang Shin wrote this in 1634, seven years had elapsed since the 1627 Manchu invasion, and the 1636 Manchu invasion was still two years in the future. In the confusing aftermath of the 1627 invasion, the three missing portraits of the Ming generals could not be traced. For the seven years following the end of the first Manchu invasion in 1627, the Muyŏlsa services in P’yŏngyang must surely have been greatly inconvenienced by the missing portraits. The Board of Rites responded to this problem by restoring Li Rubo’s portrait, and it finally conceded, though reluctantly, to have memorial steles prepared to substitute for the missing three portraits.82 The Muyŏlsa shrine portraits were not the only loss. Another record from the King Injo period states that the Sŏnmusa shrine was also stripped of its portraits, probably destroyed by fire when the Qing army invaded Chosŏn, and the celebrants found it very difficult to perform the services. The Chosŏn government, however, could not suddenly abolish the services. The Board of Rites had memorial steles erected to replace the missing portraits and requested that the services continue as before. King Injo approved this,83 but it is probable that during that period, the Sŏnmusa shrine ceremonies were discontinued.

The Minch’ungdan shrine: the ritual protocol for the worship of the Ming war dead The establishment of the Minch’ungdan shrine Although the state ritual for the Minch’ungdan is not specified in the Kukcho sok oryeŭi, it is also a ritual institution closely associated with the Imjin Waeran. In 1593, after the outbreak of the war, the Ming Ministry of Rites (Ch. Libu) memorialized the Wanli emperor asking for the establishment of the Minch’ungdan shrine. Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok concisely records the circumstances as follows. When the [Ming] Ministry of Rites memorialized the emperor that they wished to honor their war dead by creating shrines in P’yŏngyang, Kaesŏng, Pyŏkche, and Hansŏng, the emperor replied, “Call each of them the Altars of Grieving for Loyalty (K. Minch’ungdan shrine)” and

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Kuwano Eiji gave his blessing. The Ministry of Rites was given government silver to prepare the offering utensils for the ceremonies.84

Just as it was for the Sŏnmusa shrine and Kwanwangmyo shrine, the founding of the Minch’ungdan shrine was not initiated by the Chosŏn government. Not only that, but the Wanli emperor himself handed down the name. The fact that the Ming government subsidized the acquisition of the offering utensils must have appeared to the Koreans at least as a saving grace. The object of worship was not a specific Ming general, but the members of the Chinese army who died in the conflict, and the Korean veritable records describe the Minch’ungdan shrine as “celestial court created shrines for the celestial soldier war dead. We call these the Minch’ungdan.”85 Actually, in the first month of 1593, a fierce battle between the Chinese and Japanese armies unfolded near Pyŏkchegwan in Koyang County, Kyŏnggi Province.86 On the first day of the tenth month of 1593, when Sŏnjo returned to Hansŏng from his refuge in Ŭiju, P’yŏng’an Province, the first thing he did was to go to the Mohwa’gwan and thank the emperor, performing four kowtows.87 Then he commanded that a shrine be erected in Pyŏkche to honor the Ming soldiers who died there.88 There is no doubt that the Chosŏn government established the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony in response to the Ming Ministry of Rites’ request, but the extract from Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, quoted above, is too brief to substantiate further exactly which side initiated the matter. The letters from the Liaodong Regional Military Commission (Ch. Liaodong duzhi huishisi or Liaodong dusi) addressed to the Korean king are a good source to consult on matters such as the scale of the Minch’ungdan shrine, its purpose, and practices. These diplomatic letters are found in the collection of Chosŏn–Ming diplomatic documents called Sadae mun’gwe, compiled around 1619.89 It is highly likely that during the process of compiling the Sadae mun’gwe the compilers used record copies (K. tŭngnok) kept in the Office of Diplomatic Correspondence (Sŭngmunwŏn).90 The earlier extract from Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok was based on these diplomatic letters.91 According to the series of letters exchanged between the Korean king and the Liaodong Regional Military Commission in Sadae mun’gwe, Ming China communicated to Chosŏn the following four points: (1) In China, each district, province, and prefecture has their own “shrine to appease the dead” (K. yŏ) and state rituals are performed in the spring and autumn in order to pacify the spirits of the dead.92 That being so, we will set up four shrines in Chosŏn, in P’yŏngyang, Kaesŏng, Pyŏkche, and Hansŏng.93 (2) The dimensions of the ceremonial grounds shall be 20 zhang (approx. 60 m) deep by 10 zhang (approx. 30 m) wide. The altar shall be 4 che (approx. 1.2 m) high and its width 4 zhang (approx. 12 m).94 (3) A name-board reading “minzhong” (K. minch’ung) shall be put up on the south side of the shrine gate, and around the four sides of the ground shall be erected steles with the inscription, “A stele in remembrance of the Great Ming troops who died in the war to subdue the east.” (4) For the time being, a member of the Liaodong Regional Military Commission will be dispatched as a celebrant. Sending a celebrant each year,

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however, will become tedious, so we will send silver back with one of your Korean tribute envoys so that you can finance the ceremonies. The Minch’ungdan shrine ceremonies, therefore, were fundamentally memorial services for the deceased Ming soldiers. From the point of view of the Ming government, an element of appeasement must have been a contributory element when they founded this ritual, because there had been many disgruntled soldiers who were unhappy to be sent abroad to fight,95 and that is why the Ming government was very keen to institute this ritual. For example, we know that in 1595 Ming Commander (Ch. Youji) Chen Yunhong held a memorial service for the war dead at the Minch’ungdan shrine in P’yŏngyang and Pyŏkche. In P’yŏngyang the Ming general Zu Chengxun was defeated by the Japanese; at Pyŏkchegwan, Li Rusong was also overwhelmed by a Japanese force. The fact that the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremonies were held under the directives of the Ming government can be confirmed from the report written by Yi Shibal, who was the Escort Commissioner (K. chŏppansa, a temporary appointment for the purpose of entertaining foreign embassies) assigned to Chen Yunhong. Today, the Commander [Chen Yunhong] held a Minch’ungdan ceremony at the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador [outside the city walls of Hansŏng]. He formulated his own ceremony, and commanded that the rites be conducted accordingly hereafter. He had me pray at his side, and later said to me, “I would like to erect a stone memorial on this spot, and I would like to inscribe on the stone that I had been given an imperial command to conduct this service and that I did so.” Please have the appropriate agencies carry out his wish as quickly as possible.96 The Minch’ungdan shrine was erected near the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador. The points we can glean from this report in particular are first, the ceremony was drawn up by a Ming general, not the Chosŏn government, and second, the Wanli emperor sent a military official to Chosŏn as the celebrant. They both underline the fact that, fundamentally, it was the Ming government that sponsored and carried out the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremonies. Although Commander Chen insisted on the “emperor’s command,” he took the matter to heart. The letter that the Liaodong Regional Military Commission sent to King Sŏnjo recorded the ceremonial utensils and the official statement of condolence (to be read in front of the spirits in the ritual), and starts with the sentence, “The Emperor sends an officer from the Liaodong Regional Military Commission who will conduct a memorial service for those who lost their lives in the war in Korea.”97 To summarize, not only the name Minch’ungdan shrine, but everything related to this ritual – the celebrant, the statement of condolence, the financing of the offerings – was prepared in accordance to the Chinese emperor’s orders. In a reply to the Liaodong Regional Military Commission, King Sŏnjo wrote, “I graciously accept his majesty’s kindness and compassion that have

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moved me to tears.”98 It becomes clear later, when we examine the practice of the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony, that this emotional response from King Sŏnjo was merely a diplomatic guise. The revival of the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony A seventy-year gap yawns in the Korean veritable records before the next mention of the Minch’ungdan shrine in 1668. The reason for this can be surmised from the following entry. His majesty the King has commanded a performance of the Minch’ungdan ceremony. The shrine is situated near the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador. Following the Imjin Waeran, Ming China founded an altar to commemorate the deaths of their soldiers who fought in the Eastern Campaign. Our country inherited these rites and observed them, but by the time of the 1636 Manchu invasion, they had ceased to be observed. Minister Kim Chwamyŏng of the Board of Taxation [K. Hojo] has called for a revival of the ceremony.99 Apparently, the Mingch’ungdan rites were suspended and resumed in 1668.100 The exact date of suspension is not known, but it is clear that the practice of the Mingch’ungdan ceremony had died out before the Manchu invasion in 1636. In those days, the memorial tablets of the Chinese war dead were enshrined in the innermost sanctum (the spirit’s chamber) in Pongsangsa shrine, but details of the services were apparently not recorded in the official directory of state rituals.101 Of course, from the time of the Manchu invasion, Chosŏn’s suzerain state changed from Ming to Qing. The Minch’ungdan shrine was originally established as a result of Ming government desires, so now there was no pressing need for the Chosŏn government to appease the dead spirits of Ming soldiers. Ming collapsed, ceasing to be Chosŏn’s suzerain country, and Chosŏn was invaded by Qing and surrendered. Because of all these changes, it was no surprise that the Minch’ungdan shrine rituals were forgotten. Let us now turn our attention to the reasons why the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony was revived in 1668. On the surface, it appears as if the cult of adoration for Ming China (K. mo’myŏng sasang) reached new heights during King Hyŏnjong’s reign (1659–74). That, however, is not the reason. In 1668, the Korean peninsula was ravaged by famine, and contagious disease in the same year took 230 lives in Kyŏngsang Province.102 Stories of how Kim Chwamyŏng helped the people of Hansŏng and Kyŏnggi by handing out bowls of rice porridge reached the king.103 The Korean veritable records report the “great famine” in Kyŏnggi, Hwanghae, and Ch’ungch’ŏng provinces and speaks of the severity of contagious diseases.104 The Chosŏn government responded to this emergency by sending very senior officials (Sr. 2) to the Yŏdan Altar in the northern suburb of Hansŏng to conduct the yŏje rites.105 They also sent officials (K. oktang) from the Office of Special Advisors to pacify the

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war dead at the five places that became the center of fighting in the Manchu invasion: Hŏmch’ŏn River and Sangnyŏng Mountain in Kwangju in Kyŏnggi Province, Kŭmhwa in Kangwŏn Province, T’osan in Hwanghae Province, and Kanghwa Island in Kyŏnggi Province.106 Because Chosŏn did not have descendants who would pay homage to the Ming soldiers who fought in the Imjin Waeran, the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony took on a similar character to that performed at the Yŏdan Altar. The Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony owes its revival to this series of developments under King Hyŏnjong. Chosŏn, however, suffered a further setback in 1670; this time from drought. The Chosŏn government organized prayers for rainfall in Hansŏng but no time was found for ceremonies outside the capital. An official from the Office of the Inspector General memorialized the king on this occasion: “It is precisely at times like this, when natural disasters have struck, that we should restore our lapsed ceremonies.” The Chosŏn government sent trusted officials to Namwŏn in Chŏlla Province and Chinju in Kyŏngsang Province, places where bloody battles were fought in the Imjin Waeran, in order to appease the spirits of the soldiers who died there. The model for these prayers was the “encouragement” rites performed in 1668.107 The Chosŏn government had always reacted sensitively to natural disasters. For example, King T’aejong (r. 1400–18), who was profoundly influenced by the idea of divine punishment, revived the ritual of the state worship of Heaven (Wŏn’gudan) as a prayer for rain.108 In the King Hyŏnjong period, the revival of the Minch’ungdan shrine ceremony at the time of famine and then drought refreshed memories of the Imjin Waeran in the minds of the Confucian officials. In the year following the drought (1671) the Chosŏn government ordered the “encouragement” rites to be carried out in Hansŏng and the provinces. They took the rites of 1668 as an example, and sent senior ministers to be celebrants at the Minch’ungdan shrine.109 The “provinces” here refers to the twelve sites that became the battlegrounds for the Imjin Waeran (Chinju, Namwŏn, Kŭmsan, Talch’ŏn, Sangju, Wŏnju, Ulsan) and the Manchu invasion of 1636 (Hŏmch’ŏn, Sangnyŏng, Kŭmhwa, T’osan, and Kanghwa). All these sites were described as “places where the king’s troops perished.”110 Considering these developments, we can confidently say that there was a revival of the Minch’ungdan shrine rites in the King Hyŏnjong period, and that there was also heightened awareness towards those who died in the two conflicts. However, the revival of the Minch’ungdan shrine ritual instigated by Minister Kim Chwamyŏng of the Board of Taxation in 1668 was part of a relief program to combat famine. Famine and drought lay behind the resurrection of a custom that had once died out, rather than the promotion of a cult of adoration for Ming China. It would be correct to say that, in the early seventeenth century, the Minch’ungdan shrine rites had been forgotten by Korean society. As with the Kwanwangmyo shrine and the Sŏnmusa shrine, the Minch’ungdan shrine also became a focus of attention during the King

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Yŏngjo period (r. 1724–76) when there was much structural enlargement in the organization of the Taebodan rituals.111 T’aesangji, completed in 1873, explains the Minch’ungdan shrine: “The altar is to the right of the Guest House for the Chinese ambassador. It originally celebrated the dead soldiers of the Great Ming, but these rites have been stopped.”112 The memorial tablets of the deceased Chinese soldiers at first lay in the inner sanctum of Pongsang-sa temple, but in 1760, the Chosŏn government moved them to the eastern side of the Sŏnmusa shrine where the Chŏngdong Kwan’gunsa (the shrine for the soldiers of the Campaign to Pacify the East) was erected.113 This was because King Yŏngjo had issued a directive saying that, since the memorials of the Ming soldiers are inscribed with the brushwork of a Ming government official, it is more appropriate that they be worshipped together with the Ming generals at the Sŏnmusa shrine.114

Conclusion This chapter examined the Chosŏn government response to Ming China during the period between the Imjin Waeran and the Ming–Qing transition from the perspective of Korean state rituals. Three types of rituals, each contributing to the distinctive character of the later Chosŏn period’s state rituals, were taken up for consideration: first, the Guan Yu cult brought to Korea by the Chinese military; second, the ceremonies for the Ming generals; and third, the memorial services for Ming soldiers who died in Korea. The results can be summarized as follows. The Kwanwangmyo shrine ritual that worshipped the military god Guan Yu had no precedent in Chosŏn. News of the Chinese devotion to Guan Yu reached Chosŏn Korea via Yu Sŏngnyong’s travel diary, the regulations in Da Ming huidian, and talks between the Korean king and the Ming generals. After the construction of the Kwanwangmyo shrine, King Sŏnjo was left with no choice but to worship Guan Yu himself together with a Ming general on the birthday of the military god. In 1598, King Sŏnjo personally officiated at the Kwanwangmyo shrine, but afterwards the Chosŏn government sent a bureaucratic representative of the king twice yearly (spring and autumn) to conduct the service. When we examine the details of the discussions held at the time, it becomes apparent that the Chosŏn government was opposed not only to the building of the South Kwanwangmyo shrine, but also to the East Kwanwangmyo shrine. The original manuscript of Kwanghaegun ilgi is particularly insightful in describing King Kwanghae’s skepticism about the Kwanwangmyo shrine. The Muyŏlsa shrine in P’yŏngyang and the Sŏnmusa shrine in Hansŏng were built specifically for worship of the Ming commanders and generals. It is probable that the Muyŏlsa shrine was built some time between the first month of 1595 and the eleventh month of 1596. The Chosŏn government enshrined the Ming Minister of War Shi Xing, Supreme Commander Li Rusong, and three other lesser generals in the Muyŏlsa shrine. Of the five, Li Rusong commanded most respect from the Koreans, because he had actually taken the

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role of leader on the warfront. In the King Yŏngjo period, Li Rusong was honored in the Taebodan as a secondary figure to the Wanli emperor. While the Chosŏn government built the Sŏnmusa shrine in Hansŏng in 1599 to honor Military Commissioner Xing Jie and later Commissioner Yang Hao, King Sŏnjo held the subsidiary figure, Yang Hao, in greater regard. When Yang Hao was dismissed from his post due to slander and was departing for China, the Korean government erected a stele in his honor. Although both the Muyŏlsa shrine and the Sŏnmusa shrine were built to demonstrate Chosŏn’s respect and gratitude to the Ming troops, they were built under very different conditions. The Sŏnmusa shrine was not proposed by the Chosŏn government; it was the Ming generals themselves who requested it. During the King Kwanghae era, the administration of such institutions became very lax, and the situation was aggravated by the Manchu invasion of 1636, so much so that it posed a threat to the performance of rituals at these shrines. The Chosŏn government stepped in by replacing the portraits damaged by fire with tablets so that services could be continued at both the Muyŏlsa shrine and the Sŏnmusa shrine. The Minch’ungdan shrine did not commemorate specific Ming generals, but rather ordinary Chinese soldiers who participated in the Korean campaign. In 1593, four Minch’ungdan shrines were erected (P’yŏngyang, Kaesŏng, Pyŏkche, and Hansŏng) in response to a request by the Ming Ministry of Rites to the Wanli emperor. Aware that they had to somehow mitigate the sorrow and displeasure of their soldiers, the Ming government supported the institutions willingly, offering a celebrant, preparing the prayers, and even paying for the offerings. Despite this, the shrines fell into disrepair from before the 1636 Manchu invasion. The Minch’ungdan shrine, being essentially an institution promoted by Ming China, fell prey to negligence, particularly after the Ming–Qing transition. The Minch’ungdan shrine services were revived in 1668, but behind that revival was famine and drought that brought havoc to the Korean peninsula. The Chosŏn government hoped to instill a sense of security in its people by resuscitating discontinued rituals. A possible explanation as to why the service started to take on a different structure, one that was more akin to the more generalized rites of “encouragement” in times of duress, is because the dead Chinese soldiers enshrined in the Minch’ungdan shrine had no descendants in Korea. Consequently, it is difficult to relate directly the revival of Minch’ungdan shrine ritual during the reign of King Hyŏnjong with a heightening of admiration for Ming China.

Notes A version of this chapter was published as “Chōsen kōki ni okeru kokka saishi girei no hendō: Jinshin Waran chokugo no Chōsen to Min,” Kurume daigaku bungakubu kiyō, kokusai bunka gakka hen, 23 (2006): 31–53. Translated by Nakajima Sanae and Rachel Payne with James B. Lewis. 1 On Kukcho oryeŭi, see Yi Pŏmjik, Han’guk chungserye sasang yon’gu, 1991, pp. 377–9, and Kuwano Eiji, “Chōsen jidai no kokka saishi to jukyō,” 2003, pp. 37–41. 2 For a discussion of the editing process, see Yi Yŏngch’un, “Chosŏn hugi,” 2002.

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3 See Kukcho sok oryeŭi sŏrye in Kukcho oryeŭi, 1979, fascicle 1, kirye (吉薰), pyŏnsa (辨祀), p. 584. According to Yukchŏn chorye (1869), the Kwanwangmyo was upgraded from low to middle ritual. Yukchŏn chorye, 1979, last volume, fascicle 5, yejŏn (禮典), yejo (禮曹), chŏnhyangsa (典享司), chesa (祭祀), p. 623. 4 Kukcho sok oryeŭi sŏrye, fascicle 1, kirye (吉薰), chegwan (齊官), p. 585. By the end of the nineteenth century, the rites were conducted by members of the hyangni class in Namwŏn, Chŏlla Province. See Honda Hiroshi, “Rizoku to mibun dentō no keisei,” 2004, pp. 50–4. 5 Kukcho oryeŭi sŏrye in Kukcho oryeŭi, 1979, fascicle 1, kirye (吉薰), pyŏnsa (辨祀), p. 351. 6 Kuwano Eiji, “Chōsen shoki,” 2000. 7 Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki no shiten,” 1990; and Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki ni okeru Kōrai Ō-shi saishi,” 1992. 8 Kaneko Shūichi, Kodai Chūgoku to kōtei shisai, 2001, pp. 5–11. 9 Kuwano Eiji, “Kōrai kara Richō shoki ni okeru Enkyūtan [Wŏngudan] saishi,” 1996. This article was revised and included in Kuwano Eiji, Kōrai makki kara, 2004. 10 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen ni okeru Kan-U [Guan Yu],” 1973, p. 257. 11 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen no bomin shisō,” 1972, p. 198. 12 Pak Chu, “Chosŏn Sukchong-jo,” 1980, p. 237. Chŏng Manjo, Chosŏn sidae sŏwŏn yŏn’gu, 1997, pp. 148–54. For case studies from Kyŏngsang Province, see Yamauchi Tamihiro, “Waran kiroku to kenshō, saishi,” 2003. 13 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen no bomin shisō,” 1972, pp. 210–17. Chŏng Okcha, Chosŏn hugi, 1998, p. 69. Yi T’aejin, “Chosŏn hugi tae-Min,” 1994, pp. 4–7. 14 Kuwano Eiji, “Chōsen shōchūka ishiki,” 2001. For more on the Taebodan rituals, see Yi Kŭnho, “Yŏngjo ŭi Myŏng T’aejo ihae,” 2003; Yamauchi Kōichi, Chōsen kara mita kai shisō, 2003, p. 44; Yi Yŏngch’un, “Chosŏn hugi,” 2002, pp. 211–12. 15 Inaba Iwakichi, Kōkaikun [Kwanghaegun] jidai, 1933, pp. 81–91; Yu Kusŏng, “Imnanshi Myŏngbyŏng,” 1976; and Pak Chaegwang, “Imjin Waeran yŏn’gu ŭi hyŏnhwang kwa kwaje,” 2005, pp. 50–1. 16 Kim Yongguk, “Kwanwangmyo,” 1965, pp. 13–23; Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen ni okeru Kan-U [Guan Yu],” 1973; Han Myŏnggi, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 180–4; Shim Sŭnggu, “Chosŏn hugi mumyo,” 2003, pp. 423–8. For the locations of the Kwanwangmyo, see Kim Chŏngho, Taedong yŏjido, 1936, Kyŏngjo obu (京兆五部). To the east of the Hŭng’inmun is Tongmyo, and to the south of the Sungnyemun is the Nammyo. 17 Sŏnjo shillok, 100: 18a–18b (1598.5.12). 18 Sŏnjo shillok, 100: 17b–18a (1598.5.12). On bureaucratic systems in Korea and China in the sixteenth century, see Kitajima Manji, “Jinshin Waran ki no Chōsen to Min,” 1992, pp. 159–60. 19 Sŏnjo shillok, 100:18a (1598.5.12). Yamane Yukio, Shōtoku Dai Min kaiten (Ch. Zhengde Da Ming huidian), 1989, fascicle 85, jisi (祭祀) 6, libu (禮部) 44, hesishenqi (合祀神祇) 1, houzeng shenqi (後增神祇), p. 262. 20 A 1552 edition of Zhengde Da Ming huidian is preserved in the Hōsa bunko (蓬左 文庫) in Nagoya. See Kuwano Eiji, “Chōsen ban Shōtoku dai Min kaiten,” 1998. 21 Inoue Ichitame, “Kan U [Guan Yu] shimyō,” 1937, pp. 61–5. Kojima Tsuyoshi, “Kokka saishi ni okeru gunshin no henshitsu,” 1992, p. 72. 22 Sŏaejip, 1990, fascicle 16, chapjŏ (雜著), “Ki Kwanwangmyo” (記關王廟), p. 321. 23 Sŏnjo shillok, 111:13b–14a (1599.4.17). 24 Due to heavy rain on the thirteenth day of the fifth month, the service given by King Sŏnjo was postponed until the following day. Sŏnjo shillok, 100:18b (1598.5.13); Sŏnjo shillok, 100:18b (1598.5.14). 25 Sok taejŏn, 1972, fascicle 3, yejŏn (禮典), choŭi (朝儀), p. 225.

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26 Sŏnjo shillok, 113:8a (1599.5.13). 27 Even during the Tang dynasty, deputy priests substituted for the emperor in common state rites because imperial rituals were costly. Kaneko Shūichi, Kodai Chūgoku to kōtei shisai, 2001, pp. 59–61. 28 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen ni okeru Kan-U [Guan Yu],” 1973, pp. 253–4. Shim Sŭnggu (沈勝求), “Chosŏn hugi mumyo,” 2003, pp. 425–6. 29 Sŏnjo shillok, 114:21a–21b (1599.6.22). 30 Sŏnjo shillok, 117:18a (1599.9.17). 31 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen ni okeru Kan-U [Guan Yu],” 1973, p. 257. 32 Sŏnjo shillok, 141:1a (1601.9.3). 33 Kwanghaegun ilgi, T’aebaeksan archive manuscript, 54:1a–1b (1612.6.1). 34 On the differences between the Chŏngjok-san archive text (the later manuscript version of the Kwanghaegun ilgi) and the original copy, the T’aebaeksan archive manuscript, see Suematsu Yasukazu, Chōsenshi to shiryō, 1997, pp. 342–5. 35 Kwanghaegun ilgi, T’aebaeksan archive manuscript, 54:1a–1b (1612.6.1). Kukcho sok oryeŭi sŏrye, fascicle 1, kirye (吉薰), shiil (時日), p. 584. In short, the Korean government systemised the ritual at the Kwanwangmyo as well as the Muyŏlsa following the example of the tukche or military rites (discussed below). 36 Hanshu, 1962, fascicle 71, liechuan (列傳) 41, Yu Dingguo (于定国), p. 3041. 37 Sŏnjo shillok, 35:2b (1593.2.2). 38 For the outline of the war, see Yi Kyŏngsŏk, Jinshin senranshi, 1977, pp. 181–93. 39 Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen no bomin shisō,” 1972, p. 197. 40 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 27:17b–18a (1593.9.–). 41 Taedong chiji, 1976, fascicle 21, P’yŏng’an-do, P’yŏngyang, sawŏn (祠院), Muyŏlsa (武烈祠), p. 449. 42 Yŏji tosŏ, final volume, 1973, P’yŏng’an-do, P’yŏngyang-bu, Tanmyo (壇廟), Muyŏlsa (武烈祠), p. 651. 43 Chōsen sōtokufu chūsūin, Chōsen jinmei jiten, 1937 (1972), p. 452. 44 Sŏnjo shillok, 56:29b–30a (1594.10.13). 45 Sŏnjo shillok, 59:2b (1595.1.4). 46 Sŏnjo shillok, 59:2a–3b (1595.1.6). 47 Sŏnjo shillok, 35:10b (1593.2.8). 48 Yang Yao made a similar point at a later date, again invoking the emperor’s “[martial] authority (K. wiryŏng).” Sŏnjo shillok, 35:31b–32b (1593.2.18). 49 Sŏnjo shillok, 86:26a–27a (1597.3.25). In the 1597 invasion, Chŏng Kiwŏn acted as an aide to Yang Yuan and died participating in the defense of Namwŏn. Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 31:6a (1597.9.–). Yang Yuan was held responsible for the defeat and executed. See Chōsenshi henshūkai, Ch’obon Chingbirok, 51, “the fall of Namwŏn (南原城陷)”; Sŏaejip, fascicle 16, chapchŏ (雜著), ki Namwŏn hampaesa (記南原 陷敗事). 50 Sŏnjo shillok, 82:32b (1596.11.12). 51 Liangchao pingranglu, fascicle 4, Riben shang (日本上), 1597.2.18 entry, pp. 95–8. Sŏnjo shillok, 118:21b (1599.10.17). 52 Mingshi, fascicle 238, liechuan (列傳) 126, Li Chengliang (李成梁), Li Rusong (蝗 如松), pp. 6183, 6192. T’aengniji, 1912, P’yŏng’an-do, p. 5. There is some controversy over the dating of the T’aengniji. I rely on Koishi Akiko, “Yi Chunghwan to T’aengniji,” 1985, p. 84. 53 Chonju hwip’yŏn, last volume, 1985, fascicle 8, Hwangdanji (皇壇志), Chongyang cheshin (從享諸臣), pp. 117–18. Chonju hwip’yŏn was commissioned under King Chŏngjo (r. 1776–1800) and completed under King Sunjo (r. 1800–34). For details on its compilation process, see Chŏng Okcha, Chosŏn hugi, 1998, pp. 129–40. 54 For a synopsis of the construction of the Sŏnmusa, see Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen no bomin shisō,” 1972, pp. 197–8; Han Myŏnggi, Imjin Waeran, 1999,

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pp. 82–4. The Sŏnmusa can be identified in Susŏn chŏndo by Kim Chŏngho, just to the north of the Sungnyemun (Namdaemun). See Han’guk tosŏgwanhak yŏn’guhoe, Han’guk ko chido, 1977, p. 121. Sŏnjo shillok, 107:28a (1598.12.29). Office of Royal Decrees (Yemun’gwan). Sŏnjo shillok, 117:2a–2b (1599.9.1). In order to boost troop morale, King Sŏnjo had reprinted information on the establishiment of the ancestral hall for the Southern Sung dynasty patriot Yue Fei (1103–42), who resisted the invasion of the Jin. Sŏaejip, fascicle 17, pal (跋), chŏngch’ungnokpal (精忠録跋), pp. 343–4. See also Maema Kyōsaku (前間恭作), Kosen sappu, 1944, pp. 1094–5. Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki ni okeru kokka saishi,” 1993, pp. 137–40. For Ming period rites for military standards, see Yamamoto Sakura, “Mindai no Kitōbyō,” 2004. Sŏnjo shillok, 117:18a (1599.9.17). Sŏnjo shillok, 117:18a (1599.9.17). Sŏnjo shillok, 117:18a (1599.9.17). Minister of War at the time of the Imjin Waeran, Yi Tŏkhyŏng, evaluated Shi Xing’s initial dispatch of troops and recapture of the three cities of P’yŏngyang, Kaesŏng, and Hansŏng very highly. Kwanghaegun ilgi, Chŏngjok-san archive text, 57:6a–6b (1612.9.3). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 38:5b (1604.7.–). On battle details, see Yi Kyŏngsŏk, Jinshin senranshi, 1977, pp. 629–34. Sŏnjo shillok, 118:5b (1599.10.5). Nakamura Hidetaka, “Chōsen no bomin shisō,” 1972, pp. 197–8; Han Myŏnggi, Imjin Waeran, 1999, pp. 67–8. Sŏnjo shillok, 176:6a–6b (1604.7.19). Sŏnjo shillok, 176:6b (1604.7.19). Sŏnjo shillok, 176:7b (1604.7.20). Sŏnjo shillok, 176:8b–9a (1604.7.23). According to Ch’ungwan t’onggo (compiled approx. 1788), which comprehensively surveys the state ceremonies practiced by the Chosŏn kingdom, Yang Hao’s portrait was dedicated to the Sŏnmusa in 1610. Ch’ungwan t’onggo chung, Vol. 2, 1976, fascicle 44, kirye (吉薰), Sŏnmusa (宣武 祠), p. 259. The Hongjewŏn (rendered in two ways) was the facility for the Chinese embassy to stay for the day before they entered Hansŏng and was outside the city walls to the northwest. Shinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, fascicle 3, Hansŏngbu, yŏgwŏn (驛院), Hongjewŏn (洪濟院), p. 77. Taedong chiji, fascicle 1, Hansŏngbu, kungshil (宮室), Hongjewŏn (弘濟院), p. 23. Chaejo pŏnbangji, 4:27a. In 1753, four volumes of a woodblock imprint were produced in Yŏngch’ŏn in Kyŏngsang Province. Maema Kyōsaku, Kosen sappu, 1944, Vol. 2, p. 633. Throughout this chapter, I have used the microfilm version of Chaejo pŏnbangji preserved in the Imanishi Ryū collection housed in Tenri University Library. Similar entries can be found in Yi Sŏngyŏng’s Ch’unp’adang ilwŏllok, completed in the period 1659–1720. See Book 7, Sŏnjo taewang shillok 4 (–.8.1598). The inscription on the tablet ends with the date Wanli 26 (1598, Sŏnjo 31) eighth month. Keijōfu, Keijō fushi, Vol. 1, 1934, pp. 363–5; Seoul Tŭkpyŏlshisa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, Seoul Tŭkpyŏlshisa, kojŏkp’yŏn, 1963, pp. 843–8. Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi, fascicle 1228, p. 146 (1764.3.20). Yŏngjo shillok, 103:15a–15b (1764.3.20). On the ninth plate of the Tosŏng taejido, between the Sahyŏn and the Mohwa’gwan, can be seen the Pigak. This is most likely Commissioner Yang’s stele. See Seoul Yŏksa Pangmulgwan, Tosŏng taejido, 2004. Yi Sangt’ae’s essay (“Tosŏng taejido e kwanhan yŏn’gu”) in the same volume places the date of composition of Tosŏng taejido as no earlier than 1753 and no later than 1764 (pp. 72, 77). Kwanghaegun ilgi, T’aebaeksan archive manuscript, 79:4b–5a (1614.6.12).

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77 Taedong chiji, fascicle 1, Hansŏngbu, kungshil (宮室), Nampyŏlgung (南別宮), p. 23. 78 Shinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam, fascicle 3, Hansŏngbu, kungshil (宮室), Taep’yŏnggwan (大平館), p. 69. Taedong chiji, fascicle 1, Hansŏngbu, kungshil (宮室), Taep’yŏnggwan (大平館), p. 23. 79 Kwanghaegun ilgi, Chŏngjoksan archive text, 54:6a (1612.6.4). Taedong chiji, fascicle 1, Hansŏngbu, Kungshil (宮室), Mohwa’gwan Pigak (慕華館碑閣), p. 23. 80 Kwanghaegun ilgi, Chŏngjoksan archive text, 134:12a (1618.11.18). 81 Injo shillok, 29:5b (1634.2.19). 82 Injo shillok, 29:5b (1634.2.19). 83 Injo shillok, 34:59b–60a (1637.5.18). 84 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 27:9b (1593.4.–). 85 Sŏnjo shillok, 71:21a (1596.1.16). 86 On battle details, see Yi Kyŏngsŏk, Jinshin senranshi, 1977, pp. 206–13. 87 Sŏnjo shillok, 43:1a (1593.10.1). 88 Sŏnjo shillok, 43:1a (1593.10.1). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok, 27:18a (1593.10.–). See also Yi Kyŏngsŏk, Jinshin senranshi, 1977, pp. 166–9. 89 Sadae mun’gwe, 12:23b–27a (1594.11.28): Ryodong toji hwisasaja Chosŏn kukwang (遼東都指揮使司咨朝鮮國王); Sadae mun’gwe, 12:27a–29b (1595.2.16): Chosŏn kugwangja Ryodong toji hwisasa (朝鮮國王咨遼東都指揮使司). 90 Nakamura Hidetaka, Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, Vol. 2, 1969, p. 398. The Sŭngmunwŏn was the office that managed the composition of diplomatic correspondence for China and Japan. Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki ni okeru Shōbun’in [Sŭngmunwŏn],” 1994, pp. 37–46. 91 Sŏnjo shillok, 45:52b–53b (1593.intercalary 11.20) also contains a summary of the record in the Sadae mun’gwe. 92 “Yŏ (厲)” refers to a fierce god with no offspring who requires placating and includes war casualties. Zhengde Da Ming huidian, Vol. 2, fascicle 87, jisi (祭祀) 8, libu (薰臠) 46, he sishen qi (合祀神祇) 3, jili (祭厲) (K. cheyŏ), p. 277. For an outline of yŏje or cheyŏ in Ming China, see Walrabŏn, “Chosŏn shidae,” 2001, pp. 4–6. 93 The Hansŏng Minch’ungdan will be addressed below. Late Chosŏn-period gazetteers, such as Yŏji tosŏ and Taedong chiji, mention the Minch’ungdan in P’yŏngyang, but not in Kaesŏng and Pyŏkche. 94 Ming-era measures: 1 che was approximately 31.1 cm, and 1 zhang was 10 bei or approximately 3.11 meters. 95 For a depiction of the misery of the Ming troops, see Okano Masako, “Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku to Chūgoku,” 1977, p. 147. 96 Sŏnjo shillok, 60:31b (1595.2.15). 97 Sadae mun’gwe, 12:26b (1594.11.28): Ryodong toji hwisasaja Chosŏn kukwang (遼東都指揮使司咨朝鮮國王). 98 Sadae mun’gwe, 12:29a (1595.2.16): Chosŏn kugwangja Ryodong toji hwisasa (朝 鮮國王咨遼東都指揮使司). 99 Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:43a (1668.3.23). 100 Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 18:52b (1668.3.23), records the same. 101 Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi, fascicle 207, p. 154 (1668.3.23). The Pongsangsa managed the props and clothing and conducted the memorial ceremony. Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki ni okeru Hōjōji [Pongsangsa],” 1996, pp. 11–15. 102 Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:43a (1668.3.24); Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 18:52b (1668.3.24). 103 Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:32a (1668.1.12); Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 18:31b–32b (1668.1.12). 104 Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:35a (1668.2.3). 105 The yŏje was systemized under King Sejong and was included in national rites as a minor ceremony. The Chosŏn government established a yŏdan in every county.

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106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114

Kuwano Eiji Kuwano Eiji, “Richō shoki ni okeru kokka saishi,” 1993, pp. 140–4; Walrabŏn, “Chosŏn shidae,” 2001, pp. 2–3; Kim Haeyŏng, “Chosŏn wangjo,” 2003, pp. 398– 407. Translator’s note: See also Walraven, “Confucians and Restless Spirits,” 1993. Yŏje might be translated as “rites for restless or disgruntled spirits.” Translation suggested by Boudewijn Walraven. Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:42b (1668.3.19); Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:43b (1668.3.26); Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 18:52a (1668.3.19); Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 18:53a (1668.3.26). Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 22:35a–35b (1670.3.25). Kuwano Eiji, “Kōrai kara Richō shoki ni okeru Enkyūtan [Wŏngudan],” 1996, pp. 12–19. Hyŏnjong shillok, 19:20b (1671.4.19). Hyŏnjong kaesu shillok, 24:5b (1671.4.19). Kuwano Eiji, “Chōsen shōchūka ishiki no keisei to tenkai,” 2001, pp. 168–9. Yi Kŭnmyŏng, T’aesangji, 1980, fascicle 4, sajŏn (祀典), Minch’ungdanje (愍忠壇 祭). Yŏngjo shillok, 95:21a (1760.6.3). For details on the Chŏngdong Kwan’gunsa, see Yi Kŭnmyŏng, T’aesangji, 1980, fascicle 4, sajŏn (祀典), Kwan’gunsa (官軍祠). Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi, fascicle 1182, p. 113 (1760.6.3).

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を 中心に),” in Watanabe Hiroshi (渡辺浩) and Boku Chunsoku (Pak Ch’ungsŏk) (朴忠錫), eds., Kokka rinen to taigai ninshiki, 17–19 seiki (国家理念と対外認識: 17– 19世紀) Nikkan kyōdō kenkyū sōsho 3 (日韓共同研究叢書3). Tokyo: Keiō Gijuku Daigaku shuppankai, 2001, pp. 149–85. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Chōsen shoki no bunbyōsai to kyōson shakai (朝鮮初期の 文廟祭と郷村社会),” Kurume daigaku bungakubu kiyō, kokusai bunka gakka hen (久 留米大学文学部紀要, 国際文化学科編) 15–16 (2000): 85–124. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Kōrai kara Richō shoki ni okeru Enkyūtan [Wŏngudan] saishi no juyō to henyō: kiusai toshite no kinō o chūshin ni (高麗から李朝初期に おける円丘壇祭祀の受容と変容: 祈雨祭としての機能を中心に),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮学報) 161 (1996): 1–50. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Richō shoki ni okeru Hōjōji [Pongsangsa] no seiritsu to sono kinō (李朝初期における奉常寺の成立とその機能),” Shimonoseki shiritsu daigaku ronshū (下関市立大学論集) 39:2–3 (1996): 1–23. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Richō shoki ni okeru kokka saishi: Kokuchō goreigi kitsurei no tokusei (李朝初期における国家祭祀: 国朝五礼儀吉礼の特性),” Shien (史淵) 130 (1993): 121–49. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Richō shoki ni okeru Kōrai Ō-shi saishi (李朝初期におけ る高麗王氏祭祀),” Nenpō Chōsengaku (年報朝鮮学) 2 (1992): 1–21. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Richō shoki ni okeru Shōbun’in [Sŭngmunwŏn] no setsuritsu to sono kinō (李朝初期における承文院の設立とその機能),” Shien (史 淵) 131 (1994): 23–56. Kuwano Eiji (桑野榮治). “Richō shoki no shiten o tōshite mita Dankun [K. Tan’gun] saishi (李朝初期の祀典を通してみた檀君祭祀),” Chōsen gakuhō (朝鮮學報) 135 (1990): 57–101. Kwanghaegun ilgi (光海君日記), Chŏngjok-san archive text (鼎足山本). Kwanghaegun ilgi (光海君日記), T’aebaeksan archive manuscript (太白山史庫中草 本). Liangchao pingranglu (兩朝平攘錄) (facsimile edition), in Beijing daxue chaoxian wenhua yanjiusuo et al. (北京大學朝鮮文化硏究所等主編) eds., Renchen zhi yishi liaohuiji, xia (壬辰之役史料匯輯, 下). Beijing: Quanguo tushuguan wenxian suwei fuzhi zhongxin chuban (全國圖書館文獻縮微復制中心出版), 1990. Maema Kyōsaku (前間恭作). Kosen sappu (古鮮冊譜). Tokyo: Tōyō bunko, 1944. Mingshi (明史). Beijing: Zhonghua shuju (中華書局), 1974. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村榮孝). “Chōsen ni okeru Kan-u [Guan Yu] no shimyō ni tsuite: Jinshin-Teiu Waran to Kanōmyō [Kwanwangmyo] no sōshi (朝鮮における関 羽の祠廟について, 壬辰-丁酉倭乱と關王廟の創始),” Tenri daigaku gakuhō (天理 大學學報) 24:5 (1973): 246–60. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村榮孝). “Chōsen no bomin shisō to daihōdan (朝鮮の慕明 思想と大報壇),” Tenri daigaku gakuhō (天理大學學報) 23:5 (1972): 192–218. Nakamura Hidetaka (中村榮孝). Nissen kankeishi no kenkyū, Vol. 2 (日鮮關係史の硏 究, 中). Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1969. Okano Masako (岡野昌子). “Hideyoshi no Chōsen shinryaku to Chūgoku (秀吉の 朝鮮侵略と中國),” in Min-Shinshi ronsō kankōkai (明淸史論叢刊行會), ed., MinShinshi ronsō: Nakayama Hachirō kyōju shōju kinen (明淸史論叢: 中山八郞敎授頌 壽記念). Tokyo: Ryōgen-shoten, 1977, pp. 141–66. Pak Chaegwang (⹫㨂ὧ). “Imjin Waeran yŏn’gu ŭi hyŏnhwang kwa kwaje (壬辰倭亂 硏究㦮 現況ὒ 課題),” in Han-il kwangyesa yŏn’gu nonjip p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe

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(䞲㧒ὖἚ㌂㡆ῂ⏒㰧G 䘎㺂㥚㤦䣢), ed. Imjin Waeran kwa Han-il kwangye (㧚㰚㢲⧖ὒG䞲㧒ὖἚ). Seoul: Kyŏng’in munhwasa, 2005, pp. 23–102. Pak Chu (朴珠). “Chosŏn Sukchong-jo ŭi Sau ramsŏl e tae han koch’al (朝鮮 肅宗 朝㦮 祠宇濫設㠦G╖䞲 考察),” Han’guk saron (韓國史論) 6 (1980): 171–249. Sadae mun’gwe [J. Jidai bungi] (事大文軌), in Chōsenshi henshūkai (朝鮮史編修會), ed., Chōsen shiryo sōkan, No. 7 (朝鮮史料叢刊 第7) (facsimile edition). Keijō: Chōsen sōtokufu, 1935. Seoul Tŭkpyŏlshisa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, ed. (㍲㤎特別市史編纂委員會編). Seoul Tŭkpyŏlshisa, kojŏkp’yŏn (㍲㤎特別市史, 古蹟篇). Seoul: Seoul Tŭkpyŏlshisa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1963. Seoul Yŏksa Pangmulgwan (㍲㤎蔫史博物館), ed. Tosŏng taejido (都城大地圖). Seoul: Seoul Yŏksa Pangmulgwan yumul kwalligwa, 2004. Shim Sŭnggu (沈勝求). “Chosŏn hugi mumyo ŭi ch’anggŏn kwa hyangsa ŭi chŏngch’i chŏk ŭimi: Kwanwangmyo rŭl chungsim ŭro (㫆㍶䤚₆G ⶊ⵮[武廟]㦮G 㺓ỊG ὒG 䟻㌂ [享祀]㦮G 㩫䂮㩗G 㦮⹎: ὖ㢫⵮[關王廟])⯒G 㭧㕂㦒⪲),” in Chŏng Manjo (鄭 萬祚) et al., eds., Chosŏn sidae ŭi chŏngch’i wa chedo: Chosŏn sidae yangban sahoe wa munhwa 2 (㫆㍶㔲╖㦮G 㩫䂮㢖G 㩲☚G: G㫆㍶㔲╖G 㟧⹮㌂䣢㢖G ⶎ䢪, 2). Seoul: Chipmundang, 2003. Shinjŭng tongguk yŏji sŭngnam (新增東國輿地勝覽). Sŏaejip (西厓集), facsimile edition with punctuation, in Han’guk munjip ch’onggan (韓 國文集叢刊), Vol. 52. Seoul: Minjok munhwa ch’ujinhoe, 1990. Sok taejŏn [J. Zoku taiten] (續大典). Tokyo: Gakushūin Daigaku tōyō bunka kenkyūjo (学習院大學東洋文化硏究所), 1972. Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實錄). Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok (宣祖修正實錄). Suematsu Yasukazu (末松保和). Chōsenshi to shiryō: Suematsu Yasukazu Chōsenshi chosakushū 6 (朝鮮史と史料: 末松保和朝鮮史著作集6). Tokyo: Yoshikawa kōbunkan, 1997. Sŭngjŏngwŏn ilgi (承政院日記). T’aengniji (擇里誌). Keijō: Chōsen kōbunkai (朝鮮光文會), 1912. Taedong chiji (大東地志). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1976. Walrabŏn, B. (㢞⧒⻞ Walraven, Boudewijn). “Chosŏn shidae yŏje ŭi kinŭng kwa ŭiŭi: ‘Ttŭn kwishin’ ŭl mosyŏtt tŏn yusaeng dŭl (朝鮮時代 厲祭㦮 機能ὒ 意義: ‘⦂‖㔶’ G㦚G⳾㎾▮ 儒生✺),” Tongyanghak (東洋學) 31 (2001): 247–64. Walraven, Boudewijn. “Confucians and Restless Spirits,” in Leonard Blussé and Harriet T. Zurndorfer, eds., Conflict and Accomodation in Early Modern East Asia: Essays in Honour of Erik Zürcher. Leiden: Brill, 1993, pp. 71–93. Yamamoto Sakura (山本さくら). “Mindai no Kitōbyō: Chihōshi ni okeru Kitōbyō no kōsatsu (明代の旗纛廟: 地方志における旗纛廟の考察),” Shigaku ronsō (史学 論叢) 34 (2004): 58–74. Yamane Yukio (山根幸夫), ed. Shōtoku Dai Min kaiten (Ch. Zhengde Da Ming huidian, volume 2 (正德大明會典, 第2冊) (facsimile edition of the Zhengde hui dian [正德會 典] in Tokyo University Library). Tokyo: Kyūko shoin, 1989. Yamauchi Kōichi (山內弘一). Chōsen kara mita kai shisō (朝鮮からみた華夷思想). Tokyo: Yamagawa shuppansha, 2003. Yamauchi Tamihiro (山內民博). “Waran kiroku to kenshō, saishi: Jinshin-Teyū Waran to Chōsen gōson shakai (倭亂記錄と顯彰, 祭祀: 壬辰丁酉倭亂と朝鮮鄕村社會),” Niigata shigaku (新潟史學) 50 (2003): 3–23.

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Yi Kŭnho (李根浩). “Yŏngjo ŭi Myŏng T’aejo ihae wa Hwangdan pyŏngsa (㡗㫆㦮GⳛG 䌲㫆 㧊䟊㢖G䢿┾⼧㌂ (皇壇竝祀),” in Chŏng Manjo (鄭萬祚) et al., eds., Chosŏn sidae ŭi chŏngch’i wa chedo: Chosŏn sidae yangban sahoe wa munhwa 2 (㫆㍶㔲╖㦮G 㩫䂮㢖G㩲☚, 㫆㍶㔲╖G㟧⹮㌂䣢㢖Gⶎ䢪, 2). Seoul: Chipmundang, 2003. Yi Kŭnmyŏng (李根命), ed. T’aesangji (太常志), facsimile edition. Seoul: Poryŏngak, 1980. Yi Kyŏngsŏk (J. Ri Kyōshaku, 李烱錫). Jinshin senranshi (壬辰戦乱史). Tokyo: Tōyō tosho shuppan, 1977. Yi Pŏmjik (李範稷). Han’guk chungserye sasang yon’gu: Orye rŭl chungsim ŭro (韓國中 世禮思想硏究: 五禮 ⯒中心㦒⪲ – ). Seoul: Ilchogak, 1991. Yi Sangt’ae (蝗相泰). “Tosŏng taejido e kwanhan yŏn’gu (G☚㎇╖㰖☚㠦Gὖ䞲G㡆ῂG),” in Seoul Yŏksa Pangmulgwan (㍲㤎蔫史博物館), ed., Tosŏng taejido (都城大地圖). Seoul: Seoul Yŏksa Pangmulgwan yumul kwalligwa, 2004. Yi Sŏngyŏng (蝗星齡). Ch’unp’adang ilwŏllok (春坡堂日月錄). Microfilm version from Tenri toshokan shozō Imanishi hakase shūshū Chōsenbon maikurofuirumu (天理図 書館所蔵今西博士蒐集朝鮮本マイクロフィルム). Yi T’aejin (蝗泰鎭). “Chosŏn hugi tae-Min ŭiriron ŭi pyŏnch’ŏn (㫆㍶䤚₆ 對明義蝜 論㦮 ⼖㻲),” Asia munhwa (㞚㔲㞚ⶎ䢪) 10 (1994): 5–26. Yi Yŏngch’un (蝗迎春). “Chosŏn hugi ŭi sajŏn ŭi chaep’yŏn kwa kukka chesa (朝鮮 後期㦮 祀典㦮 再編ὒ 國家祭祀),” Han’guksa yŏn’gu (䞲ῃ㌂㡆ῂ) 118 (2002): 195–219. Yŏji tosŏ (輿地圖書). Seoul: Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1973. Yŏngjo shillok (英祖實錄). Yu Kusŏng (劉九成). “Imnanshi Myŏngbyŏng ŭi naewŏngo (壬亂時明兵㦮 來援考),” Sach’ong (史叢) 20 (1976): 1–23. Yukchŏn chorye, last volume (六典條例, 下), facsimile edition. Seoul: Kyŏngmunsa, 1979. Zhengde Da Ming huidian (正徳大明會典). See under Yamane Yukio.

15 War and cultural exchange Ha Woo Bong (河宇鳳)

Introduction When we consider the number of participating countries in the Imjin Waeran, the size of the war, and its repercussions, a similar example cannot be easily found in the history of East Asia. The participants included not only the three countries of Chosŏn Korea, Japan, and Ming China, but also, although as indirect participants, Southeast Asians such as those from Ryūkyū and Thailand and the Spanish and the Portuguese. The domestic situations of the three East Asian countries that participated in this war changed completely as a result. In Japan, the Toyotomi regime, which had led the invasion, collapsed, and the Edo bakufu established itself in 1603. In China, the Ming government, which had disbursed immense expenditures on this war, degenerated in strength, and was eventually ruined by the Jurchen Qing. In Chosŏn, while the government did not change, the social order of early Chosŏn practically disintegrated. For this reason the Imjin Waeran became the watershed that divided the Chosŏn period into early and late periods. In these ways, the Imjin Waeran was a devastating war that restructured the entire international order of East Asia. On the other hand, cultural exchanges took place between Korea and Japan during the war. While this had not been the original aim, it came to influence considerably the historical development and cultural life of the two countries after the war. This chapter will examine the circumstances of cultural exchanges, both in wartime and post-war, between Korea and Japan and consider their historical significance.

Japan’s importation of Chosŏn’s cultural products From the beginning of the war, Toyotomi Hideyoshi formed six special units in addition to the fighting units, and they systematically looted Chosŏn’s cultural commodities. The names and objects of plunder of these units were as follows: (1) Book unit (J. toshobu) (for classical books); (2) Artisan unit (J. kōgeibu) (for objects of craftwork, carpenters, and ceramicists); (3) Captives unit (J. horyobu) (for civilians); (4) Metal unit (J. kinzokubu) (for weapons,

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metal craftwork, and moveable metal type); (5) Treasure unit (J. hōbutsubu) (for gold and silver treasures, and rare objects); and (6) Livestock unit (J. chikbu).1 The systematically expedited plunder by the Toyotomi regime earned the Imjin Waeran yet another sobriquet, that of “a war of cultural pillage” (K. munhwa yakt’al chŏnjaeng). Moreover, from the fact that not only products but even people and livestock became objects of plunder, the invasion took on the character of a pirate raid. From this viewpoint, the Japanese appear to have practiced “piracy on a national scale” (K. kukkajŏk kyumo ŭi Waegu). As Japan plundered human and material resources in this way, it assimilated Chosŏn’s advanced culture in large doses, and this provided the turning point for the development of culture in the Edo period after the war. Among Chosŏn’s cultural commodities that were transmitted to Japan through the Imjin Waeran, we will examine those with the most impact, including Korean Neo-Confucianism, moveable metal type, classical books, and ceramics. Korean Neo-Confucianism Before the Edo period, the mainstream world of thought in Japan had been Buddhist, while the level of scholarship and influence from Confucianism was weak. Even within Confucianism, Han and T’ang Chinese scholarship formed the core, and Neo-Confucianism (that is, the teachings of Zhu Xi) that developed in Song China remained at a rather immature stage. While there was an occasion when Neo-Confucianism was introduced in Japan by the monk and Confucian scholar Gen’e (1279–1350) in the Southern and Northern Courts period (J. Nanbokuchō jidai), it was not widely accepted, and disappeared from view. In short, Neo-Confucianism in Japan before the Imjin Waeran had been merely transmitted as an object of curiosity among a few scholar monks in the Kyōto Gozan temples, and had remained at the stage of an amalgamation of Confucianism and Buddhism. Ending the period of warring states that lasted a century or more and opening a new era by establishing the Edo bakufu in 1603, Tokugawa Ieyasu (1542–1616) attempted to establish a peaceful order both domestically and internationally. In order to stabilize matters, Ieyasu implemented reform policies such as separating warriors from the peasantry, establishing a social class system, and reinforcing ethics. To give these reforms a theoretical underpinning, he believed that Neo-Confucian ideology, which maintained the centralization of rulership, was most appropriate and applied it positively. To shift the ruling ideology from Buddhism to Neo-Confucianism presented the world of Japanese thought with something of a revolution. Fujiwara Seika (1561–1619) taught Neo-Confucianism to Ieyasu. Owing to Seika, Confucianism in Japan took a step away from the amalgamated view of Confucianism and Buddhism, and away from Han and T’ang Confucianism towards Neo-Confucianism. However, behind Seika was the Korean scholar and official Kang Hang (1567–1618).2 While detained in Japan as a captive,

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Kang met Seika, who, at the time, had been intellectually searching his way between Buddhism and Neo-Confucianism. Kang, as an independent Confucianist, exerted a decisive influence on Seika. Kang and Seika first met at the mansion of Akamatsu Hiromichi (1562– 1600)3 in Fushimi, between Kyōto and Ōsaka, in the autumn of 1598. Exchanges between them after their first meeting continued for a year-anda-half until Kang returned to Korea. For Seika and Hiromitsu, who were filled with an intellectual craving for Neo-Confucianism, Kang was a good advisor.4 As concrete evidence of their exchange, there are some twenty volumes of Shisho gokyō Wakun (Japanese Readings of the Four Books and Five Classics) that were completed by Seika in the second month of 1599. The compilation added Japanese readings to Zhu Xi’s commentaries on the Four Books and Five Classics and not only marked the starting point of a full-fledged Neo-Confucian understanding of Confucianism in Japan, but also played a decisive role in the dissemination of Neo-Confucianism. This compilation is also the reason why Seika is called the father of NeoConfucianism or early-modern Confucianism in Japan. Needless to say, Kang’s assistance played an important role in the completion of the work. In addition, Kang made great efforts to propagate Neo-Confucianism in Japan by transcribing twenty-one volumes of Neo-Confucian texts.5 The exchanges between Kang, Seika, and Hiromitsu in Fushimi bore great significance to Japanese Confucianism, because they gave rise to Seika’s transformation from Buddhist monk to self-reliant Confucian scholar and created an opportunity for the admission of Neo-Confucianism as earlymodern Japan’s orthodoxy. At the same time, their exchange was a laudable episode of intellectual contact that blossomed amid the disturbances of war and a pioneering example of cultural exchange between Korea and Japan in the late Chosŏn period. After his first meeting with Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1593, Seika began lecturing on the Zhengguan zhengyao. In the ninth month of 1600, after the Battle of Sekigahara, Seika debated with Saishō Shōtai (1548–1607) in front of Ieyasu at Nijō Castle in Kyōto over philosophies of governance. Afterwards, Ieyasu appealed to Seika for assistance, but he declined. Instead, Seika recommended his pupil Hayashi Razan (1583–1657) in 1605. Razan served as a tutor to four generations of shōguns, from the first shōgun Ieyasu to the fourth shōgun, Ietsuna, and played a great role in establishing Neo-Confucianism as the bakufu’s governing doctrine. Moreover, Razan was appointed to the office of Daigaku no kami (Chancellor of the State University) and the office became heritable in his house, which took the lead in bakufu literary and diplomatic affairs. Kang’s scholarship, which succeeded to the tradition of Chosŏn NeoConfucianism that flowered with Yi Hwang (T’oegye, 1501–70) and Yi I (Yulgok, 1536–84) in the mid sixteenth century, carried an impressive lineage and was inherited by Seika and Razan, forming the mainstream of the official doctrine taught in the bakufu academy.6 Seika and Razan’s disciples

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were invited to numerous domains, and made efforts to promote and propagate Confucian culture. As a result, Neo-Confucianism spread throughout the country, and became the governing doctrine of Edo-period Japan. While it has been said that the influence of Neo-Confucianism in Japan was relatively weaker than it was in Chosŏn, the status of the bakufu academy was resolutely maintained to the point where a decree prohibiting heterodoxy was issued in 1790. If Kang had influence on the official embrace of Neo-Confucianism through Seika, there were also Korean captives who transmitted Confucian thought at the level of various domains. These included Yi Chin’yŏng and his son Yi Chŏnjik, Hong Hoyŏn, and Takamoto Shimei. We will now briefly examine the activities of these people. Yi Chin’yŏng and Yi Chŏnjik of Kii domain Yi Chin’yŏng (1571–1633) was a Confucian scholar from Ch’angnyŏng County in Kyŏngsang Province. He came to live in the domain of Kii as a prisoner of war captured by Asano Nagamasa’s army during the first Chinju battle in the seventh month of 1592, when he participated as a righteous army soldier under the command of Kwak Cheu. The lord of the domain, Tokugawa Yorinobu, respected his scholarly achievements, and invited him on many occasions to perform a memorial service for his ancestors. After having repeatedly declined invitations to join Yorinobu’s retinue, when his chances of returning to Chosŏn disappeared in 1626, Yi Chin’yŏng became a tutor to the lord of the domain and instructed him in Neo-Confucianism and the Imperial Way (K. chewanghak). After Yi Chin’yŏng’s death, his son Yi Chŏnjik (1617–82) became a Confucian official of the domain at the age of seventeen.7 In 1634, after studying in Kyōto, Yi Chŏnjik became tutor to Tokugawa Mitsusada, the second lord of the domain, and instructed him in his studies. He composed Fubojō (Notes on Parents), which emphasized Confucian ethics, and circulated it in the domain. He also wrote Taikun gengōroku (Analects of the Taikun, in two volumes), Tokugawa sōgyō kikōi (Documentary consideration of the establishment of the Tokugawa [house], in ten volumes), Ekisetsu (Commentary on the Book of Changes), Senka zakki (Senka miscellany), and Baikei bunshū (A Baikei anthology). In these ways, Yi Chin’yŏng and Yi Chŏnjik made significant contributions: tutoring the domainal lords and planting Chosŏn Neo-Confucianism firmly in the soil of Kii. Through their writings, they exercised great influence over the politics and culture of Kii for some time.8 Even within the Gosanke, or the three Tokugawa houses of Kii, Owari, and Mito, the domain of Kii was a hegemon that dominated the bakufu from the mid-Edo period onwards. The fifth lord of Kii, Tokugawa Yoshimune, became the eighth shōgun. Thereafter, Kii produced shōguns over seven generations up to the fourteenth shōgun, Tokugawa Iemochi. Moreover, with the activities of Seika’s disciple Nawa Kassho (1595–1648)9 and Razan’s pupil Nagata

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Zensai (1597–1664)10 and by maintaining its deep acquaintance with Chosŏn Neo-Confucianism that was based on Yi Hwang’s Confucianism, the domain of Kii exerted intellectual influence on the bakufu. Within Kii’s cultivation of a lustrous Confucian culture, the mediating agents were Yi Chin’yŏng and his son. Furthermore, if we consider Kii’s relations with the bakufu, we can see that the ideological orthodoxy of Yi Chin’yŏng and his son became one of the foundations for post-eighteenth-century bakufu policies and ideology. Hong Hoyŏn of Saga domain Hong Hoyŏn (1581–1657) was the son of a local functionary (K. hyangni) of Kyŏngsang Province, and was captured as a boy of twelve by Nabeshima Naoshige in 1593 during the Battle of Chinju. Naoshige noticed that Hong’s talents were extraordinary and sent him to study in Kyōto at a Gozan temple. After his return from Kyōto, Hong Hoyŏn was appointed tutor to the first lord of Saga domain, Katsushige, who was Naoshige’s son, and established the foundation for Saga’s scholarship. Hong left many works not only as a Confucian scholar but also as a calligrapher. He married a daughter of the retainer Taku, received exceptional treatment from the lord of the domain, and committed suicide on the death of Katsushige.11 Hong’s descendants also held important posts in Saga. One of them adopted the son of the great Saga scholar Koga Seiri (1750–1817), who was known as one of the “Three Masters of the Kansei period” (1789–1800), allowing the Hong family lineage to continue.12 Takamoto Shimei of Kumamoto domain As the third-generation lecturer at Kumamoto’s domain school Jishūkan, Takamoto Shimei (1738–1813) was revered as a great scholar. He was the sixth-generation descendant of the Korean captive Yi Chonghan and usually called himself Yi Sun (J. Ri Jun).13 Since coming to Japan, his ancestors had been physicians, but Shimei changed to Confucian studies, and entered Jishūkan as an instructor. Later, he became the third lecturer in charge of the institute. As the pioneer of domain schools in Kyūshū, the Jishūkan was the center of Kumamoto’s education. The second lecturer at the Jishūkan was Yabu Kozan (1735–1802), who venerated Yi Hwang’s Neo-Confucianism. As a learned scholar of letters and the theory of loyalty and duty, Shimei, who was called “Teacher Yi” and revered in the domain, was devoted to Yi Hwang’s Neo-Confucianism. It was this line of Neo-Confucianism that considerably influenced the ideology and politics of Kumamoto domain. Later in his life, Shimei set his heart on the study of National Studies (J. Kokugaku), which emphasized veneration for the national polity (J. kokutai). He visited Motoori Norinaga (1730–1801), with whom he established a relationship as master and pupil.14 As the descendant of a Chosŏn captive, Shimei embraced Yi Hwang’s Neo-Confucianism, coupled it to National Studies, and provided

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the ideological foundation in the bakumatsu period for Kumamoto’s leading role in the Meiji Restoration as a champion of royalism (J. kinōha). Attention is drawn to Shimei’s intellectual life for the linking role he played in the conversion of Yi Hwang’s Neo-Confucianism from an official doctrine of the Tokugawa shōgunate to the basic philosophy undergirding the Imperial Rescript on Education (J. Kyōiku Chokugo) after the Meiji Restoration. In Kumamoto domain, besides Takamoto Shimei, there was a Korean captive by the name of Yŏ Taenam. He had lived in Kumamoto since his capture as a youth in Korea. Although we do not know much about his life, such as where he was born or the dates of his life, like Hong Hoyŏn, his talent was recognized, and after studying at one of the Gozan temples in Kyoto, he returned to Kumamoto and contributed to the development of scholarship.15 There seem to have been quite a few Korean captives in many domains during the Tokugawa period, who spent their lives leading the aristocratic lifestyle of a domain scholar.16 The majority of the Korean captives who became domain bushi were omnipresent in the fields of Chinese Classics, Confucianism, and medicine.17 Aside from these, there were those given subordinate responsibilities such as the manufacture of ceramics. To become a bushi and join the aristocratic class did not mean that they became warriors, but rather that they became scholars and technicians. Considering this evidence, we can see that after the Imjin Waeran those Koreans taken as captives to Japan during the war made significant contributions in many regions of Japan and played central roles in the fields of Confucianism and technology. Moveable metal type and books Chosŏn-era moveable metal-type printing was based on techniques first invented in the Koryŏ period and preceded Johannes Gutenberg’s (1399–1468) fabrication of moveable metal type in Germany in 1450 by over two centuries, making Koryŏ-era metal type the world’s earliest.18 These techniques were further developed and flourished in the early Chosŏn period. In 1403, a type foundry was established, and 100,000 kyemi (the sexegenary year for 1403) type characters were made. In 1420 and 1434, some 200,000 kyŏngja and kabin type characters were produced, and in 1484, more than 300,000 kyech’uk type characters were manufactured. In particular, the kabin type produced in King Sejong’s time was considered a superior font and the glory of Chosŏn printing. It was used in various publication projects during Sejong’s reign and widely known in Japan as the “Korean copper seal” type (J. Kōrai dōin). In the early Chosŏn period, Japan’s Muromachi bakufu sent envoys to Chosŏn and repeatedly asked for copper metal type and information on the production technique, but the Chosŏn court did not grant their requests. As a result, moveable metal type was one of the first objects to be plundered during the Imjin Waeran. It is said that the commander-in-chief of the Japanese army during the 1597 invasion, Ukita Hideie (1573–1655), raided the Office of Government

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Publication (K. Kyosŏgwan) type foundry in Kyŏngbok Palace, took away 200,000 metal characters, printing devices, and Korean and Chinese books and presented all these to Hideyoshi.19 Aside from metal type, the Japanese commanders also stole Chosŏn wooden types20 that were mainly used in Buddhist temples. Wooden type was later used to print Kobun kōkyō (“old” version of the Xiao jing or Classic of Filial Piety21) in 1593 and Mōgyū (the eighth-century Mengqiu, a collection of anecdotes in poetry form that acted as a primer for children) in 1596. Moreover, the famous Nanki Library (Nanki Bunko), a library in the domain of Kii, one of the Gosanke of the Tokugawa clan, was founded owing to Chosŏn moveable copper type and type made as copies of the same. After a number of unsuccessful attempts, success was finally achieved with the first, moveable metal-type publication of Daizō ichiranshū (A catalogue of the Tripitaka) in eleven volumes in 1615 and the Gunsho chiyō (Collected political commentary) in fifty volumes in 1616.22 These were accomplished with moveable copper type taken from Chosŏn and Japanese moveable copper type cast after 1605. By the mid seventeenth century, publications using moveable copper type became more prevalent. In these ways, metal and wood moveable types looted from Chosŏn became catalysts for the development of printing technology and scholarship in the Edo period.23 Chosŏn classical texts Ieyasu, who won the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, confiscated the Korean books that had been plundered during the war by Ukita Hideie and Ankokuji Ekei, and in 1602 founded the Fujimitei Library (Fujimitei Bunko) and the Suruga Library (Suruga Bunko). The collection at the Suruga Library amounted to over ten thousand volumes. Ieyasu’s last will and testament divided the volumes among the libraries of Fujimitei,24 the Owari Library (Owari Bunko) in Owari han,25 one of the Gosanke, the Kii Library (Kii Bunko) in the domain of Kii,26 and the Mito Library (Mito Bunko) in Mito domain.27 In this way, the bakufu and the Tokugawa collateral houses (J. shinpan daimyō), composed of the Gosanke, adopted Neo-Confucianism as their governing doctrine and promoted the principles of civil administration. The foundational libraries for the study of the ideology was supplied by books from Korea. Aside from the Tokugawa clan, provincial daimyō who went to war in Chosŏn also held plundered Korean books. For example, there are 1,073 Korean books in the Sonkeikaku Libary (Sonkeikaku Bunko) of Maeda Toshiie (1538–99). The Seikadō Library (Seikadō Bunko)28 in Tōkyō and the Mōri Library (Mōri Bunko) in Yamaguchi Prefecture were founded with Korean books looted by Mōri Terumoto (1553–1625). Books seized by Uesugi Kagekatsu (1555–1623) are currently in the Yonezawa Library, and books taken by Shimazu Yoshihiro (1535–1619) are kept in the Kagoshima University Library. Others include the Sō Library (Sō-ke Bunko)29 in Tsushima.30 The libraries that were established

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in the Edo era with books plundered at the time of the Imjin Waeran are the ancestors of today’s Japanese libraries.31 According to the Haeyurok by Shin Yuhan, Secretary for the Korean Communication Embassy of 1719, even aside from these holdings, there were many Korean books to be found among Ōsaka’s booksellers and in private collections. Owing to the influx of a large number of moveable type and books, the Edo period saw a cultural renaissance. The development of the cultural renaissance in the early Edo period was surely based on Ieyasu’s policy to promote civil administration. However, it is clear that Chosŏn’s moveable metal type and books were of great assistance in the successful promotion and popularization of this policy. On the other hand, Chosŏn experienced difficulties in printing books for a long time after the war, owing to the massive plundering during the war. Among the books taken to Japan, those of great ideological significance included Yi Hwang’s Chujasŏ chŏryo (Essentials of Zhu Xi’s Correspondence), Ch’ŏnmyŏng tosŏl (Discourse on the Diagram of the Mandate of Heaven), Chasŏngnok (Record for Self-Reflection), and Yŏnp’yŏng mundap (A Dialogue at Yianping). These books were reprinted with moveable type and widely distributed during the Edo period, having great influence on Japan’s Confucianist circles, including Fujiwara Seika, Hayashi Razan, and Yamazaki Ansai (1618–82).32 Korean Neo-Confucianism, synthesized by Yi Hwang, became the mainstream for Japanese Neo-Confucianism and the foundation for Confucianism within the bakufu as well as within many domains. It can be said that one reason behind 260 years of peace between Chosŏn and Japan during the Edo period was the common ideology of NeoConfucianism.33 Ceramics On the twenty-ninth day of the eleventh month of 1593, Hideyoshi ordered Nabeshima Naoshige (1538–1618) to capture and bring him Chosŏn craftsmen and seamstresses, and sent the same order by a red sealed letter (J. shuinjō) to Shimazu Yoshihiro. This offers evidence of the fact that the Japanese generals considered skilled captives to be very important. Among the skills transmitted to Japan on the occasion of the Imjin Waeran, the production of ceramics cannot be overlooked. In Japan at the time, Sen no Rikyū (1522–91) was popularizing ceremonial tea drinking among eminent people such as Oda Nobunaga (1534–82), Hideyoshi, and various other daimyō. While the tea ceremony had been revered as an elegant pastime of the daimyō since the time of the Muromachi bakufu, it became much more popular in the later decades of the sixteenth century. Accordingly, the demand for fine ceramics increased. Chosŏn ceramics were more developed and refined in comparison to those of Japan. The Japanese called them Kōraimono, and the daimyō treasured them. Commanders such as Shimazu Yoshihiro and Mōri Terumoto who were tea savants not only

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rushed to snatch ceramic products during the war, but also kidnapped ceramicists and even took clay and glaze from Chosŏn. In particular, Nabeshima Naoshige of Saga domain abducted many Chosŏn ceramicists from regions around Ungch’ŏn, Chinju, Kimhae, and Ulsan in southern Kyŏngsang Province. Naoshige had the potters live in Saga domain and produce ceramics. In Arita in Saga, kilns were founded by the Korean ceramicist Yi Samp’yŏng (?–1656)34 and included a group led by a female potter Paek P’asŏn (1561–1656).35 Saga domain’s Karatsu ware is also famous. Shimazu Yoshihiro of Satsuma domain established kilns to produce Satsuma ware (the founders were Pak P’yŏngŭi, Kim Pangjung, and Shim Tanggil), Katano ware (the founders were Kim Hwa and Kim Ka), and Chosa ware (the founder was Kim Hae). Kuroda Nagamasa of Fukuoka domain also built ceramic kilns such as those that produced Takatori ware (the founder was P’alsan). Hosokawa Tadaoki of Kokura domain opened the kilns that produced Agano ware and Takada ware (the founder was Chonhae). Mōri Terumoto of Yamaguchi domain established Hagi ware (the founders were Yi Kugwang and Yi Kyŏng). Aside from these, there was also Yatsushiro ware in Kumamoto domain and Hirado ware from Nagasaki domain. Most of the kilns in the Kyūshū and central regions of Japan were constituted by Korean captives. In addition to the known ceramicists, unknown potters were spread throughout Japan and formed the origins of many types of Japanese ceramics. The Korean ceramicists grouped in particular areas and produced their work under the protection of the feudal lords. Each domain supported these ceramicists because they contributed greatly to the domain’s finances. For example, the Arita kilns exported 45,000 pieces to the Netherlands in 1644 and contributed handsomely to the domain’s economy. While the Japanese techniques for producing ceramics had been less developed than Korean techniques until the end of the sixteenth century, they developed rapidly because of the Korean ceramicists captured during the Imjin Waeran, and Japan in the Edo period became one of the world’s great exporters of ceramics. The successors to these ceramicists formed illustrious schools of pottery production, which continue to exist today and form the mainstay of the Japanese ceramics industry. For this reason, the Imjin Waeran is also called “the ceramics war” (J. tojagi chŏnjaeng).

Cultural transmission through Japan There were also cultural artifacts transmitted to Chosŏn by way of Japan during the war. These were not necessarily from Japan originally, but from other countries that came via Japan. Intellectuals in Chosŏn had traditionally dismissed Japanese culture as barbaric and had ignored it, believing that there was nothing to learn from it. Moreover, after the Imjin Waeran, with hostility and an intensified perception of the Japanese as barbarians, it was especially difficult for a receptive attitude towards Japanese culture to develop. At

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minimum, these attitudes spanned the seventeenth century. As Japanese culture began to be introduced in Chosŏn by returning envoys from the embassies that visited Japan (K. T’ongshinsa), attitudes began to change, and different dimensions of perception emerged among a few Practical Learning (K. shirhak) scholars, but these new ideas appeared only after the mid-eighteenth century. We will examine the cultural items that were transmitted to Chosŏn by way of Japan during the Imjin Waeran: the arquebus, Catholicism, red pepper, and tobacco. Arquebus rifles One of the main reasons behind Chosŏn’s defeat on land during the early stages of the Imjin Waeran was the Japanese army’s possession of the matchlock, musket, or arquebus. The arquebus was a portable firearm that was used as the principal weapon by the Japanese infantry during the Imjin Waeran. In Japan, the arquebuses were originally called “iron cannon,” or ashigaru teppō (foot soldier’s gun), but in Chosŏn, it was called a “bird rifle” (K. choch’ong) because “it could easily hit even a flying bird.” The arquebus was first produced at the end of the fifteenth century in Europe,36 and transmitted to Japan by the Portuguese who appeared in Asia in the sixteenth century. According to the Japanese Teppōki (Record of the Musket), Portuguese merchants presented a brace of arquebuses to the feudal lord of Tanegashima on the twenty-third day of the ninth month of 1543, and taught him the methods of firearm production, how to mix gunpowder, and marksmanship. These techniques were passed on to craftsmen in the city of Sakai, where 600 rifles were produced in 1544, and these were distributed throughout Japan. In particular, Oda Nobunaga developed a war strategy using arquebuses, and attained a great victory at the Battle of Nagashino in 1575. Afterwards, the arquebus was supplied to all parts of the country and used as the main weapon of foot soldiers. During the Imjin Waeran, the Japanese army consisted of cavalry and foot soldiers, and the foot soldiers were divided into riflemen, archers, and lancers. Among them, approximately 10 to 30 percent were riflemen. In these ways, the Japanese army strategically combined the new arquebus with traditional close-combat weapons such as the pike and bow to create effective combat tactics. The Chosŏn army, which relied on traditional, long-range combat methods, found itself nearly helpless against this systematic combination of distant and close fighting techniques. The arquebus was extremely effective with its ability to terrify, but more importantly, it had an accuracy and fatality rate five times that of the Chosŏn army’s bow. Even King Sŏnjo marveled at the arquebus as “the world’s consummate weapon” (K. ch’onha chi shingi). As a result, the Chosŏn court made efforts to acquire the manufacturing techniques.37 In particular, Yi Sunshin, Kim Shi’min (Magistrate of Chinju), and Kim Sŏng’il led the way in fabricating reproductions. They secured arquebuses as war trophies, and

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appointed people with skills in making arquebuses from among the Japanese who surrendered (K. hang-Wae). As a result of their efforts, they were able to acquaint themselves with the production technique by the third month of 1593, and by the twelfth month of the same year arquebuses were being produced even in provincial headquarters and army commands. The probable reason why the Chosŏn army was not driven out of the battlefield by the Japanese army after its initial defeat was owing to the domestic manufacture of arquebuses.38 Even after the Imjin Waeran, the Chosŏn court held a profound interest in arquebuses, and developed their production techniques.39 Consequently, the technical standard of Chosŏn’s manufactures was acknowledged when Qing China offered to purchase great numbers of arquebuses from Chosŏn in 1657.40 Catholicism During the Imjin Waeran, Western missionaries came to Chosŏn as Japanese army chaplains and engaged in missionary work. This event has historical significance for the fact that it was the first time Catholic priests came and engaged in missionary work in Korea. The Spanish priest Gregorio de Cespedes (1551–1611) had engaged in missionary work in Japan under the auspices of the Jesuits and came to Chosŏn as the chaplain for Konishi Yukinaga. Father de Cespedes stayed in Yukinaga’s headquarters at Ungch’ŏn in Kyŏngsang Province from the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth month of 1593 until the sixth month of 1595.41 He mainly served in giving the Sacrament of Penance to the Japanese Catholic soldiers and propagating Catholicism within the armies under Yukinaga and the Tsushima daimyō Sō Yoshitoshi. However, de Cespedes’s work was restricted due to Hideyoshi’s policy of prohibiting Catholic priests from accompanying the army and from surveillance by Yukinaga’s rival Katō Kiyomasa. As a result, he had to return to Japan after a year-and-a-half.42 There are no records of him proselytizing to Korean people during his time in Chosŏn. The only fact that has been confirmed is that he took a Chosŏn youth who came to be called Vincent Kouan Cafioie (his Japanese name was Gongabee) from Tsushima on his way back to Japan and had him educated in a theological seminary.43 According to Father Luis de Guzman’s Historia de las missiones (1601), there were many Chosŏn captives in Japan during the Imjin Waeran who converted to Catholicism. Over 2,000 Koreans received baptism in 1594 in the two regions of Ōmura and Arima alone, and in 1596 all Chosŏn captives living in these regions were baptized. More than 7,000 Chosŏn captives converted to Catholicism between 1594 and 1598. It is presumed that de Cespedes played an important role in these conversions.44 If we examine records written by Western missionaries who were evangelizing in Japan at the time, it is clear that many Korean captives converted to Catholicism in the midst of despair. It is said that, even in Spanish literary works, there are stories about Chosŏn captives who converted to Catholicism

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in Japan. Although there are no records of the propagation of Catholicism on Korean soil, there are records of many Koreans joining the Catholic Church in Japan. De Cespedes in the sixteenth century was the first Westerner to arrive in Korea and the only European eyewitness to the Imjin Waeran. He informed Europeans about the situation through four letters.45 Although he also engaged in a great deal of proselytizing among the Chosŏn captives, there are mixed opinions about the significance of his missionary work. Contrary to the missionary histories that highly regard de Cespedes’ work in sowing the first seeds of the gospel in Korea, the main stance taken by today’s Korean Catholic Church historians regard his work as marginal. They find it difficult to recognize de Cespedes’ missionary work with the Chosŏn captives because that took place in Japan and is not confirmed in Chosŏn records. The conventional wisdom in South Korea today is that “the initial contact with western culture for traditional Chosŏn society did not develop from the efforts of westerners, but by the autonomous efforts of Koreans over the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.”46 Thus, the founding year of the Korean Catholic Church has been established as 1785, when Catholicism was embraced by converts in Korea with an independent religious will. However, there is important significance in the facts that a Catholic priest came to Chosŏn during the Imjin Waeran, and, despite the conversions having taken place in Japan, as many as 7,000 Korean captives became Catholics. Among these converts, twenty-one were martyred during the repression by the Edo bakufu in the early half of the seventeenth century. In 1867, among the 205 Japanese beatified, nine were from Chosŏn. Moreover, it is said that there were Catholic captives who returned to Chosŏn in 1605, and they brought Matteo Ricci’s Tianzhu shiyi (De Deo Verax Disputatio or The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven), written in classical Chinese, to spread the doctrine to their compatriots.47 Food and luxuries Among the items that were introduced to Chosŏn through the Imjin Waeran, the most representative are chili peppers and tobacco. As these affected the diet and taste of the Chosŏn people immensely, they bear very important significance in the economic and cultural history of the late Chosŏn period. Chili peppers originated from Central America, but according to the Japanese text Sōmoku rokubu kōshuhō, they were introduced to Japan by the Portuguese in 1542. While it is not clear when exactly they were introduced in Chosŏn, it is assumed that they were brought in during the Imjin Waeran. Yi Sugwang’s Chibong yusŏl mentions that chili peppers were introduced from Japan, and that they were called “Japanese mustard.” From the fact that other records refer to chili peppers as the “southern barbarian herb” or the “Japanese herb,” it is assumed that they were certainly introduced from Japan. Since the late Chosŏn period, chili pepper has become an absolutely essential food product on the Korean table, while black pepper, used prior to

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this period, has been marginalized. In particular, as the spice ingredient for kimch’i, the chili pepper has changed Korean cuisine. There are two opinions on when tobacco was introduced in Chosŏn. One is that it was brought in with the Imjin Waeran, and the other is that it was introduced in 1617. However, the tobacco that was brought in by the Japanese was called “southern herb” or “Wae herb,” and was distinguished from “western herb” that was imported through Beijing from the west. The tobacco from Japan was introduced earlier. In late Chosŏn society, tobacco was not only consumed domestically, but also became a major export item to China through commercialized tobacco cultivation.

Conclusion Within the tranquil stream of history, war is like a powerful vortex. Although it destroys the existing order, it also plants a flower on the wretched battlefield. At times, war becomes the basis for the quickening of a new order, and at times, it becomes the force of historical development. The Japanese historian Tokutomi Sohō (1863–1957) wrote of the Imjin Waeran: “While neither Japan nor Chosŏn gained any advantages from this war, Japan gained cultural benefits from the importation of moveable type printing, technological benefits from ceramics, and diplomatic benefits from its contact with Ming China.” By way of summation, he commented that “the war in Korea was an extravagant chance for the Japanese to study abroad.”48 As Sohō indicated, while Japan paid an expensive price for the war, it was also able to absorb much of Chosŏn culture. Neo-Confucianism and ceramics technology, which were transmitted through Chosŏn captives, and the great influx of moveable metal type and books all became the foundation for the development and cultural renaissance of early-modern Japanese society. For this reason, schools of historians have referred to this war as “a culture war” or “a ceramics war.” At the same time, while Chosŏn suffered tremendous damage on all levels with the war, it also gained some benefits from Japan. The transmission of firearms manufacture, Catholicism, chili peppers, and tobacco all carried significance for late Chosŏn society.

Notes Translated by Grace Koh with James B. Lewis. 1 In the early stages of the war, Japanese troops even robbed the tombs of King Sŏngjong (Sŏllŭng) and King Chungjong (Chŏngnŭng) in a competition to plunder treasure. According to the second letter by the Spanish priest, Gregorio de Cespedes, who accompanied Konishi Yukinaga’s army for a year-and-a-half from the twelfth month of 1593, the Christian generals sumptuously decorated their lodgings with exorbitant war booty. Considering the evidence, it is clear that the Japanese generals plundered a number of treasures and cultural artifacts from the very beginning of the campaign. Pak Ch’ŏl, “Sŏgu’in’i pon Imjin Waeran,” 1999, p. 87. 2 Kang Hang was born in Yŏnggwang County in Chŏlla Province. At the time of Hideyoshi’s second campaign, as a Junior Secretary (Sr. 6) in the Board of Punishments, he was captured by the naval forces of Tōdō Takatora (1556–1630)

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5 6 7

8 9 10 11 12

13

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in the ninth month of 1597 in the water off Yŏnggwang County. He was taken to Iyo Province in Shikoku, transferred through Ōsaka to Fushimi, where he met and engaged with Seika. Kang was a Confucianist, a student of Sŏng Hon (1535–98), and has left us Kanyangnok, Unjerok, T’onggam hoeyo, Suŭnjip, Chwa-ssi chŏnghwa, Munsŏn ch’anju, and other works. Translator’s note: For illustrations of some of Kang’s writings, see Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan, Imjin Waeran Chosŏn’in p’oro ŭi kiŏk, 2010, pp. 72–5. Akamatsu Hiromichi was lord of Tatsuno Castle in Harima Province, and although a military man, was introduced to the new thought of Zhu Xi and wanted to reform Japan. Seika was six years younger than Kang Hang and revered Kang as his teacher. See Fujiwara Seika, Seika sensei bunshū, fascicle 4 (題菊花圖答姜沆). Kang recommended Seika’s pen name – Seika. Kang also contributed four pieces to Seika’s collected works (Seika sensei bunshū). The original manuscripts of these texts are preserved in the Naikaku Bunko in Tōkyō. Translator’s note: For an argument that contests the importance of Yi Hwang (T’oegye) as a contributor to Japanese Neo-Confucianism (1501–70), see Boot, “Yi T’oegye and Japan,” 1982. In 1617, Yi Chŏnjik was born the son of Yi Chin’yŏng and an aristocratic Japanese woman. His pen name was Baikei. He was recommended by Nagata Zensai (1597– 1664), a Confucianist with the Kii domain, and set off at a young age to study in Kyōto. He accompanied his lord, Tokugawa Yorinobu, to Edo for his required attendance at court (sankin kōtai) and after living in Edo for ten years, he met the 1655 Korean Communication Embassy. Chŏnjik’s son, Ch’ŏnghŏn, also became a Confucianist of the Kii domain. See Yi Sanghŭi, P’ashin ŭi nunmul, 1997, pp. 349–55. Nawa Kassho was one of the famous “Four gods” (shitennō, leading scholars) of the Fujiwara School and a first-class Confucianist of the period. Following Yi Chin’yŏng, he became personal teacher to the lord of the domain. As Hayashi Razan’s disciple, Zensai was recommended by his teacher and became a Confucianist for the Kii domain. A teacher to Yi Chŏnjik, Zensai also became Yi’s father-in-law. Komiya Mutsuyuki, “Kō Kōzen,” 1996, pp. 77–80. Detailed information on Hong Hoyŏn is recorded in Koga Seiri’s Kō Kōzen den (Biography of Hong Hoyŏn). Koga Seiri’s son, who was adopted into the Kō (Hong) house, became Hong Chinsŏng and served in the important post of toshiyori or elder advisor of the domain. He left us some writings. In the precincts of the Amidaji temple in the city of Saga are the tombs of Hong Hoyŏn and his clan. The Hong or Kō clan is even today considered one of the illustrious clans of Saga Prefecture. When Yi Chonghan was in Hyŏn’gam village in Indong County, Kyŏngsang Province, he was captured by Hosokawa Tadaoki (1563–1646) and taken to Kumamoto domain. The Takamoto surname was coined by Yi Chonghan’s son Keitakudai and was composed of one character from the Koryŏ dynasty (taka(i) in Japanese) and one character (hon) from the Japanese word for Japan (Ni-hon), whereas hon can be read as moto; hence Takamoto. Matsuda Kō, “Chōsenjin,” reprint 1976, pp. 106–7. Matsuda Kō, “Chōsenjin,” reprint 1976, pp. 112–13. Ken Ninshō (Kwŏn Insŏp), Chōsen to Nihon no Kankeishi, 2000, p. 210. Tsuruzono Yutaka, “Nihon kinsei,” 1991; Kibe Kazuaki, “Hagi han,” 1999; Ōishi Manabu, “Kinsei Nihon,” 2001. Nakano Setsuko, “Kaga-han,” 1991.

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18 In 1234, at Ch’oe U’s order, the Kogŭm sangchŏng yemun was printed. Although no longer extant, it is the earliest attested book in Korea produced using cast, metallic type. Son Po-gi, Kŭmsok, 1976, pp. 171–2. 19 Hideyoshi bestowed these books upon Manase Shōrin. Afterwards, Shōrin founded the Yoan’in Library (Yoan’in Bunko). See Yi Chun’gŏl, Chosŏn sidae, 1986, p. 181. 20 In Japan, this was referred to as “Kōrai iri.” 21 Translator’s note: Gloss taken from Kornicki, The Book in Japan, 1998, p. 129. 22 Kang Chaeŏn [Kyō Zaigen], “Bunroku Keichō no eki,” 1980. 23 Translator’s note: See Kornicki, The Book in Japan, 1998, pp. 127–8, for a discussion of the comparatively large impact of Korean typography on Japanese culture. 24 Among these, there are 943 Korean books in the Kunaichō Shoryōbu and 2,966 in public archival depositories throughout Japan. 25 Currently, the Hōsa Bunko in Nagoya contains 1,492 books in 163 categories. 26 Later, this became the Nanki Bunko and is housed in the Central Library of the University of Tōkyō. 27 Later, this changed to the Shōkōkan Bunko. The second lord of Mito domain, Tokugawa Mitsukuni, reprinted the Korean history Tongguk t’onggam (Comprehensive Mirror of the Eastern Kingdom). Mituskuni had a great interest in history, and this tradition carried through for the next 250 years in the compilation of the Dai Nihonshi in Mito. 28 The later incarnation of the Fushimi Gakkō Shozō Bunko established by Ieyasu is the National Diet Library (Kokuritsu Kokkai Toshokan). 29 Currently, the main holdings are divided between the Nagasaki Kenritsu Tsushima Rekishi Minzoku Shiryōkan and the Han’guk Kuksa P’yŏnch’an Wiwŏnhoe. 30 Yi Chungŏl, Chosŏn sidae, 1986, p. 184. 31 Ono Noriaki, Nihon toshokanshi, 1973, p. 103. 32 Abe Yoshio, Nihon Shushigaku to Chōsen, 1971, part 3, chapter 1. 33 It is a historical irony that Yamazaki Ansai’s intellectual descendants, who advocated sonnō-ron (respect the emperor) at the end of the Tokugawa era, found the theoretical roots of an ideological conversion to a “restoration of imperial government” (J. ōsei fukko) in Yi Hwang’s thought. 34 In 1594, Nabeshima Naoshige’s forces abducted Yi Samp’yŏng. Later, at Takuko in Karatsu, he fired pottery. In 1616, at Arita, he discovered white chinaware clay, moved with eighteen others to Arita, set up the Tengudani kiln, and it was here that Japanese porcelain production began. As a result, Yi is respected as the father of ceramics in Japan, and in Arita there was erected a stele commemorating Yi Samp’yŏng as the “father of [Japanese] ceramics.” At the Sueyama Shrine, he is venerated as the “god of ceramics.” Translator’s note: For illustrations and documents pertaining to Yi Samp’yŏng, the Tengudani kiln, Arita ware, and porcelain production by Korean potters in Japan, see Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan, Imjin Waeran Chosŏn’in p’oro ŭi kiŏk, 2010, pp. 42–71. For an argument that discounts the input from Korean potters and revises the emphasis put on Yi Samp’yŏng, see Rousmainere, Vessels of Influence, 2012, pp. 120 ff. 35 Paek P’asŏn and her potter husband were abducted and in 1618, after he died, she led potters to relocate to Arita, and they produced ceramics. Today at Hōanji temple in Arita is a stone stele that celebrates her accomplishments. See Yi Naeok, “Chŏnjaeng,” 1999, p. 193. 36 The arquebus that was transmitted to Asia was invented by the Ottoman Turks and developed by the Portuguese. 37 In fact, on the first day of the seventh month, 1589, while Keitetsu Gensō and Sō Yoshitoshi were requesting the dispatch of Korean envoys, they presented a pair of

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peacocks and several arquebuses to the court, but the Chosŏn court expressed little interest and stored them away in an arsenal. Sŏnjo sujŏng sillok, 23:8b (1589.7.–). Pak Chaegwang, “Chŏnjaeng dogu,” 1999, pp. 102–5. When the third Reply and Prisoner Repatriation Envoy (K. Hoetap kyŏm swaehwansa) visited Japan in 1624, they also obtained arquebuses. Pak Chaegwang, “Chŏnjaeng dogu,” 1999, p. 104. See also Yi Kwangmu, “Chosŏn hugi,” 1998; Yi Kangch’il, “Chosŏn Hyojong cho,” 1982. Translator’s note: For a study of Korean interest in muskets and volley techniques, see: Andrade et al., “A Korean Military Revolution?”, 2014. Kim Yangsŏn, “Imjin Waeran,” 1964, pp. 721. There is a contention that de Cespedes came to Chosŏn again in the summer of 1597 and stayed for two months. Kim Yangsŏn, “Imjin Waeran,” 1964, p. 720. Vincent Kouan Cafioie became an outstanding preacher. He was arrested at the time of the Shimabara Rebellion and martyred. Kim Yangsŏn, “Imjin Waeran,” 1964, p. 736. Kim Yangsŏn, “Imjin Waeran,” 1964, pp. 733–5. De Cespedes dispatched four letters from Korea, and if we include his letters from Japan, the total is fourteen. For a discussion of the contents, see Pak Ch’ŏl, Sesŭp’edesŭ, 1987, pp. 181–2. Yi Wŏnsun, Chosŏn sŏhaksa yŏn’gu, 1986, p. 462. Yu Hongyŏl, Han’guk ch’ŏnju kyohoesa, 1962, pp. 35–7. Tokutomi Sohō, Chōsen eki, 1922.

References Abe Yoshio (阿都吉雄). Nihon Shushigaku to Chōsen (日本朱子學と朝鮮). Tōkyō: Tōkyō daigaku shuppankai (東京大學出版會), 1965 (2nd edn., 1971). Andrade, Tonio, Hyeok Hweon Kang, and Kirsten Cooper. “A Korean Military Revolution? Parallel Military Innovations in East Asia and Europe,” Journal of World History 25:1 (March 2014): 51–84. Boot, W.J. “Yi T’oegye and Japan,” Korea Journal 22:2 (February 1982): 16–30. Fujiwara Seika (藤原惺窩). Seika sensei bunshū (惺窩先生文集). Kang Chaeŏn (J. Kyō Zaigen, 姜在彦). “Bunroku Keichō no eki to Chōsen Tsūshinshi (文祿慶長の役と朝鮮通信使),” Nihon no naka no Chōsen bunka (日本の中の朝鮮 文化) 48 (1980): 28–9. Ken Ninshō (K. Kwŏn Insŏp, 權仁燮). Chōsen to Nihon no kankeishi (朝鮮と日本の関 係史). Tokyo: Akashi shoten (明石書店), 2000. Kibe Kazuaki (木部和昭). “Hagi han ni okeru Chōsenjin horyo to bushi shakai (萩藩 における朝鮮人捕虜と武士社会),” Rekishi hyōron (歴史評論) 593 (1999): 47–59. Kim Yangsŏn (金蓥善). “Imjin Waeran chon’gun shinbu Sesŭp’edesŭ [Cespedes] ŭi nae-Han hwaldong kwa kŭ yŏnghyang (壬辰倭亂 從軍神父 ㎎㓺䗮◆㓺㦮G緈韓活 動ὒ ⁎ 影響),” Sahak yŏn’gu (史學硏究) 18 (1964): 703–40. Komiya Mutsuyuki (小宮睦之). “Kō Kōzen [K. Hong Hoyŏn] to Saga han (洪浩然と 佐賀藩),” Saga Kenritsu Nagoyajō Hakubutsukan Kenkyū Kiyō (佐賀縣立名護屋城 博物館硏究紀要) 2 (1996): 25–32. Kornicki, Peter. The Book in Japan: A Cultural History from the Beginnings to the Nineteenth Century. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan (ῃⰓ㰚㭒⹫ⶒὖ), ed. Imjin Waeran Chosŏn’in p’oro ŭi kiŏk (㧚㰚㢲⧖G 㫆㍶㧎G 䙂⪲㦮G ₆㠋). Chinju: Kungnip Chinju Pangmulgwan, 2010.

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Matsuda Kō (松田甲). “Chōsenjin o sosen to seru Kumamoto no sekigaku Takamoto Shimei (朝鮮人を祖先とせる熊本の碩學高本紫溟),” Nissen shiwa (日鮮史話), Vol. 1. Tokyo: Hara shobō (原書房), 1926 (reprint 1976), pp. 105–20. Nakano Setsuko (中野節子). “Kaga-han kashindan hensei to Wakita Naokata (加 賀藩家臣団編成と脇田直賢),” in Kaga-han o chūshin ni (加賀藩を中心に), 1990 Monbushō kagaku kenkyūhi kenkyū seika hōkokusho (1990文部省科学研究費研究 成果報告書), Kanazawa daigaku, 1991. Ōishi Manabu (大石学). “Kinsei Nihon shakai no Chōsenjin hanshi (近世日本社会の 朝鮮人藩士),” Nihon rekishi (日本歴史) 640:9 (2001): 83–4. Ono Noriaki (小野則秋). Nihon toshokanshi (日本圖書館史). Tokyo: Genbunsha (玄 文社), 1973. Pak Ch’ŏl (朴哲). “Sŏgu’in’i pon Imjin Waeran (㍲ῂ㧎㧊G ⽎G 㧚㰚㢲⧖),” in Saeropge tashi po’nŭn Imjin Waeran (㌞⫃ỢG┺㔲G⽊⓪G㧚㰚㢲⧖). Chinju: Chinju pangmulgwan, 1999, pp. 79–88. Pak Ch’ŏl (朴哲). Sesŭp’edesŭ (Cespedes): Han’guk pangmun ch’oech’o sŏguin (㎎㓺䗮◆㓺 – 䞲ῃG ⹿ⶎG 㾲㽞G ㍲ῂ㧎). Seoul: Sŏgang taekhakkyo ch’ulp’anbu, 1987. Pak Chaegwang (朴宰光). “Chŏnjaeng dogu (戰爭道具),” in Saeropge tashi po’nŭn Imjin Waeran (㌞⫃ỢG┺㔲G⽊⓪G㧚㰚㢲⧖G). Chinju: Chinju pangmulgwan, 1999, pp. 89–122. Rousmainere, Nicole Coolidge. Vessels of Influence: China and the Birth of Porcelain in Medieval and Early Modern Japan. London: Bristol Classical Press, 2012. Son Po-gi (㏦⽊₆). Kŭmsok hwalja wa inswaesul (⁞㏣䢲㧦㢖G㧎㐚㑶). Seoul: Sejong taewang kinyŏm saŏphoe, 1976. Sŏnjo sujŏng sillok (宣祖修正實錄). Tokutomi Sohō (徳富 蘇峰). Chōsen eki, Kinsei Nihon kokuminshi, Vol. 2 (朝鮮役, 近 世日本國民史,下). Tokyo: Minyūsha (民友社), 1922. Tsuruzono Yutaka (鶴園裕). “Nihon kinsei shoki ni okeru torai Chōsenjin no kenkyū: Kaga-han o chūshin ni (日本近世初期における渡来朝鮮人の研究: 加賀藩を中心 に),” in 1990 Monbushō kagaku kenkyūhi kenkyū seika hōkokusho (1990文部省科学 研究費研究成果報告書), Kanazawa daigaku, 1991. Yi Chun’gŏl (蝗俊杰). Chosŏn sidae Ilbon kwa sŏjŏk kyoryu yŏn’gu (朝鮮時代 㧒⽎ὒ 書籍交流 硏究). Seoul: Hong’ikchae, 1986. Yi Kangch’il (蝗康七). “Chosŏn Hyojong-cho nachŏngbŏl kwa p’ia choch’ong e taehan sogo (朝鮮孝宗朝 継禪征伐ὒ 被我 烏銃㠦 對䞲 小考),” Komunhwa (ἶⶎ䢪), Han’guk taehak pangmulgwan hyŏphoe 20 (1982): 15–28. Yi Kwangmu (蝗旺茂). “Chosŏn hugi choch’ong chejo e kwanhan yŏn’gu: 17–18 segi rŭl chungsim ŭro (㫆㍶䤚₆ 鳥銃製造㠦 ὖ䞲 㡆ῂ: 17෹18㎎₆⯒G 㭧㕂㦒⪲),” Kyŏnggi saron (京畿史論) 2 (1998): 153–5. Yi Naeok (蝗乃沃). “Chŏnjaeng ŭl t’onghan munhwa kyoryu (㩚㨗㦚G䐋䞲Gⶎ䢪ᾦ⮮),” in Saeropge tashi po’nŭn Imjin Waeran (㌞⫃ỢG┺㔲G⽊⓪G㧚㰚㢲⧖). Chinju: Chinju pangmulgwan, 1999, pp. 190–7. Yi Sanghŭi (蝗相熙). P’ashin ŭi nunmul (波臣㦮G⑞ⶒ). Seoul: Pŏmusa, 1997. Yi Wŏnsun (蝗元淳). Chosŏn sŏhaksa yŏn’gu (朝鮮西學史硏究). Seoul: Iljisa, 1986. Yu Hŭngyŏl (蛢洪烈). Han’guk ch’ŏnju kyohoesa (韓國天主敎會史). Seoul: K’at’ollik ch’ulp’ansa, 1962.

16 The Imjin Waeran in Korean and Japanese literature Choi Gwan (崔 官)

Introduction At the end of the sixteenth century, the Imjin Waeran shook Chosŏn Korea, Ming China, and Japan to their roots with repercussions continuing long after the war’s conclusion. In 1592, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, harboring an ambition to conquer Ming China, mobilized approximately 150,000 troops and ordered them to invade Chosŏn. The Japanese armies, with their extensive experience from the sengoku period and equipped with muskets, a new weapon, first seized Pusan and then swept all before them to dominate the Korean peninsula. Despite these rapid victories, the Japanese army’s momentum from the early stages of the war did not continue for long. It was eventually pushed onto the defensive with the righteous army’s guerrilla attacks, the victories of the Chosŏn naval forces led by Yi Sunshin, the dispatch of a relief army from Ming China, and the counterattacks by Korean government army troops. At a certain point, peace negotiations between the Ming government and the Toyotomi regime began, but when the negotiations failed, the Japanese army launched a second full-scale invasion in 1597. With the death of Hideyoshi, Japanese forces evacuated from the peninsula at the end of 1598, and the Imjin Waeran, a tragic conflict that took many lives over seven years, came to an end. Afterwards, Tokugawa Ieyasu, who seized power from the Toyotomi regime, requested the restoration of diplomatic relations with Chosŏn Korea, and the Chosŏn court finally resumed diplomatic relations with the Edo bakufu in 1607 in preparation against the threat of the Manchu tribes who were newly on the rise in the northern regions. The clash between the three countries of East Asia began without even a declaration of war and ended without any change in territory or a peace treaty. Former relations among the belligerents were resumed after nine years, but the shock and repercussions caused by this war were truly of an unprecedented nature. In the case of China, its heavy war expenditures became one of the causes for the Ming government’s collapse. In the case of Japan, political power fell into the hands of Ieyasu with the failure of Japan’s first war of foreign conquest and Hideyoshi’s death. In the case of Korea, while the dynasty

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did not change, there were fundamental changes in the society as a whole, as expressed in the division of the Chosŏn period into early and late with the Imjin Waeran as the point of demarcation. As such, the Imjin Waeran brought historical changes to each country, certainly for Korea and Japan, which were the opposing countries in the war, and also for China, which sent reinforcements. In regional terms, the execution of this long, bloody war by the three countries, which each fought bearing their country’s fate, was the first of its kind from the beginning of the region’s history. While there were clashes prior to 1592,1 the Imjin Waeran affected the East Asian region with such strength and intensity that nothing else has compared. The Imjin Waeran was a direct challenge by Japan to the Sinocentric East Asian world order up until that time. Similar Japanese challenges have reappeared in modern times. If we narrow our attention to Korea and Japan, the Imjin Waeran brought about great changes not only to the two countries’ politics, economies, and societies, but also to their cultures. Ideologically, Fujiwara Seika, who is hailed as the founder of early-modern Confucianism in Japan, became devoted to Chosŏn’s Neo-Confucianism (K. sŏngnihak), and became a Neo-Confucian scholar himself through personal exchanges with the young Korean NeoConfucian scholar Kang Hang, who was captured and taken to Japan as a prisoner of war. And Seika’s pupil, Hayashi Razan, who was offered a post under Ieyasu on the recommendation of Seika, devised a political doctrine for the Edo bakufu based on Neo-Confucianism. This became the foundation for a bakufu academy.2 Moreover, the fact that the Imjin Waeran has been in later times regarded as a war for ceramics, books, printing, and human captives points to the many Chosŏn cultural resources that were forcibly taken to Japan. The Japanese army plundered widely, as though their aim were to acquire matériel and people, and it is certain that these became a great impetus to the development of Japanese culture in early-modern times. On the other hand, Chosŏn cultural arts, such as printing with moveable type and ceramics, which were of a world standard at the time, slipped into a long stagnation. Literary works in both countries that depict the Imjin Waeran illustrate the extent of the shock of the war. Between the time of the Imjin Waeran and the present, the Imjin Waeran has been recorded and depicted in various forms, many of which are extant today. These include not only historical records, war diaries, records of service in war, personal memoirs, prisoner of war memoirs, and stories of military feats, but also novels, stories, poetry in classical Chinese, Korean verse (K. shijo) and folk songs, Japanese folk verse (J. senryū), and productions for the Japanese theater (J. kabuki) and the puppet theater (J. ningyō jōruri). These works reflect well the perceptions of the adversaries generated by the two countries’ extreme conflict, the times, and the spirit of the author. If we compare how each country mythologized the historical events of the war, we may also grasp the distinguishing features of each country’s literature. Research, however, on the relationship between the

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Imjin Waeran and literature has been neglected. Until now, studies related to the Imjin Waeran have usually focused on historical research, and in Japan there has even been a tendency to treat the Imjin Waeran as a part of research on the Toyotomi regime. Fortunately, there has been an increase in the number of studies on the relation between culture and the Imjin Waeran in recent years, but it can be said that a systematic and general study on literature dealing with the Imjin Waeran has yet to be done. This chapter organizes and presents a rough overview of Korean and Japanese literary works on the Imjin Waeran from the perspective of comparative literature.

The inscription of the Imjin Waeran in Korean literature Above all, the greatest wounds inflicted by the Imjin Waeran were in Chosŏn, the battleground of the war. For 200 years following the establishment of the Chosŏn dynasty in 1392, a peaceful life had been maintained, but this was destroyed in an instant when the Japanese army invaded. King Sŏnjo left his palace and fled to P’yŏngyang and then to Ŭiju, and the entire Korean peninsula was drawn into the vortex of war. As 109 battles took place during the war, there were numerous casualties, and even instances where tens of thousands of people were massacred within the walls of a single city. There were very few villages that did not suffer the ravages of war, and the situation was such that the few areas in the mountains that did not suffer damage were later called utopias.3 With nothing to eat, innumerable people starved to death. It is estimated that the number of people whose noses were cut off as proof of the Japanese army’s military exploits or those who were captured and taken off as prisoners of war totaled hundreds of thousands.4 There were very few Chosŏn people who did not suffer, including assault or murder in front of one’s family, or the separation of an entire family without knowledge of each other’s fates. The Imjin Waeran touched not only the soldiers, but the entire country – from the king all the way down to the nobi.5 The fact that the amount of rice production after the Imjin Waeran was less than 30 percent of that prior to the war indicates clearly just how ruined the entire land became over seven years. It was an unprecedented, wretched spectacle in Chosŏn history. Because the Japanese army also suffered major damage and evacuated without achieving their war aims, the war was not necessarily a defeat for Chosŏn. On the other hand, it was not a victorious war, either. It was a war that had no victor, but which merely left behind ruins on the Korean peninsula. With such an extremely wretched spectacle, the image of Japan as a merciless invader and an irreconcilable enemy became firmly established. While Koreans initially gave complete support to the Ming army troops who came as reinforcements, their tyranny and plunder manifested themselves, and the need for autonomous efforts was strongly felt. An objective consciousness of the international situation took shape, and at the time, Koreans could not

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help but criticize and reflect on what internal elements had incited such a terrible disaster: Why had they been negligent in their preparations for war? Chosŏn society had been accustomed to peace for a long period of time and was thrown into great confusion in the early stages of the war. The society displayed resilience, however, with the resistance that arose, and ordinary people came to display a sense of “national” identity. The Imjin Waeran increasingly made the Chosŏn people stand together, and many “righteous soldiers” (K. ŭibyŏng) from various parts of the country voluntarily rose against the Japanese. The resistance of the people from every social group and social class went against the Japanese army’s expectations and reversed Japanese plans. Widespread resistance became an important factor in pushing the invaders onto the defensive. While in the past there had appeared “national” heroes who fought off foreigners when they invaded, the Imjin Waeran generated more heroes than did any other war. The distinguished war service and loyal spirit of those honored as sacred heroes today, including the commanders Yi Sunshin,6 Kim Shi’min,7 Kwŏn Yul,8 and Kim Ŭngsŏ,9 the righteous army leaders Kwak Chaeu,10 Kim Ch’ungnyŏng,11 and Kim Ch’ŏn’il,12 and the female entertainers (K. kisaeng) Non’gae and Kyewŏlhyang,13 have been reproduced in literary works and legends, and have come down to us in these forms. As is generally known, the Imjin Waeran was not merely a war between Korea and Japan. With the participation of the Ming army and dark-skinned soldiers from Southeast Asia who accompanied the Ming army, the Imjin Waeran came to assume aspects of an international war involving multinational troops. European missionaries accompanied the Japanese army as battlefield chaplains, and the progress of the war was reported to Europe through Jesuit letters.14 Moreover, records of Korean prisoners of war in Japan who managed to escape and return via China depict personal experiences in the East Asian world beyond the confined space of the Korean peninsula. The Imjin Waeran occasioned an expansion of Koreans’ consciousness beyond Chosŏn to East Asia and even the world. In the end, the country was destroyed, and an anti-Japanese sentiment became grounded in the experiences of conflict. Numerous war heroes were born as national heroes. At the same time, there also appeared an objective outlook on the war and an expansion of people’s consciousness regarding the wider world. On this basis the war was recorded and depicted in literary works. The progress of the Imjin Waeran is recorded in detail in various nonfiction accounts. Foremost among these are the dynastic veritable records, Chosŏn wangjo shillok. Aside from the veritable records, there are numerous memoirs that record personal war experiences from the viewpoint of a court statesman, a commander at the front, a righteous army leader, and a peasant soldier. In Korea, these works are collectively called shilgi or non-fiction records. The number and quantity of non-fiction is vast, so vast that new

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materials are being discovered even now. Among them, we can list the known major works as follows: •

• • •

•

•

• •

• • •

Yu Sŏngnyong, Chingbirok, records events between 1592 and 1598. The author Yu Sŏngyong was a disciple of Yi Hwang and discovered and promoted Yi Sunshin. Yu held important posts at the court, including Minister of War (K. Pyŏngjo p’ansŏ) and Wartime Commander (K. Toch’ech’alsa).15 After the war, he wrote about the Imjin Waeran with the intention to warn posterity, “I will be severely critical of recent events and let future generations be worried and prudent.” As a record that expounds on the loyal and patriotic spirit of a self-reflective statesman during the war period, Chingbirok is considered a basic document on the Imjin Waeran. It was carried to Japan and was also essential reading for the Korean communication embassies (K. T’ongshinsa). Yi Sunshin, Nanjung ilgi, 1592.1.1–1598.11.17. This is Yi Sunshin’s memoirs written at his naval base. Yi No, Yongsa ilgi. As a staff officer under Kim Sŏng’il, Yi No recorded battles in detail. Cho Kyŏngnam, Nanjung chamnok. This is a miscellaneous, unofficial history (K. yasa) by an author who participated in the war as a righteous army leader. Cho Chŏng, Imjin Waeran ilgi. This contains stories of personal experience and observations by an author who served as a righteous army soldier. O Hŭimun, Swaemirok. These are stories of personal experiences and observations by a man from an illustrious family during his wartime wanderings. Chŏng Yŏngbang, Imjin chobyŏn sajŏk. These are records of tragedies suffered by a scholar’s family. Yun Kukhyŏng, Munso mallok. These are writings related to the Imjin Waeran by an official involved in overseeing revenue and expenditures under the royal purview. Yu Chin, Imjin nok. Yu Sŏngnyong’s son Yu Chin recorded his personal experiences during the war. The text is in Korean. Kim Yong, Hojong ilgi. These are records kept while attending the king as a court historian. Chŏng T’ak, Yongsa ilgi. These are records kept while accompanying the crown prince around the country.

These extant works record actual things experienced, seen, and heard by an individual in his given situation during the Imjin Waeran.16 Among these, there are a number of works that are widely recognized for their value as historical documents, such as Yu Sŏngnyong’s Chingbirok. There are also records written by people who were taken as captives to Japan during the war. Captives’ records depict their personal experiences

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and observations in a foreign country. Among them, Kang Hang’s famous Kanyangnok is a memoir written in classical Chinese about the author’s experience as a prisoner of war and observations on Japanese affairs from the time he was captured by a Japanese army in late 1597 until his escape in early 1600, spanning four years. Kang was an official and a young Confucian scholar, whose patriotism and sober assessments are well expressed. Aside from these, there are other works such as Wŏlbong haesangnok by Chŏng Hŭidŭk, whose scholarly achievements were recognized in Japan, and Kŭmgye ilgi by No In, who escaped from Japan to China and then returned to Korea. When the war ended in 1598, accounts that went beyond the recording of facts, or works that fictionalized the war, emerged from early on. Talch’ŏn mongyurok, written in 1600, eulogizes loyal and patriotic martyred generals. It is regarded as the first fully fictional work in both Korea and Japan that depicts the Imjin Waeran. As its title suggests, it is a dream novel and treats dreams as its subject. It is a pioneering work that consists of a plot in which the hero of the novel dreams of meeting “grieving ghosts” (K. wŏn kwi) who died in the invasion and listens to their stories. Talch’ŏn was the site of a Korean defeat early in the invasion where General Shin Ip’s army, after having fought numerous battles, faced a decisive battle and was annihilated by Konishi Yukinaga’s forces. Talch’ŏn mongyurok was the literary product of the author Yun Kyesŏn’s feelings on his visit to Talch’ŏn. He died mysteriously at an early age, four years after he wrote this text. A total of twenty-seven loyal and patriotic martyred commanders who died in battle, beginning with Yi Sunshin, appear in the work. They each express their resentment and feelings in turn. Afterwards, they beg P’adamja, the literary incarnation of the author, to exert himself in serving the country in their stead. When P’adamja wakes up from his dream, he composes a ritual address and performs sacrificial rites in order to comfort the loyal spirits of these commanders. The intention driving this work lay in a desire to memorialize loyal and patriotic martyrs and take a historical lesson from their deaths. In addition to Talch’ŏn mongyurok, other dream novels that deal with the Imjin Waeran are P’isaeng myŏng mongnok and Yongmun mong’yurok.17 Kangdo mong’yurok, which deals with the 1636 Manchu invasion, is also well known. The most representative of literary works from the Chosŏn period that deals with the Imjin Waeran on all levels is unquestionably Imjin nok. Carrying the theme of the Imjin Waeran as its title suggests, Imjin nok is a historical war story that reveals the rise of a “national” spirit and sense of superiority over the Japanese. Despite the fact that considerable numbers of the book disappeared because it was banned during the Japanese colonial period of 1910–45, over forty different versions have come to light.18 These versions may share the same title, but they often differ in content and character from one another. The Imjin nok consists of a series of individual tales that have independent characteristics and significance. Its structure suggests how easily particular stories may have been omitted or added. Its variety reflects the fact

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that it was created by people from all social classes whose historical understanding of the Imjin Waeran differed one from the other. The author of Imjin nok is unknown, and the date of composition is presumed to be some time between the eighteenth century and the early nineteenth century. The existence of numerous alternative versions written in Korean, Korean and classical Chinese mixed script, and classical Chinese, suggests that it was a popular novel about the Imjin Waeran that targeted readers from all social classes. While it was originally created for the literati of its time and there are a few classical Chinese versions, many versions were aimed at the general public. It was read widely and re-created into new forms. Although there are matters yet to be clarified, Imjin nok today has been highly praised as “literature that forced an awakening of the masses, a literature that expressed an internal awareness and external fury, a literature of formative growth, a literature of the people.”19 The illustrious heroes in Imjin nok include Yi Sunshin, Kwak Chaeu, Kim Tŏngnyŏng, Non’gae, Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe,20 Kyewŏlhyang, Kim Ŭngsŏ,21 and Yujŏng Sa’myŏngdang.22 Tales related to these people, together with legends from all parts of the country, have been combined, extended, reproduced, and survive today. Another novelistic form was offered by captives who returned. Estimates of the numbers of people who were captured and taken to Japan during the Imjin Waeran range from several tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of people.23 Among them, some returned to Chosŏn during the process of re-establishing diplomatic relations with the Edo bakufu, some escaped, and others remained and lived in Japan. Some were sold off as slaves to Southeast Asia or went as far as Europe and ended their lives there. An elaboration of the wanderings of these captives and their experiences produced works of fiction with innovative content set against the background of the Imjin Waeran. Cho Wihan’s Ch’oe Ch’ŏk chŏn tells the story of Ch’oe Ch’ŏk, who goes to Ming China, his wife, who is taken to Japan, the couple’s dramatic reunion in Chinese Annam, and their return home after these ordeals. Nam Yun chŏn, written by an unknown author, is a novel with a unique storyline that recounts the story of Nam Yun, who is taken to Japan as a prisoner of war by the Japanese army and marries the princess of the Japanese king. He escapes with the help of the princess, and finally returns home by way of China. Other novels of this genre include Kwŏn P’il’s two works Chu Saeng chŏn and Yi Hallim chŏn.24 There is also a unique category of literary works that developed under the stimulus of the Imjin Waeran. Sŏ Yuyŏng’s Yungmi tanggi, set in the Silla period, follows Kim T’aeja’s dispatch of troops when Japanese pirates plan another invasion, Kim’s conquest of the Japanese capital of Edo, the surrender of the Japanese king, and the troops’ return home. Among other works are Yi Yun’gu chŏn, a story of fighting off Japanese pirates set in the Koryŏ period, and Yi Changbaek chŏn, which deals with Ming’s dispatch of reinforcements.

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Stories of heroes who saved the country during the Imjin Waeran reappeared from the late nineteenth century when the Japanese invaded again. Examples include Yi Sunshin chŏn, Kim Tŏngnyŏng chŏn, Samyŏngdang chŏn, and Kim Ŭngsŏ shilgi, which were written in a condescending tone towards Japan with the aim of heightening popular morale and overcoming the national crisis through heroism. The Imjin Waeran has also been represented in classical Chinese verse and poetry in hangŭl. Intellectuals, such as officials and Buddhist monks, expressed sentiments and described circumstances experienced during the Imjin Waeran through classical Chinese poetry, which occupied an important place in the literature of the yangban at the time.25 Among Korean kasa poetry written by those who experienced the war are “Kogong ga” by Hŏ Chŏn, Yi Wŏnik’s “Kogong tapjuin ga,” Ko Ŭngch’ŏk’s “Tosan ga,” Ch’oe Hyŏn’s “Yongsaŭm,” and Pak Illo’s “T’aep’yŏng sa,” “Sŏnsang t’an,” “Nuhang sa,” and “Yŏngnam ga.”26 We also have the “Chaeil ponjang ga” and “Hwaan insu ga” by Paek Suhoe, who spent nine years in Japan as a prisoner of war, and “Moha tangsulhoe ga” by Kim Ch’ungsŏn, who surrendered to the Japanese army and was naturalized in Japan. Verses depicting the Imjin Waeran continued to be produced until the early twentieth century and include Kim In’gyŏm’s “Ildong changyu ga” (1764). Even the Tonghak leader Ch’oe Cheu (1824–64) produced “Anshim ga” (1860) and “Hanyang obaengnyŏn ga” (published in 1913). Among shijo, one of the most traditional Korean verse forms, there are works by Yi Sunshin, Kim Tŏngnyŏng, Ko Kyŏngmyŏng, Yi Tŏg’il, Paek Suhoe, and Sil Myŏng.27 The contents of these Korean verses cover many topics, including the reality of the war, criticism of court officials, patriotic sentiments, the pursuit of peace, and the feelings of war prisoners. In general, those who experienced the war express their personal sentiments. Later works are not numerous, and wrath directed at Japan is central.

The inscription of the Imjin Waeran in Japanese literature Hideyoshi’s invasion of Chosŏn has been referred to as “the Taikō’s subjugation of Chosŏn” (Taikō no Chōsen seibatsu), “the subjugation of the Samhan” (Sankan seibatsu), “the conquest of Han” (seikan), “the Chosŏn war” (Chōsen eki), “the Chosŏn campaign” (Chōsen jin), or “the dispatch of troops to Chosŏn” (Chōsen shuppei) in early-modern Japan, and more recently as the Bunroku–Keichō no eki (the war of the Bunroku and Keichō eras) following the reign titles for the Japanese emperor at the time of the war. Whatever it was called, this was Japan’s first war of foreign conquest. While the Japanese army also had many casualties, and evacuated without attaining their goals, the numerous material and human resources that they took away from Chosŏn were a great help in the development of early-modern Japanese thought, industry, and culture. After the death of Hideyoshi from disease, Japan was enveloped in a whirlwind of struggles for power, and in 1600 was divided into two armies (east and

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west) that fought a great battle for supremacy. At the Battle of Sekigahara, the army of the east, led by Tokugawa Ieyasu, defeated the army of the west, which included members who had participated in the war in Chosŏn, such as Ishida Mitsunari and Konishi Yukinaga. Ieyasu, who seized political power, established the Edo bakufu, and in 1615 defeated surviving forces that served Hideyoshi’s young son Hideyori at Ōsaka. In the course of these events a considerable number of people who had experienced the Imjin Waeran were killed, and the recording of the facts of the invasion became difficult in the chaos during the transition of political power. Ieyasu made efforts to restore diplomatic relations with Chosŏn, emphasizing the fact that he had not participated in the invasion. Diplomatic relations were restored when he accepted the demands of the Chosŏn court. After the normalization of diplomatic relations, the amicable, egalitarian relationship between the Chosŏn court and the Edo bakufu continued until the modern period without resolving the resentment incited by the Imjin Waeran. Until 1811, Chosŏn communication embassies of around 400–500 men visited Japan on twelve occasions, and each visit was a great event that stirred Japanese society.28 The Edo bakufu strictly regulated contact with foreign countries. Until the opening of ports towards the end of the Tokugawa period, Japan could develop only an individual culture under an isolationist policy. However, Japan’s perception of Chosŏn, which had changed from being yesterday’s war opponent to the only country with which Japan had diplomatic relations, could never be the same as perceptions of other countries. This was because, from Japan’s viewpoint, Hideyoshi’s invasion of Chosŏn was Japan’s first war of foreign conquest. Not only was it a serious incident that could not be easily erased from people’s memories, but the existence of numerous Korean prisoners of war who remained in Japan and the Korean Communication Embassy visits made Japanese rather conscious of the Imjin Waeran. In reality, however, the bakufu strengthened regulations on publication, and banned not only the influx and publication of books related to Christianity, but also those that dealt with incidents related to Ieyasu or used the real names of warriors. Following this, books that dealt with Hideyoshi or the Imjin Waeran also became targets for control.29 Although there were no records organized and produced by the bakufu on the Imjin Waeran, the writing of historical records and the production of literature on the war proceeded privately. Despite bakufu restrictions, curiosity about the Imjin Waeran grew. During the Edo period alone approximately ten kinds of war tales (J. gunki) and realistic novels (J. jitsuroku-tai shōsetsu) depicting the Imjin Waeran were published for commercial gain, and the military exploits of individual warlords and observations by Buddhist monks following the campaigns were transcribed. These were usually in forms that sought after veracity or emphasized the military merits of Japanese leaders and were read within Japanese society.

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Chōsen gunki monogatari or “tales from the Chosŏn war” constituted a genre of works that usually surveyed the Imjin Waeran in a broad, general way. Major works of this genre published in the Edo period include: •

• • • • • • • • • •

• •

Oze Hoan, Taikōki. Of the twenty-two volumes that deal with the life of Hideyoshi Toyotomi, volumes 13, 14, and 15 treat the Imjin Waeran. It was published and re-published many times, including in 1646, 1661, and 1703. Hori Kyōan, Chōsen seibatsuki, nine fascicles, published in 1659. Furuhashi Yūgen, Kiyomasa-ki, three fascicles, published in 1663. Ōta Gyūichi, Kōraijin nikki, three fascicles with one supplement, published in 1702. Baba Shibunori, Chōsen Taiheiki, thirty fascicles, published in 1705. Seiki, Chōsen gunki taizen, thirty-eight fascicles with two supplements, published in 1705. Takenouchi Kakusai, Ehon Taikōki, seven volumes, eighty-four fascicles, published between 1779 and 1802. Akizato Ritō, Ehon Chōsen gunki, ten fascicles, published in 1800. Amano Sadashige, Amano Genuemon Chōsen ikusa monogatari, one fascicle, published in 1831. Aoyama Nobumitsu, Seikan zasshi, one fascicle, published in 1839. Kikuchi Kasugarō, Tsurumine Shigenobu, and Hashimoto Sadahide, Ehon Chōsen seibatsuki, two volumes, twenty fascicles, published in 1853 and 1854. Yamazaki Hisanaga, Chōsen seitō shimatsuki, five fascicles, published in 1854. Hachikōsha Tokusui and Ichiyūsai Kuniyoshi, Ehon Toyotomi Kunkōki, nine volumes, ninety fascicles, published in 1858.

As is clear from this list, works in the Chōsen gunkimono genre were continuously published over the Edo period. Among them, though, the bakufu forbade further printing of the 1703 edition of Oze Hoan’s Taikōki, Hori Kyōan’s Chōsen seibatsuki, Takenouchi Kakusai’s Ehon Taikōki, and others. The fact that so many works of the Chōsen gunkimono genre were published for commercial gain despite the bakufu’s rigid controls illustrates the great interest in early-modern Japanese society for books on the Imjin Waeran. In addition, a notable work was acquired from Chosŏn and published in Japan. In 1695, Yu Sŏngnyong’s Chingbirok was published in Kyōto with a preface written by Kaibara Ekiken (1630–1714) and included a map of Chosŏn.30 Through the Chingbirok, Japanese readers came to know of the actual circumstances in Chosŏn during the Imjin Waeran, and later works of the Chōsen gunkimono genre included content from the Chingbirok. In this way, the Chosŏn hero Yi Sunshin’s name came to be known in Japan. Yi was highly respected by the Japanese navy in modern times.31

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Aside from the original publications, many manuscript editions circulated and were passed down.32 Most of these were typeset in the Meiji period and later, and continue to be read. The Imjin Waeran has influenced modern Japanese literature, as shown by the numerous works that have the war as the theme or subject.33 The number of works that fall into the Chōsen gunkimono genre are a reflection of the Japanese people’s continuous interest in the Imjin Waeran. In these works Japanese views on war, life and death, and Chosŏn are projected. Today, the discovery and systematized research on works in this genre continue with historical and literary concerns at the forefront. Japanese during the Edo period seem to have been most concerned with apprehending the actual circumstances of the invasion, and the number of fictional treatments of the war are fewer in comparison with the number produced in Korea. While the number is smaller, Japanese fiction still exhibits characteristics unique to Japan. For the majority of the Japanese people, who were not sent to fight in Chosŏn, the Imjin Waeran evoked a vague image. Because of this, there appeared a group of works that fictionalized particular incidents and characters from the war, and produced particularly vivid images. An example is Katō Kiyomasa’s story of the tiger hunt, which is known even today.34 Works that reveal the distinctive features of this kind of fictionalization are often found in popular theater, such as kabuki and ningyō jōruri (puppet theater). In these pieces, Korean generals are either tragically killed by Japanese commanders or portrayed as wizard rebels who go to Japan and plot its destruction. The most representative Chosŏn general to appear is a character called Mokuso-kan. The name “Mokuso” came from the Korean word moksa, which was a Chosŏn government term for magistrate, and in this case referred to the Magistrate of Chinju (Chinju moksa). The Chosŏn army won at the first Battle of Chinju, which was later appraised as one of the three decisive Korean victories in the Imjin Waeran. The Japanese army, after the shock of their first defeat on land, thereafter used the proper noun mokuso or bokushi to refer to the Magistrate of Chinju, who was the commander on the Chosŏn side. In the following year after the initial defeat, Hideyoshi fielded a massive army of over 90,000 soldiers and wiped out Chinju. The head of the magistrate was sent to Japan and displayed in Kyōto. The victory and tragic death of the magistrate left a strong impression on the Japanese people, and he appeared in many later theater pieces as the character Mokuso-kan. Chikamatsu Monzaemon created the brave Chosŏn general Mokuso Hangan based on the character of Mokuso for his stage play Honchō sangokushi. In Tenjiku Tokubee ikoku banashi by Tsuruya Nanboku, whose works opened up the Edo kabuki scene, Mokuso is dramatized as a Korean wizard harboring a grudge against Japan and has his son, Tenjiku Tokubee, the hero of the play, seek revenge on Japan.35 In addition to these there are a number of plays on rebellion and treason with plots in which Koreans appear as rebels, wizards, and Christians bearing grudges against Japan and try to overthrow the bakufu. In the end, they fail due to the actions of loyal Japanese subjects.

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Conclusion The production of literary works in Korea and Japan displays different aspects in each country. In Korea, the production of literature on the Imjin Waeran was based on the experiences of the entire populace in the war, and was produced in all genres. These works mainly depict the tragic circumstances of the war and express a sense that the country’s crisis will be overcome through loyalty. They regard the Japanese invaders with hostility and a condescending sense of superiority and offer fictional depictions designed to inspire spiritual victory over Japan. In contrast, efforts to discover the actual circumstances of the Imjin Waeran continued in Japan even under the strict control of the bakufu, and as a result, the Chōsen gunkimono genre appeared. The contents of these works usually highlighted the military achievements of Japanese leaders. Fictional work on the Imjin Waeran can only be found in a few theatrical pieces, and these texts produced particular images of the Imjin Waeran. A theater of rebellion emerged, which cast Korean characters as represented by Mokuso-kan, the wizard who harbors a deep grudge against Japan. Numerous literary works illustrating opposition between the two countries have implanted a sense of supremacy about one’s own country in both places and have stimulated nationalism in each country. Through these works, mutual perceptions were established. Korea’s image of the Japanese was of an aggressive and barbaric people, and Japan’s image of the Chosŏn people was of an effeminate and weak people. The wounds left by the Imjin Waeran have not healed even with the passage of time, and the modern era opened with an already existing, deep anger between the neighboring countries. This anger came back to life in various new forms and under new circumstances in each country. As Japan embarked on imperialism following the Meiji Restoration, Hideyoshi was reborn as a hero who had displayed Japanese military prowess throughout East Asia. In stark contrast, biographies of the Imjin Waeran heroes, who had helped to maintain Chosŏn’s existence by giving up their lives, were published in Korea. In fact, the Imjin Waeran occupies the starting point for Korean and Japanese relations from the early-modern era onwards. Without an understanding of this invasion, an understanding of the reality of relations between Korea and Japan is impossible.36

Notes Translated by Grace Koh with James B. Lewis. 1 In 663, at the Paekch’on River, near the mouth of the Kŭm River, a combination of Silla and Tang forces fought with Japanese forces assisting Paekche. In the late thirteenth century, an alliance of Mongol and Koryŏ forces invaded Japan twice. Both times, the battlefields were limited to specific locations and the time spent fighting was not long. 2 Translator’s note: The bakufu academy was popularly known as the Shōheizaka Gakumonsho. 3 For example, it came to be said that “for the duration of the Imjin Waeran, they received fish and meat. Only [Yi Saeng]’s village saw no disruption caused by the

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military, and for this reason it was called a Shangri-la (towŏn) deep in the mountains.” See An Pin’gung simnyŏn toksŏ, 1985, p. 560. During the second invasion in 1597, Japanese soldiers cut off the noses of Koreans and sent these to Japan as evidence of their military merit. At first, they also cut off ears, but noses became more important. A tomb for these noses was constructed as the Mimizuka in front of Hōkōji temple in Kyōto. For a study of the Mimizuka, see Kumu, Mimizuka, 1994. Translator’s note: Nobi is often translated as “slave,” but “unfree labor” may be more accurate regarding the social and legal positions of those identified as nobi. Yi Sunshin (1545–98) was Chosŏn’s most famous military commander. As soon as he rose to become the Naval Commander (K. Sugun chŏltosa) of Left Chŏlla Province, he predicted a Japanese invasion, constructed armored battleships known as kŏbuksŏn, and prepared for war. When the Imjin Waeran broke out, he defeated the Japanese navy everywhere and dominated the seas. However, because of slander, he was demoted to the rank of an enlisted man, and during that period, nearly the entire Chosŏn navy was destroyed. When he was made Commander-in-Chief of the Naval Forces of the Southern Provinces (K. Samdo sugun tongjesa), only twelve ships remained. With these he deployed outstanding tactics that destroyed scores of Japanese naval vessels and blocked Japanese military operations on land and sea. He commanded the final, decisive sea battle against the Japanese when they were evacuating in 1598 and although he was routing the Japanese forces, he was hit by a bullet and killed. He moved everyone with his extreme sense of loyalty, his noble character, his leadership, his brilliant tactics, and his gallant death. He came to be adulated as a hero of the people, who aided the country in a national crisis. Yi Sunshin’s life has been the subject of countless biographies and works of art, and his fame has reached even Japan. Kim Shi’min (1554–92), as the Magistrate of Chinju County, repelled and was victorious against a besieging Japanese force at the first Battle of Chinju in 1592, but he was struck by a bullet and killed at his post. This victory stopped the Japanese from invading Chŏlla Province and was judged to have been one of the three great Korean victories of the Imjin Waeran together with Yi Sunshin’s victory at Hansan Island and Kwŏn Yul’s victory at the mountain fortress of Haengju. Kim Shi’min appears in Chosŏn literature as a loyal commander and martyr for the country. From the Japanese military point of view, Kim Shi’min, who inflicted on them their first defeat on land, is known as Mokuso and thereafter, in Japanese literature, he appears as a famous commander or as a rebel who has come over from Chosŏn. Kwŏn Yul (1537–99) directed the victory at Haengju and was the supreme commanding general (Towŏnsu) of the Chosŏn army. Kim Ŭngsŏ (1564–1624) recaptured P’yŏngyang and Pusan during the Imjin Waeran and took in many Japanese defectors. Kwak Chaeu (1552–1617) was the first to expend his private wealth and raise an irregular guerilla force of “righteous soldiers” (K. ŭibyŏng). He wore a scarlet cloak as a commander of the righteous soldiers and stood at the head of his forces. With a distinguished war record, he came to be called the “Red General.” His outstanding accomplishments and skill have become the subject of literary works. Kim Ch’ungnyŏng (1567–96) achieved fame as a ŭibyŏng commander, but because of slander from a traitor, he died in prison, and his unjust death has become a literary subject. Kim Ch’ŏn’il (1537–93) was an official at the time of the outbreak of war. He raised a “righteous” army and was victorious in combat at various places. At the second Battle of Chinju in 1593, when the city fell, he threw himself into the Nam River flowing below the walls, dying a martyr’s death for the country.

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13 Non’gae was a female entertainer of dance and song, a woman who offered entertainment in pleasurable times, and she was said to have been a kisaeng on government retainer (K. kwan’gi). As members of the lower class, the social status of the kisaeng was low, but they engaged with scholar-officials (K. sadaebu), and there were many cultured kisaeng who were highly refined sophisticates. Though being low-class and not expected to have any loyalty to the existing order, Non’gae, a Chinju kisaeng who gave up her life for the country, stirred the sentiments of many with her pathos. Kyewŏlhyang, a P’yŏngyang kisaeng, is also remembered for her self-sacrifice. Their stories have been passed on in legend and literature. 14 The Spanish Jesuit priest Gregorio de Cespedes was the first Westerner to step on Korean soil. He served as the chaplain for Konishi Yukinaga (Christian baptismal name Augustine). At the time, the Society of Jesus introduced the Imjin Waeran to Europeans through their annual reports and the war even appeared frequently in Historia de Japam by the Portuguese missionary Luís Fróis, then resident in Japan. 15 Translator’s note: “Wartime Commander” was the supreme commander of provincial military affairs in lieu of the king. 16 Among collections put together later are Ch’ae Hyujing’s Maehŏn shilgi, Shin Kyŏng’s Chaejo pŏnbangji, Hong Yangho’s Honam chŏrŭirok, Song Kyep’il et al., Sŏho ch’ungyŏllok, Chŏng Ch’ihyŏng et al., Imjin Waeran susŏngnok, and Kim Ch’ungjang-gong yusa, among others. See also Hwang, Imjin Waeran, 1992. 17 Translator’s note: For more on dream novels, see Haboush, “Dead Bodies,” 2003. 18 Translator’s note: For an example of a popular version, see Lee, The Record of the Black Dragon Year, 2000. 19 So Chaeyŏng, Imjin Waeran, 1980, p. 264. See also Im, Imjin nok yŏn’gu, 1986. 20 Non’gae and Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe. At the second Battle of Chinju, the city fell and the Chinju kisaeng Non’gae took the opportunity of the Japanese army throwing a victory celebration to make herself up and appear. Grabbing a Japanese commander who was dancing with her, they both fell into the Nam River flowing below the city walls and died. Later, praising Non’gae’s virtue, on the stone in the river from where she leapt were carved characters reading ŭiam (righteous rock), and a shrine was established nearby where sacrifices were offered. She came to be worshipped as a “righteous [ki]saeng” and beloved by the people as Korea’s Joan of Arc. Vestiges of Non’gae were added to the Imjin nok and embellished with a love affair between Non’gae and Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe, a defender of the city. The Japanese commander that Non’gae killed is presumed to be Keyamura Rokusuke. In Japan, Keyamura is the main character in the famous kabuki play Hikosan gongen Chikainosuke dachi and has come to be known as a representative filial son and strongman. 21 Kyewŏlhyang and Kim Ŭngsŏ. The story of the P’yŏngyang kisaeng Kyewŏlhyang, who helped Kim Ŭngsŏ kill a Japanese commander and then died herself, is one of the sadder tales in the Imjin nok. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, the early-twentiethcentury Japanese writer, has left her tale in his Kin Shōgun. 22 Sa’myŏngdang (1544–1610), Buddhist name Yujŏng, was a monk at the outbreak of the war. He raised a monk’s army and won martial fame. After the war, he was sent to Japan as head of the 1605 delegation to negotiate peace and even returned with several thousand prisoners taken in war. His outstanding achievements became legend in later years, and in Imjin nok, he is mythologized as having gone to Japan and obtained their surrender. 23 The representative study on prisoners of war taken to Japan is Naitō Shunpo’s Bunroku-Keichō no eki ni okeru hironin no kenkyū, 1976. 24 Yi, Imjin Waeran p’oro shilgi yŏn’gu, 1995; Kim, Han’guk kojŏn sosŏl yŏn’gu, 1983; Kim et al., Imjin Waeran kwa Han’guk munhak, 1992.

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25 Many in the intellectual class expressed a variety of sentiments in records of actual events and in their collected writings. Notable examples are Yu Songnyŏng, Yun Tusu, Kwŏn P’il, Hŏ Kyun’s Hong Kiltong chŏn, Yu Mong’in, who wrote the Ŏu yadam, Yi Sunshin, Sa’myŏngdang, monks such as Sŏsan Taesa, and even those who were taken to Japan, such as Kang Hang, Chŏng Hŭidŭk, and No In. See also Kang, Han’guk shiga munhak yŏn’gu, 1986. 26 Translator’s note: Kasa began to appear from the late Koryŏ period and were popular in the Chosŏn period. These were long, lyric poems or rhymed prose and often carried a narrative. See McCann, Early Korean Literature, 2000. 27 Space forbids listing sijo poems with the war as a theme, but two that are widely known in South Korea are Yi Sunshin’s Hansan-do ka and an anonymous poem paying tribute to Non’gae. Many are included in Han’guk sijo taesajŏn, edited by Pak Ŭlsu, 1992. 28 The Korean Communication Embassy (T’ongshinsa) was an official delegation bearing a state letter and dispatched by the king of Chosŏn to the shōgun in Edo. There were twelve sent from 1607 to 1811. From the fourth in the post-war period, in 1636, the delegations were called T’ongshinsa. In general, when a new shōgun ascended and in answer to a request from Japan, an embassy for the purpose of amity and with an entourage of up to 400–500 people was sent to Edo and back. The Japanese spent vast sums to entertain the T’ongshinsa and the coming and going of the Korean embassy under the seclusion policy (J. sakoku) was an enormous event that might be enjoyed only once or twice in a lifetime. The last T’ongshinsa in 1811 exchanged state letters on Tsushima. Because the Japanese army in their push towards the Chosŏn capital had followed the routes of the Japanese envoys who had visited Korea before the war, the Korean government refused to allow Japanese envoys to visit the capital after the war. The Japanese called in Pusan to request the dispatch of T’ongshinsa, to conduct diplomacy, and to trade. Ri et al., Chōsen Tsūshinshi to Nihonjin, 1992; Miyake, Kinsei Ajia no Nihon to Chōsen, 1993. 29 Ozaki, Hō Taikō bunken ichiran, 1935. Translator’s note: For more on censoring Hideyoshi, see Davis, “The Trouble with Hideyoshi,” 2007. 30 Translator’s note: For more on Kaibara Ekiken’s preface, see Boot, “Kaibara Ekiken’s preface to Chingbirok,” 2010. 31 Yu Sŏngnyong appeared in the Japanese puppet theater as well, because his Chingbirok had been published in Japan. For example, in Chikamatsu Hanji’s Shonichi Yamashiro no kuni chikushōzuka, Yu takes the stage as the “most important Korean minister.” In particular, Chingbirok relates in detail the selection of Yi Sunshin and his active role, and this introduced the naval commander’s name to Japanese. It is said that, at the time of the Russo-Japanese War, to pray for a successful surprise attack on the Russian Baltic Fleet, Japanese navy officials visited a shrine to Yi Sunshin in Chinhae and offered sacrifices, and before moving the fleet out, they offered silent prayers to Yi Sunshin. Tōgō Heihachirō, the Japanese commander who defeated the Russian Baltic Fleet, was later called the Nelson of the East when he visited England, but he himself said that he could not measure up to the stature of Yi Sunshin. Fujii Nobuo, Ri Shunshin oboegaki, 1982, p. 266; Kim T’aejun, “Nihon ni okeru Ri Shunshin no meisei,” 1981. 32 Representative of these are Takenaka Shigekado’s Toyokagami; Ōkōchi Hidemoto’s Chōsen monogatari; Ōta Gyūichi’s Taikōsama gunki no uchi; Keinen’s Chōsen hinikki; Ōzeki Sadasuke’s Chōsen seibatsuki; Yamazaki Hisanaga’s Ryōkoku jinran jikki; and Sessai Sanjin (節齋散人)’s Chōsen seibatsu gunkikō. Aside from these, there are Shimazu Kōrai gunki and Wakisaka-ki, which record various commanders’ military careers. 33 Representative modern examples are Akutagawa Ryūnosuke’s Kin Shōgun, Nakajima Atsushi’s Junsa no iru fūkei, and Endō Shūsaku’s Tetsu no kubikase.

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34 During the Imjin Waeran, Katō Kiyomasa became well known for his outstanding bravery. Through Ehon Taikōki and other writings, an anecdote that conveyed his martial bravery was the tale of his tiger hunt in Korea, which became well known among the Japanese. Tigers were unknown in Japan. There also was composed a senryū poem entitled “Kiyomasa Tramples Down the Ginseng Field.” Ginseng was a famous Korean product and highly prized in Japan, but Kiyomasa was expending so much effort with his fighting that he was oblivious to the presence of ginseng and trampled a field of the precious plant. 35 For example, Mokuso-kan said the following in his last will and testament to his son Tenjiku Tokubee: “I am not of Japan. I am Mokuso-kan, a minister of Chosŏn. To pay back our country’s enemies, cross to Japan … [and] in my stead, raise the standard of rebellion and satisfy your father’s deepest desire against the enemy of our master, the enemy of our country.” For details on the literary incarnations of Mokuso, their relation to historical facts, and the appearance of Koreans in the Japanese theater of rebellion, see Che Guan (Choi Gwan), Bunroku-Keichō no eki, 1994. See also: Tsuda, Bungaku ni arawareta waga kokumin shisō no kenkyū, 1977. 36 Even in China one can find numerous works on the Imjin Waeran. For example, there are Ming Shenzong shilu, Jinglue fuguo yaobian, Liangchao Pingrang-lu, Wanli san dazhenggao, Lianbing shiji, Zhanjiaoji, Lianxiang-ji, Shuihu houzhuan, and Yesou baoyan. The event was also known in Europe through missionary reports. In modern times, the appearance of Konishi Yukinaga in a French novel, embellished as a commander-in-chief who despises Caucasians, is yet another example of the transfiguration of the Imjin Waeran abroad. See Hirakawa Sukehiro, “Kōkaron,” 1990, on Émile-Cyprien Driant, Capitaine Danrit: L’Invasion Jaune, 1909.

References An Pin’gung simnyŏn toksŏ (安貧窮十年讀書), Ch’ŏnggu yadam (靑邱野談). Sŏbyŏk oesa haeoe su ilbon (栖碧外史海外蒐佚本). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1985. Boot, W.J. “Kaibara Ekiken’s preface to Chingbirok: A Japanese Edition of the Book of Corrections,” Korean Histories 2:1 (2010): 85–9 (online: www.koreanhistories. net/files/Volume_2_1/KH_2_1%20Boot-Kaibara%20Ekiken%27s%20preface%20 to%20Chingirok.pdf). Che Guan (Choi Gwan, Ch’oe Kwan, 崔官). Bunroku-Keichō no eki Jinshin-Teiyū Waran: bungaku ni kizamareta sensō (文禄 ዘ慶長の役: 壬辰 ዘ丁酉倭乱: 文学に 刻まれた戦争). Tōkyō: Kodansha, 1994. Chōsen seibatsu gunkikō (朝鮮征伐軍記講). Davis, Julie Nelson. “The Trouble with Hideyoshi: Censoring Ukiyo-e and the Ehon Taikōki Incident of 1804,” Japan Forum 19:3 (2007): 281–315. Fujii Nobuo (藤居信雄). Ri Shunshin oboegaki (蝗舜臣覺書). Tōkyō: Furukawa shobō, 1982. Haboush, Jahyun Kim. “Dead Bodies in the Postwar Discourse of Identity in Seventeenth-Century Korea: Subversion and Literary Production in the Private Sector,” Journal of Asian Studies 62:2 (May 2003): 415–42. Hirakawa Sukehiro (平川祐弘). “Kōkaron to kokusai seiji (黃禍論と國際政治),” in Hirakawa Sukehiro (平川祐弘) and Tsuruta Kinya (鶴田欣也), eds., Uchi naru kabe: gaikokujin no Nihonzō-Nihonjin no gaikokujinzō (内なる壁: 外国人の日本人 像 ዘ日本人の外国人像). Tōkyō: TBS Britannica, 1990. Hwang P’aegang (黃浿江). Imjin Waeran kwa shilgi munhak (壬辰倭亂ὒ 實記文學). Seoul: Iljisa, 1992.

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Im Ch’ŏlho (螞哲鎬). Imjin nok yŏn’gu (壬辰錄硏究). Seoul: Chŏng’ŭmsa, 1986. Kang Chŏnsŏp (姜銓燮). Han’guk shiga munhak yŏn’gu (韓國詩歌文學硏究). Seoul: Taewangsa, 1986. Keinen (慶念). Chōsen hinikki (朝鮮日々記). Kim Kidong (金起東). Han’guk kojŏn sosŏl yŏn’gu (韓國古典小說硏究). Seoul: Kyohaksa, 1983. Kim T’aejun (金泰俊), et al. Imjin Waeran kwa Han’guk munhak (㧚㰚㢲⧖ὒG 䞲ῃⶎ䞯). Seoul: Minŭmsa, 1992. Kim T’aejun (金泰俊). “Nihon ni okeru Ri Shunshin no meisei (日本における李舜臣 の名声),” Hikaku bungaku kenkyū (比較文學硏究) 40 (1981): 20–33. Kim T’aejun (金泰俊). Imjin Waeran kwa Chosŏn munhwa ŭi tongjŏm (壬辰倭亂ὒ 朝 鮮文化㦮 東漸). Seoul: Han’guk yŏn’guwon, 1977. Kumu Byondon (琴秉洞). Mimizuka: Hideyoshi no hanagiri, mimigiri o megutte (耳塚: 秀吉の鼻斬りዘ耳斬りをめぐって). Tōkyō: Sōwasha, 1994. Lee, Peter H. The Record of the Black Dragon Year. Seoul: Institute of Korean Culture, Korea University, 2000. McCann, David R. Early Korean Literature: Selections and Introductions. New York: Columbia University Press, 2000. Miyake Hidetoshi (三譹英利). Kinsei Ajia no Nihon to Chōsen (近世アジアの日本と 朝鮮). Tōkyō: Asahi shinbunsha, 1993. Naitō Shunpo (内藤雋輔). Bunroku-Keichō no eki ni okeru hironin no kenkyū (文禄ዘ 慶長役における被擄人の研究). Tōkyō: Tōkyō daigaku shuppankai, 1976. Ōkōchi Hidemoto (大河內秀元), Chōsen monogatari (朝鮮物語). Ōta Gyūichi (太田牛一). Taikōsama gunki no uchi (大かうさまくんきのうち). Ozaki Kyūya (尾崎久彌). Hō Taikō bunken ichiran (豊太閤文獻一覽). Tōkyō: Isseisha, 1935. Ōzeki Sadasuke (大關定祐). Chōsen seibatsuki (朝鮮征伐記). Pak Ŭlsu (朴乙洙), ed. Han’guk shijo taesajŏn (韓國時調大事典). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1992. Ri Genshoku (K. Yi Wŏnshik, 李元植) et al. Chōsen Tsūshinshi to Nihonjin (朝鮮通信 と日本人). Tōkyō: Gakuseisha, 1992. Sanbō Honbu, ed. (芔謀本部編). Nihon senshi Chōsen eki (日本戰史 朝鮮役). Tōkyō: Kaikōsha, 1924. Shimazu Kōrai gunki (島津高麗軍記). So Chaeyŏng (蘇在英). Imjin Waeran kwa munhak ŭisik (壬丙蓐亂ὒ 文學意識). Seoul: Han’guk yŏn’guwŏn, 1980. Takenaka Shigekado (竹中重門), Toyokagami (豊鑑). Tokutomi Sohō (德富蘇峰). Chōsen eki (朝鮮役). Tōkyō: Meiji shoin, 1935. Tsuda Sōkichi (津田左右吉). Bungaku ni arawareta waga kokumin shisō no kenkyū, 4 (文學に現われたる我が國民思想の硏究, 四). Tōkyō: Iwanami shoten, 1977. Wakisaka-ki (脇坂記). Yamazaki Hisanaga (山崎尙長). Ryōkoku jinran jikki (兩國壬亂實記). Yi Ch’aeyŏn (蝗埰衍). Imjin Waeran p’oro shilgi yŏn’gu (壬辰倭亂 捕虜實記硏究). Seoul: Pak Yijŏng, 1995. Yi Hyŏngsŏk (蝗炯錫). Imjin chollansa (壬辰戰亂史). Seoul: Shinhyŏn silsa, 1976.

17 Fashioning womanly Confucian virtue The virtuous woman in post-war literary discourse Michael J. Pettid

Introduction Literature has formed consensus and swayed popular opinion throughout history. Such manipulation can be either intentional or accidental. Calculated influence is seen in the creation and propagation of the “imagined political community,” or the nation through a master narrative.1 Spontaneous inducement is found in the spread and perpetuation of urban legends as truth.2 Whether intended or not, these types of persuasion are effective and underscore a crucial function of literature, the consolidation of authority or truth, which becomes self-validating in the course of the narrative.3 During times of crisis or social upheaval, public opinion requires massaging for the governing authorities to maintain power, all the more so in the face of mis-governance or neglect of the people’s welfare. Michel Foucault argued that power exists in a circular relationship with the “truth,” and “‘truth’ is understood as a system of ordered procedures for the production, regulation, distribution, circulation, and operation of statements.”4 By creating “truths” through such statements, ruling elites are able to maintain their grip on the populace, control their actions, and manipulate their behaviors in a manner beneficial to the rulers. One means to create “truths” is with didactic literature that helps shape the beliefs, actions, and history of a people. An excellent example of such manipulation is found in Korean accounts of the Japanese invasions of 1592–8. While there is little doubt the invasions resulted in great hardships and suffering for the people of Chosŏn, we find clear evidence that the ruling elites sought to emphasize certain behaviors among the people that matched Confucian notions of filial piety, loyalty, and virtuous womanly behavior. At the same time, other behaviors that contradicted the Confucian sense of morality were ignored or glossed over. Didactic works published directly after the invasions mirror this pattern and focus on shaping the actions of the people into a Confucian model. There are, however, other accounts of the invasions that cast doubt upon the exemplary behavior described in the didactic literature of this time. This chapter focuses on the conflicting literary representations of women during the invasions and how the ideal of a virtuous woman (K. yŏllyŏ) was strengthened and reified in the aftermath of the crisis.

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The measure of the virtuous woman would serve as the model for all Korean women from after the invasions until the late nineteenth century. While this notion existed long before the tumultuous times of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, it was elevated to a new high with the havoc visited upon the people and the country during this period.5 Compounding the catastrophic impact of the invasions were unrealistic social expectations for women coupled with the rewards that families could garner by having a female family member recognized as a virtuous woman. Such rewards were no small matter, as families could receive economically tangible compensation in the form of relief from certain taxes along with less palpable honors such as special gates honoring the woman in question. It was in this environment that the discourse on the virtuous woman was strengthened and extended to all social classes.

Women and the invasions: the official discourse6 It could be posited that of all Koreans women suffered the greatest from the invasions. Non-combatants for the most part and largely abandoned by menfolk, women fell prey to Japanese troops seeking spoils of war. Moreover, to those women who escaped the direct touch of the enemy fell the responsibility of feeding their children.7 Various accounts confirm this situation: Throughout the night the ghastly cries of women could be heard from every place within the stockade. It seems that the Japanese troops burnt their way through in the night. It is a horrid situation.8 Master Chŏn lived in Sangju and was an esteemed scholar of the Yŏngnam area. The day they met and fought the evil enemy, the father and son were fleeing with his mother, wife, and daughter-in-law before encountering the Japanese thieves. First, they [the Japanese] took his wife and ordered them to surrender. They then beheaded the father and son and drug the daughter-in-law off to a barley field where ten of the enemy raped her. The daughter-in-law later hung herself. What fortune is this?9 Women, with little protection offered by Korean troops, were left to fend for themselves, oftentimes with disastrous consequences. It is said that common practice among the Japanese troops was to capture a woman and rape her on the spot if there was no immediate fighting. Also, at times, gang rape was practiced by the Japanese troops.10 Additionally, many women were taken to Japan as prisoners. Making the difficulties for women all the more onerous were the burdens placed upon them by the unrealistic expectations of a society constructed on the morals and ethics of Neo-Confucianism. Early elites in Chosŏn recognized the value of Confucianism for ordering society. Thus, from the earliest days of the Chosŏn dynasty the government had printed and distributed didactic works aimed at fashioning a Neo-Confucian

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society. Focus was on eliminating the influences of Buddhism and shamanism, which were viewed as degenerate and corrupt, and strengthening Confucian notions such as the samgang (three bonds) and oryun (five relationships).11 To achieve this end, the government printed and distributed educational works such as Samgang haengshil-to (Conduct of the Three Bonds with Illustrations, 1432) and Sok samgang haengshil-to (Expanded Conduct of the Three Bonds with Illustrations, 1514).12 The influence of these works, however, was gradual and took centuries to filter down from the upper layers of society to the lower classes. Nonetheless, the desire of the ruling elites to enforce Confucian morality throughout society seldom waned, as various entries in the dynastic record confirm. A 1512 entry states: Nowadays the samgang (three bonds) have crashed to the ground. Customs are disorderly, the people have lost their original character, and kindness and gentleness are unknown. In the time of the late king, in order to strengthen the samgang and oryun (five relationships) a book recording the portraits and achievements of loyal retainers, filial sons, and virtuous women was made. The book, Samgang haengshil, was distributed to the capital and provinces and moved the common people. How could such a work not help with ruling [the country]?13 By the sixteenth century Confucian education had begun its spread in earnest in Chosŏn, and social expectations for women were tinged with these ideals. This was particularly true in regards to rape, where the “choice” for a proper Confucian woman was suicide – the concept of fidelity (K. chŏngjŏl) was one that was repeatedly present in didactic literary works aimed at women and also omnipresent in informal education.14 Of particular importance to the discourse concerning the bodies of women were works such as Naehun (Instructions for the Inner Quarters) that heavily emphasized proper womanly behavior and the importance of Confucian mores.15 The crisis represented by the Japanese invasion, however, was unmatched in the previous two centuries of Chosŏn and severely tested the limits of maintaining fidelity. The Chosŏn government realized the need to put on a good face after the disastrous consequences of the invasion and the suffering and hardships that were wrought upon the people. The invasion was a period of chaos and marked by primal human behaviors aimed at survival. Such instinctual actions were antithetical to the structured and harmonious society pursued by Confucianists. Rather than dwell on the collapse of Confucian morals during the crisis, however, the ruling elites emphasized positive behaviors. One means to create the illusion that people made great sacrifices for the values that Neo-Confucianism held dear – loyalty, filial piety, and virtuous womanly conduct – was by honoring exemplars of these qualities. Entries in the shillok confirm the belief of the ruling elites that those who died with honor (K. sajŏl) should be honored in order to encourage similar behaviors among others.16

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At the same time, other entries in the shillok demonstrate the weakness of these values in Chosŏn society. Various accounts in the dynastic records lament the dissipation of the people’s customs and way of life and pronounce a pressing need to create a didactic work similar to Samgang haengshil-to.17 Moreover, court officials urged that this work should be “translated” into vernacular Korean, thus enabling it to reach the widest possible audience.18 Clearly, didactic texts were to be aimed not solely at the upper-class literati families, but also at the lower classes, and especially at women, who were most often literate in only han’gŭl. During the reign of Sŏnjo’s successor, Prince Kwanghae (r. 1608–23), plans to create a compilation to honor the filial, loyal, and virtuous actions of the people were finalized. This was to be a massive project requiring dozens of compilers, copyists, carvers, and writers, and carried out at great expense to the Chosŏn government. The grand scope bespeaks the perceived importance of this endeavor at a time when the finances of the government were severely depleted due to the havoc and destruction resulting from the invasion of just ten years earlier. To spread the economic benefit of the project, the government prepared woodblocks in various parts of the country.19 While economic realities caused the scale of the project to be reduced – the original plans called for 1,600 sets of the work to be printed, but this number was later lowered to 400 and finally to 50 sets – it was completed by 1617 and widely distributed. Titled Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil (New and Expanded Korean Conduct of the Three Bonds), its contents are impressive. The text contains the accounts of over 1,500 individuals divided into eight volumes of filial deeds, one volume of actions by loyal retainers, eight volumes detailing the virtuous conduct of women, and a supplemental volume of the seventy-two exemplars recorded in the two earlier compilations.20 Each entry features an account of the individual’s filial, heroic, or virtuous action in both literary Chinese and han’gŭl script, and this is accompanied by an illustration depicting the noteworthy activity. The composition of the work allowed it to reach a wide audience: literary Chinese for yangban literati, han’gŭl for those with less education such as women, commoners, and children, and illustrations for the illiterate. The chief concentration of Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil is the actions of the people during the invasions, particularly women. There are some 356 accounts of women who died while protecting their virtue at the time of the invasions. This is in stark contrast to the accounts of only sixty-seven filial sons and eleven loyal retainers for the same period.21 In actuality, there are many more than 356 women from the period of the invasions honored in this work as some of the entries feature multiple deaths, even up to twelve “honorable” deaths in a single account.22 The idea of purity and its preservation in the face of the Japanese invasions is prominent throughout Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil. The narratives present a binary relationship between Chosŏn purity and Japanese impurity,

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emphasizing an enemy that sought to degrade the country by entering and soiling it. The narratives further demonstrate the Confucian solution to such a threat, that being suicide. The images of virtuous women in Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil contain a plethora of such behavior, all strengthening the official discourse on the actions of the people during the invasion. All varieties of women are represented in Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil including married and unmarried, upper- and lower-status groups, and young and old. By reading these pitiful accounts, the reader would have been filled with both a sense of horror at the atrocities and satisfaction at the unanimity of women’s actions during this time of great crisis. Figure 17.1 is the account of an unmarried woman: The maiden Ch’oe was from the Samch’ŏk district and the daughter of the minor official (chikchang) Ch’oe Ŏn’gi. The Japanese invaders came to the place where she was and captured her, but she scolded them and would not obey their demands. They cut off her hands, but she still would not yield to them, and died. A gate was erected in her honor.23 Figure 17.2 retells the actions of two upper-class women and their choice of death over rape. Their fidelity and correct actions can easily be contrasted with the fate of their maidservant in the narrative: Lady Kim was the wife of Yu Yŏnggyŏm and Lady Shin was the wife of Yu Yŏngsun. They both lived in the capital. After the outbreak of the Imjin [1592] invasion, together they fled from the enemy. Finally the enemy arrived at their hiding place and seized their maidservant, stripped, and raped her. Lady Kim hung herself and Lady Shin ran, jumped off a cliff into water, and died. The king ordered gates erected in their honor.24 Figure 17.3, however, is an account of a commoner-status woman who preserved her honor: The commoner Kŭnshim was of Kimhwa and the wife of the provisioner (Poin) Chŏng Kuk. When the [Japanese] thieves tried to grab and dirty her, she resolutely would not obey them, and they chopped her body into pieces. The king ordered a gate erected for her.25 Such accounts give the undeniable impression that the actions of women from all classes were aimed at preserving their fidelity, whatever the sacrifice. The narratives contained in Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil retell dozens of ways that women protected their honor: jumping into rivers or wells, running off cliffs, stabbing themselves, self-inflicted hanging, and other ways. They also fought off their attackers and suffered deaths from severed hands, feet, breasts, and even decapitation. There is a stark uniformity to the narratives of

Figure 17.1 Maiden Ch’oe.

Figure 17.2 Two wives.

Figure 17.3 Kŭnshim.

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these virtuous women and the reader is introduced to one heroic death after another at the hands of the marauding Japanese troops.26 The educational message contained in this work is very clear: the proper choice when faced with rape is suicide or a heroic death while resisting one’s attackers. The woman who had the audacity to survive an attack, however, was scorned by both her family and society. As Susan Brownmiller reminds us about rape, “In war as in peace, the husbands of raped women place a major burden of blame for the awful event on their wives. The hallowed rights of property have been abused, and the property herself is held culpable.”27 In the case of Chosŏn, the solution seems quite obvious, as death for their women was preferred over rape. Those women who survived the attacks would present a thorny problem for post-invasion society, as will be discussed below. We should also be aware of the connection between the rape of a woman by the invader and the rape of the country by a foreign army. There is often a clear link between a woman’s body and the body politic. Wai-Yee Li writes of this phenomenon in Qing-period literature as, “If the shame of conquest is sometimes experienced by women as rape and abduction, then chastity becomes a logical metaphor for loyalism.”28 Similarly, Martin W. Huang comments that the act of female chastity runs parallel to the ideal of male political loyalty in early Qing novels such as Guwangyan (Preposterous Words).29 An analogous relationship is found in Korean narratives of the invasions and the bond between male loyalty to the king and country and female fidelity.30 The fact that those women who were said to have committed suicide before being raped were recognized and honored by the Chosŏn government demonstrates that suicide before dishonor was a means of serving the country.31 Preserving the purity of the country was the highest goal among Chosŏn Confucian elites. Narratives of women who sacrificed their lives to preserve lineage purity perpetuate an image of the Japanese as destroyers of families and lineages. The preservation of one’s lineage by producing male heirs was a principal means of honoring one’s ancestors. By violating the mothers of the next generation, the Japanese enemy was made to represent not only a threat to the people of Chosŏn and their descendants, but also to their ancestors because of the linkages over generations symbolized in ancestral rituals. Those women who preserved their purity through death were thus elevated as paragons of Confucian propriety and became honored by their descendants for their selfsacrifice.

The unofficial discourse: other images of women Despite the hegemonic authority of the official discourse presented in Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, we can uncover inconsistencies and alternative narratives within the text and in tension with other texts. In particular, accounts of the invasion in literary and yadam or yasa (unofficial histories) collections provide other, and perhaps more realistic, views of the actions of

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women during the invasions. Unofficial records represent the understanding of the invasions from those who suffered through the distressing events and provide an opportunity to examine how individuals engaged with the emerging official discourses concerning the invasions and the actions of the people.32 It is in this ongoing dialogic interaction that discordant images emerge. One such record is Chibong yusŏl (Topical Discourses by Chibong) written by Yi Sugwang (1563–1628).33 Yi’s accounts have both a didactic edge and another side that seems to bemoan the lack of “proper” behavior on the part of some women. Consider the following account: During the Imjin Waeran the wife of a scholar was fleeing together with her maidservant and had arrived at a ferry to cross a river. Many people were taking the boat, so [the two women] held hands and were about to board. A person on the boat took the hand [of the scholar’s wife] and pulled her up. The woman cried, “Now my hand has been dirtied by an outside man, how can I live?” and then plunged into the river and died. The servant looked upon this scene, exclaiming, “My lady has died. How can I live alone?” before jumping to her death in the water. During a chaotic time like this, it is distressing that such a person is not widely known.34 Yi Sugwang’s account, while praising the virtuous actions of two women, implies condemnation of other, unnamed women for not following such an exemplary course. Yi’s description should not be read as a literal account, but rather as an idealized depiction of Confucian morality, echoing didactic texts written for women.35 While the Confucian ideal for a woman was to avoid even the slightest contact with men outside her immediate family, such an impractical concept would not match well with the circumstances dictated by flight from an enemy in times of war when contact and cooperation with the opposite sex would most likely be inevitable and even necessary for survival.36 Hence, I interpret this narrative not as a factual reporting of an event, but instead as an idealization of virtuous behavior. The closing comment by Yi also insinuates that such exemplary behavior was rare during the invasion. If for no other reason than to justify the great number of deaths during the invasions, various narratives describe what can only be labeled as heroic actions. One of the most famous accounts of heroic and selfless actions is that of the kisaeng (female entertainer) Non’gae. Although very little is factually known of her, Non’gae continues to represent an ideal of loyal and virtuous behavior.37 Non’gae was a government kisaeng in Chinju. Histories record that in 1593, Kim Ch’ŏn’il led his volunteer army into the city walls of Chinju and fought the Japanese troops. The city walls eventually collapsed, the soldiers were routed, and the citizens slaughtered. At that time, Non’gae

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put on a heavy layer of makeup and magnificent clothes. She stood atop a steep crag under Ch’oksŏk Pavilion, directly overlooking a precipitous drop, below which flowed a river. The Japanese troops saw Non’gae and were enamored. Yet, none were bold enough to approach her. However, a Japanese general bravely walked straight towards her. Non’gae smiled to entice the general, and when he was close, she grasped his waist and hurtled with him into the water, killing both of them.38 While the actions of Non’gae seem heroic, this earliest surviving account of her conduct was not recorded until 1621, nearly thirty years after the supposed incident. Considering the widespread destruction and gap between event and recording, we have no means of ascertaining what actually might have happened in Chinju in 1593. We can, however, speculatively strip away some of the layers of the story to get beyond the surface account. For example, if we remember the negative view of kisaeng and others of the lowest classes held by Neo-Confucian literati, then it almost seems that Non’gae’s actions were probably not for the country as now offered by most accounts. Consider the postscript to the description above: At the time of the invasion there were many kisaeng, far more than history records, who wished to save their honor from the Japanese and instead choose death. This does not refer only to Non’gae, but rather to a great number of kisaeng whose names have been lost. Kisaeng are all licentious entertainers and to praise them as chaste is not correct. Yet, in dying and preventing the enemy from defiling them they have drawn the king’s praise for not turning away from their country. This is nothing other than loyalty.39 While the author clearly interprets the actions of Non’gae as martyrdom for the country, his disdain for kisaeng in general also is clear. This account of Non’gae is clearly aimed at fashioning a loyal heroine for consumption by readers from the lowest classes. The message is transparent: it is far better to give one’s life for the country than be “stained” by the Japanese enemy. Yet, the account of Non’gae is problematic in several aspects. First, it attributes a sense of loyalty to the country from a member of a profession that was highly oppressed and victimized by the ruling elites. While it seems illogical to expect loyalty from a slave, the account of Non’gae is just that.40 Kisaeng were born or sold into government service, where they were forced to work as “entertainers” – a thinly veiled euphemism for prostitutes – for upper-class men. It is thus very difficult to believe that Non’gae’s actions as described in the above narrative arose purely from patriotic sentiments. We can imagine that she may have been simply seeking revenge before being massacred. A probable bit of apocrypha is the story that Non’gae was in love with a Chosŏn general and her actions were motivated by revenge – a good kisaeng twist. Or, her motivations may have included revenge on the Japanese

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for having killed her fellow kisaeng and her lovers, or for having burned her wardrobe? We will probably never know. Additionally, a strong underlying theme in the account of Non’gae is one of purity. Rather than being dirtied through sexual relations with a Japanese, she and, if the above narrative is to be believed, many other kisaeng selected death over sexual violation. Hence, their heroic deaths helped preserve the purity of the people of Chosŏn. Many of those who lived through the invasions saw a side of society that was very far removed from an idyllic Confucian vision of virtuous behavior. For example, Yun Kukhyŏng (1543–1611) wrote that there “appeared many woman dirtied by the enemy” and described the situation as being so dire that “amid the heaps of corpses scattered on the plains with no one to bury them … there were fathers who sold their children.”41 The graphic descriptions of Yun do not conjure up visions of a society operating under Confucian mores, but rather a war-torn land where simple survival would have dictated human behavior. Despite a situation like Yun described above, most post-invasion accounts often laud the admirable and self-sacrificing behavior of women. Amid the carnage of the invasion and the damage inflicted upon the country, one of the strongest recurrent images of the invasions is that of the virtuous woman. This particular ideal was not only promoted by the ruling elites of Chosŏn in works such as Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, but also by individual families who sought to reap the prestige and financial gain – realized through the relief from certain taxes – that would come from the government recognizing a wife or other female family member as having died a virtuous death during the invasions. In fact, “virtuous” women may have been created by their own husbands and clans. The abandonment of women and other family members during the invasion was a commonplace occurrence. O Hŭimun (1539–1613) remarked in his wartime diary: Yesterday on the road, I saw a seven or eight year-old child wailing on the roadside. Next to him was sitting a woman also crying with her face buried in her hands. It seemed strange, so I asked why. She replied, “My husband just abandoned us, a mother and son, and left.” I asked why and she replied, “The three of us were wandering and begging for food. Now there is no place to get food, so we will soon starve to death. Therefore, my husband left us, a mother and son. We are crying because we will soon starve to death.” To hear this story, I could not overcome my sadness and the pity I felt.42 The difficult circumstances of the invasions created hardships for all. Nonetheless, some saw the opportunity to elevate the fortune of their family by exploiting the government’s desire to honor virtuous women. Certainly not all women who encountered the Japanese committed suicide. Fear of death or the desire to live might have easily overridden the social codes that emphasized suicide before dishonor. Some writers of the period suggest far more realistic

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circumstances surrounding the fate of women during the invasion. Consider these comments by Ko Sang’an (1553–1623): During the invasion of 1592 the capital fortress collapsed and an uncountable number of married women were taken away by the Japanese. Occasionally some of these women were honored as being dead, and after the hostilities ceased, a gate (chŏngmun) would be erected in their honor. However, since there was no means to verify that the women taken by the Japanese were dead, some, whose wife’s whereabouts were unknown would lie and petition to have a gate erected in honor of their wife. This problem was truly a blind spot in the law. In 1604 an envoy was sent to Japan. When he returned he bore the letters of many still-living women who had been taken to Japan as prisoners. Among the letters were those of women who had been declared dead and had gates erected. These letters were not delivered to the families in question.43 Undeniably, surviving women constituted a thorny problem made all the more onerous by the fact that families sought to elevate the prestige of the lineage by having a wife or mother gone missing recognized as a “virtuous woman” by the government. The following account is more specific and illustrates the point: During the Japanese invasions, the wife of Chang Hong was captured. He reported that his wife defied the enemy and bravely committed suicide. [Based on this account,] the court praised her and erected a gate in her honor. In 1596, Hwang Shin went to Japan as an envoy. When he returned he brought back many men and women who had been taken to Japan as prisoners. Among them was Chang’s wife. Thus, people began to frown upon Chang and he was later accused by the government of the crime of deceiving the king.44 This narrative demonstrates that the purity of one’s lineage was more important than a woman’s life. The husband, after losing his wife, sought to gain favor with the government and prestige for his lineage by declaring that she had bravely resisted the enemy. It seems clear that the actual fact of purity was not the most important concern; rather, it was the perception of being pure and the benefits that came with the designation of “virtuous woman.” Perhaps perceptions became more important to the men left behind, because the reality was so awful to consider. There are numerous accounts that describe the terrible real fates of many women.45 In the following account, O Hŭimun describes women captured and taken to Japan as prisoners: I heard the Japanese selected women they liked among the Yŏngnam elite families (K. sanyŏ), loaded them into five ships and sent them to their country. They had them comb their hair, powder their faces, and

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Women, regardless of the period or country, are often those who suffer the greatest humiliation and scars during a war. We should also keep in mind that the rape of the Chosŏn women was not only a crime of the Japanese. Ch’oe and Ha point out that Korean women were also raped by the Ming Chinese troops who intervened in the war on behalf of Chosŏn and by Korean men who seized opportunities to commit violence against women.47 Yet, beyond the tragic act of rape itself, women of Chosŏn were further burdened with idyllic Confucian visions of chaste behavior for women. Some women, however, managed to overcome their humiliation at the hands of their attackers and strike back with vengeance. Rather than the helpless image perpetuated by narratives such as those contained in Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, these women were able to extract revenge. Consider the following account of a capable and strong woman: In 1594 the people were impoverished and even worse was the swarm of thieves. Men were being killed frequently after encountering the thieves and their wives taken away. In one house of Ŭnch’ŏk Village, thieves entered, killed the husband, and took the wife away. Contrary to the wife’s hope of avenging her husband’s death, she lived with the thief for three years and even bore a son. One day, the thief went away for several days and in that time she brewed some strong liquor. When he returned and looked for drink, she offered him several cups of the strong brew. The thief became drunk and passed out. The woman then drug him into a room, put the child next to him, locked the door, went outside, and set the house afire. She then shouted to the neighbors, “I’m settling my husband’s debt with his enemy, don’t put the fire out!” After a while, when the fire had nearly burned out, the woman, all alone, left.48 Reading the above narrative might cause one to ponder the fate of the woman who won her revenge. Did she next commit suicide as the many women described in the didactic works of the period? It seems to me that she would not have done so. Rather, she would have continued living, having satiated her thirst for revenge, moving on to a new life and, perhaps, a new love. Conceivably, there were many other women like her during this difficult time.

The post-invasion Yŏllyŏ discourse The invasions of the late sixteenth century were to have long-lasting repercussions on Chosŏn society. Aside from the immediate devastation

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brought by the invasions, these events were to transform the manner in which the government and elites guided society. The chaos and turmoil following the invasions resulted in a concerted effort by the ruling powers to fashion the country as a Confucian model.49 This is particularly true in regard to women and the emphasis on following Confucian mores. Thus, we should examine more closely the motivations for redoubling the pace of remaking the earlyseventeenth-century woman into a paragon of Confucian virtue.50 We know from accounts in the veritable records and elsewhere that many women did not commit suicide and instead survived attacks by Japanese and others. These women presented a formidable problem for Chosŏn society in regard to the Confucian discourse on womanly virtue as described in the following account: During the Imjin Waeran, the enemy occupied the country for six or seven years and there were many wives of scholars who were captured by the enemy and lost their honor. After the enemy withdrew, those families that luckily were not visited by calamity would not allow marriages with families that had met with misfortune. King Sŏnjo worried about this problem: if the trend continued for long it seemed that the country would be nearly without sound literati families; it was important that both the royal family and aristocratic families actively marry with those families that had experienced calamity. After this the distinction between those families that had experienced misfortune began to disappear.51

Conclusion The realities of the aftermath of the Japanese invasions followed by the disastrous Manchu invasions of the early seventeenth century forced Chosŏn’s ruling elites to come to terms with the fact that a great number of women had been violated, kidnapped, or killed by invaders, Chinese soldiers, and opportunists. It would also have been common knowledge that many women of all social classes had not acted in accord with what could be described as Confucian propriety. Yet, in order to continue to build a society based upon the Confucian worldview, the unfortunate histories of the victims of rape, kidnapping, and other violence necessarily had to be forgotten collectively by society. In this milieu Chosŏn elites reified the exemplar of the virtuous woman and moved the didactic discourse on such women towards hegemonic status. Rather than dwell on the obvious and socially repugnant fact that many women of all classes had lost their honor (K. shiljŏl) and thus tainted their lineages, a fact that would have severely crippled upper-class society in attempting to form a ruling consensus, elites recast the discourse. They sought to force the lower classes into a Confucian model, with the result that women, both real and fabricated, who matched the model were brought into the limelight. Accordingly, didactic texts and official records emphasized such models.

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At the same time, those women who did not fulfill the image of a virtuous woman were de-emphasized and ignored in official records, no matter how heroic their actions might have been. The creation of exemplary, virtuous women was an ongoing process after the invasion. After examining an early-eighteenth-century narrative concerning a virtuous woman, Chŏng Ch’urhŏn has concluded that this particular case was fabricated by the ruling elites with the government’s complicity in order to preserve social order and encourage like behavior among the commoner classes.52 Such Confucian-inspired actions were a means to protect the privileges of the ruling classes and to create a more easily governed ruled class. The case Chŏng writes of does not stand alone. There were clearly similar cases in the wake of the Japanese and Manchu invasions.53 Yet, a recurring theme of official records during this time is the need to honor exemplary cases in order to educate the people and elevate their customs, which were seen as iniquitous by the ruling powers.54 Highlighting such behavior can be understood as a reflection of an actual absence of the very same behavior. It is for this reason that we should question the hegemonic discourse that dominates official accounts of the period, especially as represented in didactic works such as Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil. Following Foucault’s thesis that power produces the “truths” of a given society, the hegemonic discourse that has emerged from the Japanese invasions of 1592–8 seems easier to explain. In order to protect the Confucian social structure and privileges of the upper-class elites, the image of the virtuous woman was solidified in the post-invasion period. Both the government and ruling classes were complicit in constructing such a model built on both actual and fabricated accounts because it ensured the continuation of their power and status. The prevarication was remarkably effective, as the image of the virtuous woman has maintained hegemony to the present day and has nearly completely obscured alternative understandings of the invasions and of Korean women.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5

Anderson, Imagined Communities, 1991, pp. 5–6. Brunvand, The Study of American Folklore, 1998, pp. 205–9. For further discussion, see Said, Culture and Imperialism, 1993, pp. 74–7. Foucault, The Foucault Reader, 1984, p. 74. While this chapter will focus on the impact of the Japanese invasion of 1592 and 1598 and the images of women from this time, the subsequent Manchu invasions of 1627 and 1636–7 magnified both the tragedy for Korean women and the attempts by the government to enforce Confucian mores in society. 6 Portions of this section are based on Michael J. Pettid, “Confucian Educational Works for Upper Status Women in Chosŏn Korea,” 2011. 7 For further discussion, see Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 1993, pp. 399–407. 8 Recorded in Hogurok (Records of Hogu) by Kwŏn Tumun. Quoted in Chang Kyŏngnam, Imjin Waeran, 2000, p. 201.

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9 Recorded in Chŏngmallok (Record of the Savage’s Attack) by Yi T’ag’yŏng. Quoted in Chang Kyŏngnam, Imjin Waeran, 2000, pp. 200–1. 10 Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 1993, pp. 401–2. 11 The three bonds are subject to ruler (loyalty), children to parents (filial piety), and women to men (hierarchy). The five relationships are between ruler and vassal, father and son, elder and younger, husband and wife, and friend and friend. 12 Editor’s note: For a study of the history of the production of the Samgang haengshil-to and later revisions and publications, see Oh, Engraving Virtue, 2013. 13 Chungjong shillok, 17:4a (1512.10.08). 14 Every woman recorded in the Samgang haengshil-to and subsequent editions was, at the very least, an exemplar of fidelity. Moreover, of the eight Korean women recorded in Samgang haengshil-to who faced being raped, all committed suicide. 15 This work was written by Queen Sohye in 1475 for teaching proper behavior to young women. For an excellent overview of this work, see John Duncan, “The Naehun and the Politics of Gender in Fifteenth-Century Korea,” 2004, pp. 26–57. 16 Sŏnjo shillok, 65:34a (1595.07.19); Sŏnjo shillok, 65:34b (1595.07.20); Sŏnjo shillok, 163:6a (1603.06.09). 17 Sŏnjo shillok, 199:21b (1606.05.21); Sŏnjo shillok, 199:23a (1606.05.24). After the Manchu invasion, similar accounts are found, such as Hyojong shillok, 15:8b (1655.07.26), among others. 18 Sŏnjo shillok, 199:21b (1606.05.21). 19 Kwanghaegun ilgi, 97:9b (1614.11.11). The preface to the 1958 edition of the original text of Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil states that woodblocks for the work were carved in five provinces. See Yi Sŏng et al., Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, 1958, p. 12. 20 The earlier works are the aforementioned Samgang haengshil-to (1431) and Sok samgang haengshil-to (1514). The former work contains more accounts of Chinese personages than Koreans (eighty-nine Chinese, sixteen Koreans); the latter has accounts of fourteen Chinese and fifty-six Koreans. In contrast, Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil only records the exploits of Koreans. 21 Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏng sa, 1993, pp. 400–1. 22 Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, 8:61. 23 Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, 6:17. 24 Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, 3:4. 25 Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil, 6:68. 26 One aspect of the images of the women in the Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshilto is the lack of emotion and pain in their representations. Ko Yŏnhŭi notes that the repetition of these images of stoic women, with their hands, feet, and even breasts cut off, would not permit the reader to come away with an image of a woman’s suffering, but rather with the impression that women were something to be quite easily discarded. See Ko Yŏnhŭi, “Chosŏn shidae yŏllyŏ-do koch’al,” 2001, pp. 205–6. 27 Susan Brownmiller, Against Our Will, 1976, p. 40. 28 Wai-Yee Li, “Heroic Transformations,” 1999, p. 424. 29 Martin W. Huang, Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China, 2001, p. 261. 30 The contents of works such as Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil reflect such beliefs in that they honor fidelity, filial piety, and loyalty equally depending upon one’s station in life (i.e., women should practice fidelity, children filiality, and ministers loyalty). Other didactic publications similar to the above include the various reprintings of the Samgang haengshil-to (up until the nineteenth century) and the Oryun haengshil-to (五倫行實圖 Conduct of the five relations, with illustrations), along with educational books specifically aimed at women.

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31 This sentiment, that a woman who dies while protecting her honor is also serving the country, is found in various entries in the veritable records. For example, see Sŏnjo shillok, 163:6a (1603.06.09), p. 489; Kwanghaegun ilgi, 26:24b (1610.03.20), p. 554. 32 For discussion on the lack of finality in “truth,” see Robert J.C. Young, Torn Halves, 1996, p. 58. 33 Among other official positions, Yi served as an envoy to Ming China during the invasion. 34 Yi Sugwang, Chibong yusŏl, 15:15a–15b. 35 The following passage from Naehun (1:3b) details how a woman should act around a man (other than her close relatives): “Men and women should not sit in the same place; their clothes should not be hung on the same clothes rack; they should not use the same scarf or comb; and they should not become friendly.” 36 Consider, for example, the wartime diary kept by Yi Chŏnghoe (1542–1612) during the first two years of the invasion. In Yi’s daily entries, it is clear that the efforts of both him and his wife were needed for survival, and, moreover, that they interacted, hid, ate, and slept with individuals of all classes while fleeing from the Japanese troops. See Yi Chŏnghoe, Songgan ilgi, fascicle 2, entries for 1592–3. 37 At Chinju Castle the monument and structures dedicated to Non’gae are the immediate focus of the visitor upon entrance to the park. Not only is there a stele dedicated to the memory of the righteous kisaeng (ŭigi), but Ch’oksŏk Pavilion has been reconstructed, a shrine with an artist’s conceptualization of Non’gae has been built, and a large monument with stone carvings of the event has been erected. For a recent study examining some of the processes in the fashioning of the narrative surrounding Non’gae, see Jung Ji Young, “War and the Death of a Kisaeng,” 2009, pp. 157–80. 38 Recorded in Yu, Ŏu yadam (Ŏu’s Unofficial Histories), compiled by Yu Mong’in in 1621, p. 261. 39 Yu, Ŏu yadam, 1621, p. 261. 40 Indeed, we should consider the rampage of the slaves in the capital as perhaps being more indicative of what to expect from an enslaved population when given the chance to strike back at their oppressors. 41 Yun, Munjo mallok (Scattered Records of Munjo), 2:1a. This account further mentions that people desperate for food were eating corpses and that death from starvation and disease were commonplace. 42 O, Swaemirok (Records of a Refugee), 1962, 193 (1593.07.15). 43 Recorded in Ko, Hyobin chapki (Literary Miscellany by Hyobin), 1:28b–29a. 44 Recorded in Kim, Hadam p’ajŏngnok (Hadam’s Tales to Pass Time), 79b, written by Kim Shiyang (1581–1643). 45 Peter Lee cites several Japanese and Korean sources, putting the number of those taken to Japan at over 30,000. Presumably, many of these would have been women. See Lee, The Record of the Black Dragon Year, 2000, pp. 47–8. 46 O, Swaemirok, 1962, p. 13. 47 Ch’oe and Ha, Han’guk yŏsŏngsa, 1993, p. 405. 48 Ko Sangan, Hyobin chapki, 1969, 1:25a–25b. 49 JaHyun Kim Haboush wrote that the Japanese and Manchu invasions brought about “transformations ranging from the economy and family structure to ideology and worldview.” See Haboush, “Dead Bodies in the Postwar Discourse of Identity in Seventeenth Century Korea,” 2003, pp. 416–17. 50 A study by Lee Sook-in argues that female chastity was an ideology that was utilized in reconstructing war-torn Chosŏn. See “The Imjin War and the Official Discourse of Chastity,” 2009, pp. 137–56. 51 Chŏng, Kongsa mun’gyŏllok (Record of Public and Private Observations), 1:5a–5b, written by Chŏng Chaeryun (1648–1723).

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52 Chŏng’s study concerns the death of a commoner woman named Hyangnang who was honored as a virtuous woman. His article demonstrates that Hyangnang did not commit suicide to preserve her chastity but rather due to her difficult life after marriage. Hyangnang’s suicide seems largely the result of an abusive husband and the indifference of her in-laws to her plight. See Chŏng, “Hyangnangjŏn ŭl t’onghae pon yŏllyŏ t’ansaeng ŭi mek’anijŭm,” 2001, pp. 151–7. 53 An interesting case following the Pyŏngja horan (Manchu invasion of 1636) concerns the wife of then Deputy Magistrate for Kanghwa Island, Yi Min’gu (1589– 1670). Yi was a prominent official prior to the Manchu invasion and later bore much of the blame for the surrender of King Injo to the Manchu army and was exiled for a number of years. Yi, and his family, insisted that Yi’s wife had been killed by the Manchus while protecting her honor after capture and even claimed to have later found her body and given it a proper burial. Yet, narrative accounts cite eyewitness evidence to the contrary and describe the wife as being a part of a Manchu procession taken to the Qing capital. This account is found in Kim Shiyang, Hadam p’ajŏngnok, 79b–80a. 54 With particular reference to virtuous women for the period surrounding the Japanese invasion, see Sŏnjo shillok, 65:34a (1595.07.19), p. 539; Sŏnjo shillok, 65:34b (1595.07.20), p. 539; Sŏnjo shillok, 144:17b (1601.12.26), p. 329; Sŏnjo shillok, 163:6a (1603.06.09), p. 489; Sŏnjo shillok, 199:21b (1606.05.21), p. 200; Sŏnjo shillok, 199:23a (1606.05.24), p. 201; Kwanghaegun ilgi, 54:1a (1612.06.01), p. 422; and Kwanghaegun ilgi, 97:11b (1615.11.11), p. 559. In the period after the second Manchu invasion there are also numerous records including Injo shillok, 16:23b–24b (1638.03.11), p. 200; Hyojong shillok, 4:43b–45b (1650.07.23), pp. 446– 7; Hyojong shillok, 21:11b–12a (1659.02.18), pp. 175–6; and Hyŏnjong shillok, 14:48b (1668.05.01), p. 579, among others.

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Foucault, Michel. The Foucault Reader. Ed. Paul Rabinow. New York: Pantheon Books, 1984. Haboush, JaHyun Kim. “Dead Bodies in the Postwar Discourse of Identity in Seventeenth Century Korea: Subversion and Literary Production in the Private Sector,” Journal of Asian Studies 62 (May 2003): 415–42. Huang, Martin W. Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001. Hyojong shillok (孝宗實錄). Hyŏnjong shillok (顯宗實錄). Injo shillok (仁祖實錄). Jung, Ji Young. “War and the Death of a Kisaeng: The Construction of the Collective Memory of the ‘Righteous Kisaeng Non’gae’ in Late Chosŏn,” Seoul Journal of Korean Studies 22 (December, 2009): 157–80. Kim Shiyang (金時讓). Hadam p’ajŏngnok (荷潭破寂錄), n.d. [Contained in Anon. P’aerim (稗林), n.d. (reproduction of original). Seoul: T’amgudang, 1969.] Ko Sangan (高尙顔). Hyobin chapki (效顰雜記), n.d. [Contained in Anon. P’aerim (稗 林), n.d. (reproduction of original). Seoul: T’amgudang, 1969.] Ko Yŏnhŭi (ἶ㡆䧂). “Chosŏn shidae yŏllyŏ-do koch’al (㫆㍶㔲╖G 蕢女圖 ἶ㺆),” in Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak-hoe, ed., Han’guk kojŏn yŏsŏng munhak yŏn’gu (䞲ῃGἶ㧪㡂㎇ⶎ䞯G㡆ῂ), Vol. 2. Seoul: Wŏrin, 2001, pp. 189–226. Kwanghaegun ilgi (光海君日記). Lee, Peter H. The Record of the Black Dragon Year [Imjinnok (壬辰錄)]. Seoul: Institute of Korean Culture, Korea University, 2000. Lee, Sook-in. “The Imjin War and the Official Discourse of Chastity,” Seoul Journal of Korean Studies 22 (December 2009): 137–56. Li, Wai-Yee. “Heroic Transformations: Women and National Trauma in Early Qing Literature,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 59 (1999): 363–443. Naehun (內訓), Queen Sohye (昭惠王后) [Lady Han] (韓氏), 1475 (reproduction of original). Seoul: Asea munhwasa, 1974. O Hŭimun (吳希文). Swaemirok (瑣尾錄), n.d. (Reprinted by Kuksa pyŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe). Seoul: Kuksa pyŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1962. Oh, Young Kyun. Engraving Virtue: The Printing History of a Premodern Korean Moral Primer. Leiden: Brill, 2013. Pettid, Michael J. “Confucian Educational Works for Upper Status Women in Chosŏn Korea,” in Kim, Youngmin and Michael J. Pettid, eds., Women and Confucianism in Chosŏn Korea: New Perspectives. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2011. Said, Edward W. Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books, 1993. Samgang haengshil-to (三綱行實圖), 1432 (Reproduction of original and modern Korean translation with forward by Kim Wŏnyong [ₖ㤦㣿]). Seoul: Sejong taewang kinyŏm saŏphoe, 1982. Sŏnjo shillok (宣祖實錄). Tongguk shinsok samgang haengshil (東國新續三綱行實), comp. Yi Sŏng (蝗惺) et al., 1617 (Reproduction of original with forward by Yi Pyŏngdo). Seoul: Kungnip tosŏwŏn, 1958. Yi Chŏnghoe (蝗庭檜). Songgan ilgi (松澗日記), n.d. (Reprinted by Han’guk chŏngshin munhwa yŏn’guwŏn). Sŏngnam: Han’guk chŏngshin munhwa yŏn’guwŏn, 1998. Yi Sugwang (蝗晬光). Chibong yusŏl (芝峰蜃設), 1614 (Reproduction of original). Seoul: Kyŏngin munhwasa, 1970.

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Young, Robert J.C. Torn Halves: Political Conflict in Literary and Cultural Theory. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996. Yu Mongin (蛢夢寅). Ŏu yadam (於于野談), 1621 (Translated into modern Korean by Yi Wŏlyŏng and Shi Kwisŏn). Seoul: Han’guk munhwasa, 1996. Yun Kukhyŏng (尹國馨). Munjo mallok (聞詔漫錄), n.d. [Contained in Anon. P’aerim (稗林), n.d. (reproduction of original). Seoul: T’amgudang, 1969.]

Conclusion

Lest we forget, the war began because the Japanese invaded Korea. While Korean scholarship is the most extensive, and the least known, Japanese scholarship is also extensive, and these two bodies of scholarly literature fill libraries. By contrast, the paucity of studies in English and even Chinese is quite striking. Published studies of the war in English attempt to achieve breadth, but they often lack depth. Without a large number of detailed research monographs there is still no base that can support broad analytical studies, and a single author working on the Imjin War usually finds that there is too much raw archival information to digest. The present volume collects studies from scholars in South Korea, Japan, and the West, who were asked to provide introductions to large areas of concern and to identify analytical problems. Our hope is that the collection will inspire readers to isolate particular questions for detailed, comparative, transnational, transcultural, and transdisciplinary research, and that younger scholars will build a base of monographs to help us better understand pre-modern East Asian international relations. More immediately, we hope that this volume will contribute significantly to early-modern Northeast Asian history as well as to the histories of the individual countries of Korea, Japan, and China. For example, Saeki Kōji, Han Moon-jong, and Kenneth Robinson show that while local Japanese elites could control trade with the Korean and Chinese governments they could not prevent violence, and that the subterfuges of certain elites in Tsushima, Kyūshū, and western Honshū significantly lowered the value of Korean intelligence on Japan. In the second part, Kitajima Manji and Sajima Akiko offer insight on Hideyoshi’s thinking and on wider Japanese attitudes about warfare in Korea and the governance of conquered territories. These essays undermine Hideyoshi’s well-crafted public image of being the undefeated paramount power, even in Japan. Murai Shōsuke illustrates the fact that Hideyoshi’s generals had their own problems with legitimacy and brought back tales of heroism and adventure in hopes that many would forget there was no land to distribute. Yi Min’ung and Nukii Masayuki clarify the tactical problems of war on the Korean peninsula and open onto larger strategic questions that James Lewis mentions. Kenneth Swope illustrates the overriding desire in the

Conclusion

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Ming court for prestige (“awe”) and acknowledgment of that prestige. Harriet Zurndorfer expresses the wholesale revision occurring in Ming studies regarding the Wanli emperor. Nam-lin Hur introduces the depredations Koreans endured from their would-be rescuers and together with Han Myung-gi and Kuwano Eiji complicate our understanding of how Koreans both during and after the war felt about China. Regarding cultural transmission and cultural memory, Ha Woo Bong asks us to consider the significance of the Korean input into the Tokugawa renaissance and points towards environmental, cultural, economic, and social histories. Choi Gwan and Michael Pettid on postwar literature show individual writers, Japanese and Korean elites, and even the Chosŏn state enlisting memory for personal and social catharsis as well as the construction of political discourses designed to ensure the continuation of elite rule. In sum, this volume offers the broadest treatment of the Imjin Waeran available in English by approaching the war from multiple perspectives with multiple problematic points to the fore. It provides the measured views of leading scholars from South Korea, Japan, the United States, and Europe and presents their findings both thematically and analytically.

Glossary and index

Agano 上野 331 Ai Zixin 艾自新 (dates unknown) 247 Akaguni 赤國 115 Akamagaseki 赤間關 54 Akamatsu Hiromichi 赤松廣通 (1562–1600) 325 Akana Kyūnai 赤穴久内 (dates unknown) 86 akichi 空地 85 Akizato Ritō 秋里籬島 (dates unknown) 349 akui 悪意 260 Akutagawa Ryūnosuke 芥川龍之介 (1892–1927) 353–4 Alan 阿蘭 74 Amano Genuemon Chōsen ikusa monogatari 天野源右衛門朝鮮軍物語 349 Amano Sadashige 天野貞成 (dates unknown) 349 Anbyŏn 安邊 77–8, 152 Andong 安東 146–7, 296 angnoe 仰賴 263 Angol-p’o 安骨浦 12, 125–6, 131 Ankokuji Ekei 安國寺惠瓊 (d. 1600) 144, 151, 329 Anshin Tōdō 安心東堂 (dates unknown) 28, 30–1, 33, 47, 50 Anyōji 安養寺 85, 90 Aoguni 青國 115 Aoyama Nobumitsu 靑山延光 (dates unknown) 349 Arima 有馬 118–19, 333 Arita 有田 87, 331, 337 arquebus (鳥銃, C. niaochong, K. choch’ong; 鐵砲, J. teppō) 5, 38, 122, 129, 137, 332–3, 338 Asano Nagamasa 淺野長政 (1547–1611) 79, 89, 326 Asano Yoshinaga 淺野幸長 (1576–1613) 83

ashigaru teppō 足輕鐵砲 332 Ashikaga bakufu 足利幕府 176 Ashikaga shōgun 足利將軍 12, 17 Ashikaga Yoshiharu 足利義晴 (1511–1550) 18 Ashikaga Yoshimasa 足利義正 (dates unknown) 54 Ashikaga Yoshimitsu 足利義滿 (1358–1408) 98, 202 Ashikaga Yoshitane 足利義稙 (1466–1523) 44 atakebune 安譹船 122, 130, 133 Baba Shibunori 馬場信意 (1669–1728) 349 bahan 八幡 204 Baigan 梅岸 (dates unknown) 46–7 Baikei bunshū 梅溪文集 326 Baikei 梅溪 (see Yi Chŏnjik) 336 bakufu 幕府 17, 22, 26, 33, 43, 45–6, 50, 54–5, 57, 59, 68, 92, 94, 176, 203, 323–4, 325–30, 334, 340–1, 346, 348–9, 350–1 bakuhansei kokka 幕藩制國家 41, 108 bakumatsu [period] 幕末 (c. 1853–1869) 328 bandit 78, 137, 142, 155, 170, 176, 178, 180–1, 186, 188–9, 190, 192–5, 206, 247, 263, 281, 283, 304 Baoding 保定 210 baptism 333, 353 barbarian 18, 20, 36, 171, 197, 199, 205, 238–9, 241–4, 251–3, 258–60, 284, 286–8, 331, 334 Beijing 北京 48, 75, 98, 100–2, 107, 173, 175, 177–8, 180, 186, 198, 201, 208, 210–11, 213–6, 237–8, 245, 277, 287, 301, 335 Beppu Toneri 別府舎人 (dates unknown) 113

Glossary and index Bingbu Shangshu 兵部尙書 (Minister of War) 299 Bingbu 兵部 (see Ministry of War) 210 Bizen Chūnagon 備前中納言 (see Ukita Hideie) 115 Bizen Kanemitsu 備前兼光 113 Board of Rites [Chosŏn] (薰曹, K. Yejo) 50–1, 296–8, 302–5, 307 Bodončar 孛端叉児 74–5 bokushi 牧司 350 Border Defense Council [Chosŏn] (備邊 司, K. Pibyŏnsa) 33–4, 36–8, 131, 285, 287, 290, 296–7, 300, 302–5 bu 分 (3 mm. or one-tenth of a sun) 116 Buddhism 157, 159, 324–5, 359 bugyō 奉行 76, 104 Bungo Usuki 豊後臼杵 (dates unknown) 85 Bungo 豊後 30, 47 Bunroku-Keichō no eki 文緫·慶長の役 6 bureaucracy 151, 159, 207–8, 211, 218 buren 臺仁 263 bu-Wae 附倭 141, 143, 160 buxu 臺許 263 candles 248 cannon 38, 40, 122, 129, 137, 171, 182, 185, 211, 226, 332 captive (see prisoner of war) 45, 87, 97, 324, 327–8 Catholicism 5, 332–5 cavalry 38, 225–6, 249, 284, 332 ceramics 323–4, 328, 330–1, 335 Ch’ae Hyujing 蔡休徵 (dates unknown) 353 ch’aemyŏn 体面 303 ch’albang 察訪 (Superintendent of Post Stations) 145, 149 Ch’angdŏkkung 昌德宮 295 Ch’angnyŏng 昌寧 143, 145, 326 ch’angŭisa 倡義使 148, 161 Ch’angwŏn 昌原 113 Ch’ech’alsa 體察使 131 Ch’ilch’ŏllyang 漆川梁 82, 86, 120–1, 131–2 Ch’oe Ch’ŏk chŏn 崔陟傳 346 Ch’oe Haesan 崔海山 (1380–1443) 121 Ch’oe Kyŏnghoe 崔慶會 (1532–1593) 149, 353 Ch’oe Musŏn 崔茂宣 (1325–1395) 121 Ch’oe Paech’ŏn 崔配天 (dates unknown) 153 Ch’oe U 崔瑀 (d. 1249) 337 Ch’oe Yŏnghŭi 崔永禧 (1926–2005) 120

381

Ch’ŏn’an 天安 304 ch’ŏndo 遷都 157, 315 Ch’ŏngju 淸州 150, 151 ch’ongt’ong 銃筒 38, 121, 129, 136 Ch’onha chi shingi 天下之神器 332 Ch’ŏnja ch’ongt’ong 天字銃筒 38 Ch’ŏnjo changgwan ch’anjip ch’ŏng 天朝 將官撰集廳, 281 Ch’ŏnmyŏng tosŏl 天命圖說, 330 ch’ot’osa 招討使, 148, 155 ch’oyusa 招諭使 143 Ch’ung’ikbu 忠翊府 161 Ch’ungch’ŏng(-do) 忠淸(道) 23, 34, 77, 82, 83, 115, 134, 143, 144, 145, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 295, 304, 310 ch’ungchwawi 忠佐衛 161 Ch’unghunbu 忠勳府 161 Ch’ungju 忠州 38, 261 Ch’ungŭiwi 忠義衛 149, 161 chaejo chiŭn 再造之恩 278, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 287, 288, 289, 290 chaejo pŏnbang 再造藩邦 281 chak 勺 88 Chang Shin 張紳 (d. 1637) 306, 307 changgye 蟳啓, 137 changnyŏng 掌令 144 Chaoxian jishi 潮鮮紀事 201 Chaoxian zazhi 潮鮮雜志 201 Chaoxian 朝鮮 200 Chasŏngnok 自省錄 330 Chen Jia (Chen Shen) 陳甲 (陳 申) (dates unknown) 210, 237 Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639) 206 Chen Lin 陳璘 (d. 1607) 134, 135, 215, 216, 251 Chen Weizhi 陳維芝 (dates unknown) 214 Chen Wentong 陳文同 (dates unknown) 251 Chen Yunhong 陳雲鴻 (dates unknown) 309 Che-p’o 薺浦 11–13, 15, 31–2, 43–4, 51 Chesŭng pangnyak 制勝方略 34 chewanghak 帝王學 326 cheyonggam chŏng 濟用監正 145 Chi Talwŏn 池達源 (1570–1632) 153 Chiba Mototane 千葉元胤 (d. 1464) 15, 45, 62 Chiba of Hizen 肥前千葉 (dates unknown) 14–15 Chibong yusŏl 芝峰蜃說 334, 366 chigyō 知行 15 chija ch’ongt’ong 地字銃筒 38

382

Glossary and index

Chikamatsu Hanji 近松半二 (1725–1783) 354 Chikamatsu Monzaemon 近松門左衛門 (1653–1724) 350 chikbu 畜部 324 chikchang 直長 361 chikchŏnbŏp 職田法 23 Chiksan 稷山 85, 304 chin’gwan ch’eje 鎭管體制 25 Chindo 珍島 133 Chingbirok 懲毖錄 162, 344, 349, 354 Chinju 晋州 79–80, 95, 105, 127, 145, 212, 227, 311, 326–7, 331–2, 350, 352–3, 366–7, 374 Chirye 知薰 143 Cho Chŏng 趙靖 (1555–1636) 344 Cho Chongnam 趙宗男 (dates unknown) 155 Cho Hŏn 趙憲 (1544–1592) 36, 145, 149–51 Cho Kwangjo 趙光祖 (1482–1519) 25 Cho Kyŏngnam 趙慶男 (1570–1641) 344 Cho Shik 曺植 (1501–1572) 142–4, 161 Cho Ung 趙熊 (d. 1597) 149 Cho Wihan 趙緯韓 (1567–1649) 346 chō 町 (109.09 m.) 116–17 Chobangjang 助防將 34 choch’ong 鳥銃 332 Chŏkchin-p’o 赤珍浦 123 chŏlch’ung changgun 折衝將軍 146 Chŏlla chwasusa 全羅左水使 (Left Naval Commander of Chŏlla Province) 123 Chŏlla ususa 全羅右水使 (Right Naval Commander of Chŏlla Province) 123 Chŏlla 全羅 23, 37–8, 53, 58, 77, 82–5, 87, 113, 123, 132, 138–9, 144–50, 155–6, 160, 202, 249, 296, 311, 314, 335, 352 Chŏng Ch’ihyŏng 丁致亨 (dates unknown) 353 Chŏng Ch’ŏl 鄭澈 (1536–1593) 25 Chŏng Hŭidŭk 鄭希得 (1573–1623) 345, 354 Chŏng Inhong 鄭仁弘 (1535–1623) 142, 144–5, 149, 162, 282 Chŏng Kiwŏn 鄭期遠 (1559–1597) 301, 315 Chŏng Kyŏngdal 丁景達 (1542–1602) 129 Chŏng Munbu 鄭文孚 (1565–1624) 153, 159 Chŏng T’ak 鄭琢 (1526–1605) 344

Chŏng Taeim 鄭大任 (1553–1594) 146 Chŏng Un 鄭運 (1543–1592) 126 Chŏng Yŏngbang 鄭榮邦 (1577–1650) 344 Chŏng’ŭp 井邑 83 chŏngch’ŏl ch’ongt’ong 正鐵銃筒 129 Chongde 崇德 288 Chŏngdong Kwan’gunsa 征東官軍祠 312, 318 Chŏngjo [King] 正祖 (r. 1776–1800) 315 Chŏngjoksan 鼎足山 306 chŏngjŏl 貞節 (see fidelity) 359 Chŏngju 定州 150–1 Chŏngmi yakcho 丁未約條 (1547) 52 chŏngmun 旌門 369 Chŏngmyo horan 丁卯胡亂 (Manchu Invasion of 1627) 278, 287 Chongmyo 宗廟 294 Chŏngp’yŏng 定平 77, 153 Chongzhen [Emperor] Yizong 崇禎毅宗 (r. 1627–1644) 295–6 Chonhae 尊楷 331 chŏnho 佃戶 23 Chonju hwip’yŏn 尊周彙編 301, 315 Chŏnju 全州 145, 148 chŏppansa 接伴使 309 Chōsa Hikozaemon oboegaki 帖佐彦左衛 門覚書 110 Chōsa Rokushichi 帖佐六七 (dates unknown) 114 Chosa 帖佐 331 Chōsen bugyō 朝鮮奉行 76 Chōsen eki 朝鮮役 347 Chōsen gunki monogatari 朝鮮軍記物 349 Chōsen gunki taizen 朝鮮軍記大全 349 Chōsen gunkimono 朝鮮軍記物 349–51 Chōsen hinikki 朝鮮日々記 109 Chōsen jin 朝鮮陣 347 Chōsen kokuso zeichō 朝鮮國租稅牒 77 Chōsen nikki 朝鮮日記 109 Chōsen seibatsuki 朝鮮征伐記 270, 349, 356 Chōsen seitō shimatsuki 朝鮮征討始末 記 349 Chōsen shuppei 朝鮮出兵 347 Chōsen sōshi kunitsugu no shokei oboe 朝 鮮送使國次之書契覺 15 Chōsen Taiheiki 朝鮮太平記 349 Chōsogabe Motochika 長宗我部元親 (1538–1599) 130 Chosŏn wangjo shillok 朝鮮王朝實錄 27, 32 Chouhai tubian 籌海圖編 202

Glossary and index Christian 108, 335, 353 Chu Chaho 朱子豪 (dates unknown) 146 Chu Saeng chŏn 周生傳 346 Chujasŏ chŏryo 朱子書節要 330 Chungjong [King] 中宗 (r. 1506–1544) 12, 25–6, 42–4, 48–50, 52, 56, 157, 335 Chungnogun 中路軍 135 Chūuemon 晝右衛門 (dates unknown) 117 chwarang 佐郞 144 Chwa-ssi chŏnghwa 左氏精華 336 Communication Embassy (see T’ongshinsa) 35, 74, 79, 103, 128, 330, 336, 348, 354 Confucianism 87, 142, 151, 157, 165–6, 168, 204, 224, 294, 324–30, 335–6, 341, 358–9 copper 29, 49, 55, 122, 203, 328–9 corvée (labor) 24, 152, 154, 246, 280, 298 cotton 24, 29–30, 33, 50–1, 63 coup (d’etat) (of 1623, see Injo panjŏng) 25, 185, 278, 286–8, 290–1 Crane Formation (see hag’ikchin) 126 crown prince 75, 261–2, 264, 288, 344 cupellation 48–9 Da Ming huidian 大明會典 200, 297, 312 Da Qing 大淸 288 Dai Chaobian 戴朝弁 248 Dai Min chokushi ni kokuhō subeki jōmoku 大明勅使に告報すべき條目 80–1 Dai Nihonshi 大日本史 337 dai teppō 大鐵砲 137 Daigaku no kami 大學頭 325 Daigen 大原 (dates unknown) 14, 29 Daiin 大蔭 (dates unknown) 14 daikan 代官 13, 76–7 daimyō 大名 (Japanese feudal lord) 59, 73, 76, 83–8, 94–5, 103–4, 109, 111–12, 115, 122, 130, 143, 150, 212, 329–30, 333 Daizō ichiranshū 大藏一覽集 329 desertion 151 Ding Yingtai 丁應泰 (b. 1553, 1583 js) 250 disease 25, 127–8, 131, 136, 239, 250, 310, 347, 374 Dong Yiyuan 董一元 (dates unknown) 135, 216 Dong Yue 董越 (1431–1502; 1469 js) 201 Donglujun 東路軍 134 Dudu 都督 (Commodore) 251 Dutch 222

383

Easterner Faction (東人, K. Tong’in) 25, 35, 130, 142–3 Eda Tōemon oboegaki 江田藤右衛門覚 書 110 Ehon Chōsen gunki 繪本朝鮮軍記 349 Ehon Chōsen seibatsuki 繪本朝鮮征伐 記 349 Ehon Taikōki 繪本太閤記 349, 354–5 Ehon Toyotomi Kunkōki 繪本豊臣勳功 記 349 Ekisetsu 易說 326 Ekishū 易宗 (dates unknown) 14 emperor 4, 18, 49, 74–5, 79–82, 96–7, 100, 102–3, 157–8, 163–4, 166–7, 169–77, 179–81, 197, 199–203, 205–8, 210–11, 213, 215–18, 220–4, 226, 228, 236–8, 241–2, 250, 252, 254, 263, 281, 285, 287, 290, 295, 297, 301, 307–9, 312–15, 337, 347, 379 Endō Shūsaku 遠藤周作 (1923–1996) 354 epidemics (see disease) 25, 127–8, 247 faction 23, 25, 35, 128, 130–1, 137, 142, 146, 169, 172, 176, 182, 185, 211, 218, 222, 224, 286, 288 Fajia 法家 (Legalists) 166 famine 5, 151, 185, 247, 253, 310–11, 313 feng wei fanwang 封爲藩王 (invested as tributary prince) 213 Fengshi lu 奉使錄 201 folangji 佛郞機 208, 225 fraudulent envoys (see imposter envoys) 22 Fubojō 父母蟳 326 Fuchinobe Kazuemon oboegaki 淵邊量右 衛門覺書 111–12, 118 Fuchinobe Kazuemon 淵邊量右衛門 (dates unknown) 111–12 Fujimitei Bunko 富士見亭文庫 329 Fujiwara Seika 藤原惺窩 (1561–1619) 87, 324, 330, 336, 341 Fukuda Kansuke 福田勘介 (dates unknown) 87 Fukunaga Sukejūrō 福永助十郞 (dates unknown) 114 Fukuoka 福岡 260, 331 Fukushima Masanori 福島正則 (1561–1624) 77, 150 Furuhashi Yūgen 古橋又玄 (dates uknown) 349 Fushimi Gakkō Shozō Bunko 伏見學校 所藏文庫 337 Fushimi 伏見 325, 336 Fushun 撫順 207, 284–5

384

Glossary and index

fu-Wa 附倭 (see bu-Wae) 141 Fuzongbing 副總兵 84 Gao Gong 高栱 206, 223 Gaodiji 高帝紀 88 Gaoli tianzi 高麗天子 281 Gaoli zaixiang 高麗宰相 281 Gaozushang 高祖上 88 Gen’e 玄惠 (1279–1350) 324 Genpo Reisan 玄圃霊三 (dates unknown) 80 Genpō 玄方 (see Kihaku Genpō) 28 Genso 玄蘇 (see Keitetsu Genso) 28, 31–3, 35–6, 47, 58, 60, 71–9 gobugyō 五奉行 86 gold seal (金印, C. jinyin, K. kŭm’in, J. kin’in) 98–100, 102 gōman 傲慢 260 Gongabee 權嘉兵衛 (dates unknown) 333 Gosanke 御三家 326, 329 Goshomaru 御所丸 12 Gotairō 五大老 135 Gotō 五島 19 Governor of Tsushima (對馬島主, J. Tsushima tōshu, K. Daema toju) 14, 54 Go-Yōzei [Emperor] 後陽成 (r. 1586–1611) 75 Gozan (temples) 五山 324, 327–8 grain 77, 82, 127, 129, 133, 142, 144, 146, 152, 154–6, 158, 186–7, 209, 245–9, 282 Great Ming (大明, C. Da Ming; see Ming dynasty) 80, 96, 99, 200, 251–2, 297, 308, 312 Gregario de Cespedes (1551–1611) 333–5, 338–9, 353 Gu Long 顧龍 (dates unknown) 214 Gu Yangqian 顧養謙 (1537–1604) 213–14 Gu Yingtai 谷應泰 (1620–1690) 171, 197, 205, 219, 230 Guan Yingzhen 官應震 284 Guan Yu 關羽 294–8, 312, 318–20 guerrilla forces (see ŭibyŏng) 2, 4, 22, 39, 120, 127, 129, 141–51, 153, 155, 157, 160, 174, 182, 266, 283, 340 gun 113, 121, 129, 185, 208, 211, 232, 332 gunki 軍記 348 gunkimono 軍記物 260, 270 gunpowder 7, 38, 121, 129, 163–4, 232, 332 Gunsho chiyō 群書治要 329 Guo Shi 郭實 (1583 js) 211, 215, 226

Hachikōsha Tokusui 八功舍德水 (dates unknown) 349 Hachisuka Iemasa 蜂須賀家政 (1558–1638) 83 Hadong 河東 115 Haedong chegukki 海東諸國紀 15, 68, 242, 255 Haeju 海州 153–6 Haenam 海南 83, 91, 115–16 Haengju 幸州 227, 283, 352 Haeyurok 海游錄 330 hag’ikchin 鶴翼陣 (Crane Formation) 126 Hagi 荻 90, 331, 338 haijin 海禁 222 Hakata 博多 3, 12, 19, 33, 39, 43–7, 49, 54, 57, 59–62, 64, 79 Hakusukinoe 白村江 271 Hamgyŏng 咸鏡 48–9, 53, 77–8, 91, 152–4, 159, 261, 279 Hamhŭng 咸興 77, 152 Hamjŏk kaesalbŏp 陷賊皆殺法 144, 153 Han Hyŏn 韓絢 (d. 1596) 150 Han Hyosun 韓孝純 (1543–1621) 146 Han Myŏng’yun 韓明胤 (1542–1593) 149 Han shu 漢書 253 Han Ugŭn 韓ٜ劤 (1915–1999) 120 Han Ŭng’in 韓應寅 (1554–1614) 36, 238 hanagiri 鼻切り 85, 356 hanggŏ Waein 恒居倭人 (see resident Japanese) 11 hang-Wae 豭倭 (see surrendered Japanese) 333 Hansan 寒山 115 Hansan-do ka 閑山島歌 354 Hansan island 閑山島 125–6, 134, 139, 352 Hanshu 漢書 90, 299, 318 Hansŏng 漢城 38, 48, 51, 54, 57–8, 60, 75–9, 81, 100–1, 143–6, 148–50, 154–8, 240, 250–1, 261, 295–6, 302, 304–5, 307–13, 316–17 Hanyang 漢陽 127, 347 Hao Jie 郝傑 (1530–1600) 223 Hapch’ŏn 陜川 142, 144–5 Hap-p’o 合浦 123–4 Harima 播磨 336 Hashiba Toshihide 羽柴秀俊 (1582–1602) 75 Hashimoto Sadahide (Utagawa Sadahide) 橋本貞秀 (歌川貞秀) (1807–1878?) 349 Hatakeyama Yoshiaki 畠山義賢 (dates unknown) 55

Glossary and index Hatakeyama Yoshinari 畠山義就 (1437–1491) 55 Hatakeyama 畠山 31, 55, 67 hatto 法度 76 Hayashi Razan 螞羅山 (1583–1657) 325, 330, 341 He Qiaoyuan 何喬遠 (1558–1632, 1586 js) 214, 227 Henan 河南 297 Hikosan gongen Chikainosuke dachi 彦山 權現誓助劍 353 hinyoku 貧欲 260 Hirado 平戶 19, 42, 52, 331 Hirata Seiemon 平田清右衛門 (dates unknown) 111 hiro 尋 (1 hiro = 5–6 shaku = 1 ken =1.8 m, therefore 2–3 hiro = 3.6-5.4 m.) 114 Hishikari Kyūbee Chōsen hōkō oboe 菱刈 休兵衛朝鮮奉公覺 110 Hizen Nagoya 肥前名護屋 37, 45, 61, 75–6, 80–1, 212, 338 Hŏ Kyun 許筠 (1569–1618) 353 Hŏ Sŏng 許筬 (1548–1612) 35 hōbutsubu 寶物部 324 hoch’o 胡椒 (see pepper) 13, 45–7, 60 Hōchū Dōtoku 弸中道徳 (dates unknown) 44, 62 Hoeryesa 回禮使 26 Hoeryŏng 會罋 153 Hoeryŏng-p’o 會罋浦 133 Hoetap kyŏm swaehwansa 回答兼刷還 使 338 Hojo 戶曹 48, 310 Hojong ilgi 扈從日記 344 Hŏmch’ŏn 險川 310–11 Honam chŏrŭirok 湖南節義錄 353 Honchō sangokushi 本朝三國志 350 Honchō 本朝 75 honey 115, 248 Hong Chinsŏng 洪晉城 (dates unknown) 336 Hong Hoyŏn 洪浩然 (1581–1657) 326–8, 336, 338 Hong Kiltong chŏn 洪吉童傳 353 Hong Kyenam 洪季男 (dates unknown) 149–51 Hong Ŏnnam 洪彦男 (dates unknown) 149 Hong Taiji (r. 1627–43) 185 Hong Yangho 洪蓥浩 (dates unknown) 353 Hong Yŏsun 洪汝諄 (1547–1609), 279 Hongjewŏn 弘濟院 / 洪濟院 305, 316 Hongmun’gwan 弘文館 297 Hongwŏn 洪原 77, 153

385

Hongwu [Emperor] Taizu 洪武太祖 (r. 1368–1398) 172, 199–200, 204, 222, 295, 297 Hongzhi [Emperor] Xiaozong 弘治孝宗 (r. 1487–1505) 202 Hongzhi tally 17 Honnōji 本能寺 32 Honshū 本州 12, 34, 49, 54–5, 59, 85, 378 hop 合 88 Hori Kyōan 堀杏庵 (1585–1643) 349 Horinouchi Ujiyoshi 堀內氏善 (1549–1615) 124 horses 97–8, 100, 127, 174, 179, 200, 205, 239, 241–2, 245–6, 251, 262 horyobu 捕虜部 323 Hōsa Bunko 蓬左文庫 337 Hosokawa Tadaoki 細川忠興 (1563– 1646) 331, 336 hostage 12, 77–8, 80, 82, 94, 96–7, 99, 101, 103, 105, 253, 260, 265 Hu Zongxian 胡宗憲 204, 218 Huang Yingyang 黃應陽 198 Huang Zongxi 黃宗羲 217 Huke geishizhong 戶科給事中 (Supervising Secretary in the Office for Scrutiny of Revenue) 284 hullyŏn togam 訓練都監 153 hun’gu 勳舊 25 Hŭng’inmun 興仁門 296, 314 hwa’in 華人 300 hwacha 火車 38 Hwang Chin 黃璡 (1542–1606) 36, 247 Hwang Chŏng’uk 黃廷彧 (1532–1607) 237 Hwang Hasu 黃河水 (dates unknown) 155 Hwang Shin 黃愼 (1560–1617) 104, 106, 130, 139, 369 hwang tangsŏn 荒唐船 52 Hwang Yun’gil 黃允吉 (1536-?) 26, 32, 35–6, 58–9, 236–7, 252 Hwangdan 皇壇 295, 315, 321 Hwanghae 黃海 77, 153–7, 159, 254, 280, 310 Hwanghae-do ŭibyŏng chang kyŏm ch’ot’osa 黃海道義兵將兼招討使 155 Hwangsŏk 黄石 84 Hwawŏn 花園 144 Hwayak kamjoch’ŏng 火藥監造廳 (Office for the Manufacture and Control of Gunpowder) 121 Hwayang-dong 華陽洞 295 hyakushō 百姓 154 hyang t’ongsa 鄕通事 51

386

Glossary and index

hyang’an 鄕案 142 hyanggyu 鄕規 142 hyangni 鄕吏 314, 327 hyangyak 鄕約 142 hyŏn’gam 縣監 149 hyŏnja ch’ongt’ong 玄字銃筒 38 Hyŏnjong [King] 顯宗 (r. 1659–1674) 310–11, 313 Hyŏnp’ung 玄風 143, 145 Hyujŏng 休静 (1520–1604) 157–8 Ich’i 梨峙 148 Ichigaku 一鶚 (dates unknown) 14, 30 Ichiyūsai Kuniyoshi 一勇齋國芳 (dates unknown) 349 Iki 一岐 54, 59, 112, 118 ikki yakura 一揆輩 161 ikki 一揆 (see rebellion) 95, 161 Ikoma Kazumasa 生駒一正 (1555–1610) 83 Ikusa metsuke 軍目付 84 Ilbon kugwang 日本國王 (see King of Japan) 44 Im Kyeyŏng 任啓英 (1528–1597) 149 Imhaegun 臨海君 (1574–1609) 97, 152, 279 Imjin chobyŏn sajŏk 壬辰遭變事蹟 344 Imjin nok 㧚㰚⪳ 344–6, 353, 355 Imjin River 螡津江 154 Imjin Waeran ilgi 壬辰倭亂日記 344 Imjin Waeran susŏngnok 壬辰倭亂守成 錄 353 Imperial Envoy (天使, K. ch’ŏnsa, J. tenshi) 80, 99 impostor (envoy/identity) 2–3, 11–12, 14–17, 20, 22, 26, 28, 33, 37, 39, 42–7, 50–62 Imshin yakcho 壬申約條 (1512 Agreement) 11, 13, 44 Indong 仁同 336 infantry 182, 332 Injo [King] 仁祖 (r. 1623–49) 278, 286–8, 290, 292, 306–7, 375 Injo panjŏng 仁祖反正 278, 286 inkstones (すずり箱, J. suzuribako) 46, 62 insurrectionists 161 intelligence (gathering) 3, 28, 37–8, 123, 126, 226, 236–8, 240, 252, 285, 287, 378 ip 入 263 ipjo 入朝 261 irregular (troops) (see ŭibyŏng) 6, 95, 145, 147–8, 282–3, 352

Ishida Mitsunari 石田三成 (1560–1600) 76, 79, 86, 91, 96, 348 Iteian 以酊菴 28 Itō Gentaku yuishogaki 伊東玄宅由緒書 112, 118 Itō Gentaku 伊東玄宅 (dates unknown) 111–12 Itō Iki nyūdō Gentaku oboegaki 伊東壱 岐入道玄宅覚書 112 Iwami 石見 19, 33, 49 Iwŏn 利原 77, 152 Iyo 伊予 336 Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku Kōraijin oboegaki 出水衆中伊東玄宅高麗陣覚 書 109 Izumi shūchū Itō Gentaku mōshide 出水 衆中伊東玄宅申出 111–12, 118 Izu-no-kami 伊豆守 14 Japan House (see Waegwan) 43 Jesuits 333 Ji Jin 季金 (dates unknown) 134 Jiajing [Emperor] Shizong 嘉靖世宗 (r. 1522–1567) 171, 176, 205, 214 Jiang Tianze 蔣天澤 (dates unknown) 284 Jianwen 建文 (r.1399–1402) 173, 200 Jianzhou Jurchen 建州蔑眞 201–2, 222, 278, 284–5 jiei 自衛 260 Jiezhou 解州 297 jing 境 78 Jingli Chaoxian junwu 經理朝鮮軍 務 216 Jingli 經理 (Commissioner) 304 Jingli yushi 經理御史 (Coordinator of Korean Affairs) 281 Jinglue fuguo yaobian 經略復國要編 191, 194, 255, 355 Jinglue 經略 85 Jingtai [Emperor] Daizong 景泰代宗 (r. 1450–1457) 201 Jingzhonglu 精忠錄 302–3 Jinshin yakujō 壬申約條 11 Jishūkan 時習館 327 jitsuroku-tai shōsetsu 實錄體小說 348 jiu bian zhen 九邊鎮 208 Jiuming shu 救命書 206 Jixiao xinshu 紀效新書 208 Jizhen 薊鎮 210 Jizhou 薊州 208 jūgun oboegaki 従軍覚書 108–9, 111 Junmen 軍門 (Military Commissioner) 302

Glossary and index Junsa no iru fūkei 巡査の居る風景 354 Jurakudai 聚樂第 74 Jurchen (女真, C. nüzhen, K. yŏjin) 22, 33, 38, 53, 64, 152, 161, 170, 182, 184, 200–2, 205, 220, 223, 253–4, 263, 267, 278, 284–5, 290, 323 Jurchen Jin 女真金 267 jushokunin 受職人 13 jutoshonin 受圖書人 13 kabin 甲寅 328 kabuki 歌舞伎 5, 341, 350, 353 Kadŏk 加徳 82, 115 Kaegyŏng 開京 200 Kaeryŏng 開罋 143–4, 146 Kaesŏng 開城 154–5, 161, 200, 279, 307–8, 313, 316–17 Kaesŏng yusujik 開城留守職 155 Kaesŏngbu 開城府 161 Kagoshima 緯兒島 90, 110–12, 118–19, 329 Kagoshima-ken shiryō 鹿児島県史料 112, 118 kahaeng chaeso 假行在所 147, 161 Kaibara Ekiken 貝原益軒 (1630–1714) 260, 349, 354–5 Kai 甲斐 55 Kamei Shigenori 龜井玆矩 (1557–1612) 125 Kamiya Jutei 紙屋寿貞 (dates unknown) 49 Kang Hang 姜沆 (1567–1618) 7–8, 66, 87, 90, 324, 335–6, 341, 345, 354 Kang Hongnip 姜弘立 (1560–1627) 286 Kangbok 降福 78 Kangdo mong’yurok 江都夢遊錄 345 Kanggye 江界 261 Kanghwa 江華 148, 155–6, 246, 311, 375 Kangjin 康津 296 kangō 勘合 20–1, 81, 89, 96–7, 222 Kangwae chinsalbŏp 降倭盡殺法 153 Kangwae yuinbŏp 降倭誘引法 153 Kangwŏn 江原 53, 77, 261, 310 Kanpaku 關白 75, 90, 107, 130 Kanrei 管領 (Deputy Shogun) 55 kansei teisetsu 感生帝説 74, 90 Kantō 關東 19 Kanyangnok 看羊錄 7–8, 66, 87, 89–90, 255, 336, 345 Kara iri 唐入り 105 Kara 唐 75 Karashima 唐島 112 Karatsu 唐津 45, 331, 337 karō 家老 111

387

kasa 歌詞 347 Kasan 嘉山 245, 262 kashin 家臣 (direct vassals) 122 Katano 堅野 331 Katō Kiyomasa 加藤清正 (1562–1611) 76–8, 80, 82–92, 97–9, 101–2, 106, 109–10, 125, 130, 134–5, 152, 154, 159, 161, 212, 215, 227, 250, 279, 333, 349, 350, 354 kato nyūmin 仮途入明 79 Katō Yoshiaki 加藤嘉明 (1563–1631) 83, 125–6, 137 Keichō 慶長 6, 111, 347 Keinen 慶念 (dates unknown) 7–8, 85, 90, 109, 354–5 Keirin Tōdō 景林東堂 (dates unknown) 14, 30, 33 Keitakudai 慶譹代 336 Keitetsu Genso 景轍玄蘇 (1537–1611) 28–9, 31–2, 47, 58, 66–7, 79–81, 337 ken (1.818 m. or 6 shaku) 間 113–17 Keyamura Rokusuke 毛谷村蜄助 (dates unknown) 353 Khitan Liao 契丹遼 267 ki’mich’aek 羈縻策 285 Kihaku Genpō 規伯玄方 (1588–1661) 28 Kii 紀伊 326–7, 329, 336 Kii Bunko 紀伊文庫 329 Kija 箕子 294 Kijae sach’o 寄齋史草 262 Kijŏn 畿甸 304 Kikuchi Kasugarō 菊地春日樓 (dates unknown) 349 Kilju 吉州 77, 152, 154 kiln 5, 225, 331, 337 Kim Ch’ŏn’il 金千鎰 (1537–1593) 147–8, 343, 352, 366 Kim Ch’unch’u 紼春秋 (604–661, r. as T’aejong muyŏl wang 太宗武烈王, 654–661) 265 Kim Ch’ungjang-gong yusa 金忠壯公遺 事 353 Kim Ch’ungnyŏng 紼忠齡 (1567–96) 343, 352 Kim Changsaeng 金長生 (1548–1631) 39 Kim Chinsu 金進壽 (dates unknown) 155 Kim Chŏngho 金正浩 (1804?-1866) 300, 319 Kim Chwamyŏng 金佐命 (dates unknown) 310–11 Kim Hae 金垓 (1555–1593) 146 Kim Hae 金海 331 Kim Ho 金虎 (d. 1592) 146

388

Glossary and index

Kim Hwa 金和 (dates unknown) 331 Kim Ka 金加 (dates unknown) 331 Kim Mansu 金萬壽 (1553–1607) 155 Kim Myŏn 金沔 (1541–1593) 142–5, 149 Kim Pangjung 金芳中 (dates unknown) 331 Kim Shi‘min 金時敏 (1554–1592) 332, 343, 352 Kim Sion 金是榲 (1598–1669) 292 Kim Sŏng’il 金誠一 (1538–1593) 35–6, 39, 58–60, 66, 143, 145–6, 236, 252, 254, 332, 344 Kim Su 金睟 (1537–1615) 143 Kim T’aeja 金太子 (dates unknown) 346 Kim Taehyŏn 金大賢 (1553–1602) 292 Kim Tŏksŏng 金徳誠 (dates unknown) 155 Kim Tŏngnyŏng chŏn 金德齡傳 347 Kim Tŏngnyŏng 金德齡 (1567–1596) 149, 151, 282, 346–7 Kim Ŭngnam 金應南 (1546–1598) 237, 247 Kim Ŭngsŏ shilgi 金應瑞實記 347 Kim Ŭngsŏ 紼應瑞 (1564–1624) 343, 346, 352–3 Kim Yong 金涌 (1557–1620) 344 Kim Yunmyŏng 金允明 (1541–1604) 146 Kimhae 金海 102, 331 kimyo sahwa 己卯士禍 25 Kin Shōgun 金將軍 353–4 kin 斤 46 Kinai 畿内 3, 75 King of Japan (日本國王, C. Riben guowang, K. Ilbon kugwang, J. Nihon kokuō) 12, 14, 16–18, 29–32, 58, 82, 98, 100, 103, 173, 215 kinōha 勤王派 328 kinzokubu 紼屬部 323 kisaeng 妓生 343, 353, 366–8, 374, 376 Kitajima Tōshiaki 來島通之 (dates unknown) 125 Kitsukawa Hiroie 吉川広家 (1561–1625) 86, 146 Kiyomasa Kōrai [no] jin oboegaki 清正 高麗陣覚書 86, 89, 91–2, 110 Kiyomasa-ki 淸正記 349 Kiyu yakcho 己酉約條 (1609) 60 Kō Kōzen den 洪浩然傳 336 Ko Kyŏngmyŏng 高敬命 (1533–1592) 145, 147–50, 347 Ko Ŏnbaek 高彦伯 (d. 1609) 151 Ko Sang’an 高尙顔 (1553–1623) 282, 292, 369

Kobayakawa Hideaki 小早川秀秋 (1582–1602) 75, 83, 85 Kobayakawa Takakage 小早川隆 景 (1533–1597) 77, 82, 89, 91, 107, 144, 148 kŏbuksŏn Ệ⿗船 (龜船) 123, 125, 133, 352 Kobun kōkyō 古文孝經 329 Kŏch’ang 居昌 84, 142, 144 Koe 槐 295 Koga Seiri 古賀精里 (1750–1817) 327, 336 kōgeibu 工藝部 323 Kogŭm sangchŏng yemun 古今詳定薰 文 337 Kogǔm Island 古今島 133–4 Kogunsan Island 古群山 133 Koha Island 高下 133 Kŏje Island 巨濟 82, 86, 100, 112, 124, 129 kŏjin 巨鎭 143 kōki wakō 後期倭寇 18, 21 koku 石 77, 88 Kokugaku 國學 (National Studies) 327 Kokura 小倉 331 Kokuritsu Kokkai Toshokan 國立國會 圖書館 337 Kokusho sōmokuroku 國書總目錄 112, 119 kokutai 國體 327 Kongju 公州 150 Kongmin [King] 恭愍 (r. 1351–74) 199, 200 kongnapche 貢納制 23, 40 Konishi Joan 小西如庵(如安) (1550?1626) (see Naitō Joan) 213 Konishi Yukinaga 小西行長 (d. 1600) 60, 77–9, 81–4, 87, 93–101, 103–5, 107, 109, 130, 134–5, 154, 157–8, 198, 211, 226, 228, 251, 333, 335, 345, 348, 353, 355 Kŏnjŏŭi sagŏn 建儲議事件 25 Kōrai dōin 高麗銅印 328 Kōrai iri 高麗入 118–19, 337 Kōrai nikki 高麗日記 92, 107, 109, 112, 119 Kōraijin nikki 高麗陣日記 349 Kōraimono 高麗物 330 Koryŏ ch’ŏnja 高麗天子 281 Koryŏ chaesang 高麗宰相 281 koshin 告身 44 Kosŏng 固城 124 Koyang 高陽 308

Glossary and index Kōyasan 高野山 86 Koyŏng 高薠 144 Kuandian-pu 寬奠堡 262 kuangshui 礦税 217, 284, 291 kugu 求救 263 Kuk Kyŏng’in 鞠景仁 (d. 1592) 153, 279 Kuk Se’p’il 鞠世弼 (dates unknown) 153 Kukcho oryeŭi 國朝五薰儀 294, 313, 319 Kukcho oryeŭi sŏrye 國朝五薰儀序 例 314 Kukcho sok oryeŭi sŏrye 國朝續五禮儀序 例 313–14 Kukcho sok oryeŭi 國朝續五薰儀 294, 307, 319 Kuki Yoshitaka 九鬼嘉隆 (1542–1600) 125–6, 130 kukkajŏk kyumo ŭi Waegu ῃṖ㩗G ′⳾㦮G㢲ῂ (國家的規模㦮倭寇) 324 Kukwangsa 國王使 33 Kumagai Naomori 熊谷直盛 (d. 1600) 84, 91 Kumamoto 熊本 327–8, 331, 336 Kŭmgang Mountains 金剛 158 Kŭmgang River 錦江 271 Kŭmgye ilgi 錦溪日記 345 Kŭmhwa 紼化 311 Kŭmsan 錦山 144–5, 148–51, 311 kŭn 斤 46 Kunaichō Shoryōbu 宮内庁書陵部 337 Kunaichō 宮內庁 58 kuni 國 75, 90, 354 kuninami 國並 15, 66 kunitsugu 國次 15 kunsu 郡守 145 kunyŏk chedo 軍役制度 23, 40 Kuroda kafu Chōsen [no] jin ki 黑田家譜 朝鮮陣記 86 Kuroda Nagamasa 黑田長政 (1568– 1623) 77, 83, 85–6, 154, 156, 331 Kuroda Yoshitaka 黑田孝高 (1546– 1604) 79, 86 kuryu 九流 148 Kwajŏnbŏp 科田法 23, 40 Kwak Chaeu 郭再祐 (1552–1617) 142–3, 145–6, 148, 151, 343, 346, 352 kwan’gi 官妓 353 Kwan’ŭm-p’o 觀音浦 135 Kwanch’alsa 觀察使 147 Kwanghaegun [Prince or King] 光海君 (r. 1608–1623) 146, 261, 278, 282–7, 290–2, 298–9, 306, 312–13, 318, 360 Kwanghaegun ilgi 光海君日記 298–9, 306, 312, 315

389

Kwangju 廣州 147–8, 310 Kwanwangmyo 關王廟 294–9, 306–7, 312–13, 315, 319, 321 Kwŏn Chin 權縉 (1572–1624) 281 Kwŏn P’il 權韠 (1569–1612) 346, 353 Kwŏn Sangha 權尙夏 (1641–1721) 295 Kwŏn Ŭngsu 權應銖 (1546–1608) 146–7 Kwŏn Yul 權慄 (1537–1599) 34, 131–2, 148, 251, 283, 343, 352 kyech’uk 癸丑 328 Kyehae yakcho 癸亥約條 (1443 Agreement) 13 kyemi 癸未 328 Kyewŏlhyang 桂月香 343, 346, 353 kyewŏn yusa 繼援有司 129 Kyōgoku 京極 55, 59 Kyōiku Chokugo 敎育勅語 328 kyŏngch’ip 驚蟄 299 Kyŏnggi 京畿 77, 85, 136, 143, 148, 156, 308, 310–11 Kyŏngguk taejŏn 經國大典 51, 88, 90, 139 kyŏngja 庚子 328 Kyŏngju 慶州 135, 146–7, 155, 248 kyŏngk’waesŏn 輕快船 34 Kyŏngni Ŏsa Yang sŏnsaeng songdŏk sigo 經理御史楊先生頌德詩稿 281 Kyŏngsang chwasuyŏng 慶尙左水營 (Left Naval Command of Kyŏngsang Province) 122 Kyŏngsang ususa 慶尙右水使 (Right Naval Commander of Kyŏngsang Province) 122 Kyŏngsang 慶尚 23, 36–9, 43, 51, 53, 58, 77, 80–5, 87, 122–4, 126, 137, 141–9, 155, 158, 160, 296, 305, 310–11, 314, 316, 326–7, 331, 333, 336 Kyŏngsang-do u’pyŏngsa 慶尚道右兵 使 146 Kyŏngsŏng 鏡城 153 kyŏngŭi 敬義 142 Kyŏnnaeryang 見乃梁 126 Kyorin kwan’gye 交隣關係 26 Kyōshi Bankō 仰之梵高 (dates unknown) 28 Kyosŏgwan 校書館 329 Kyūshū tandai 九州探題 46 Later Jin 後金 (1616–1636) 277–8, 285–8, 290 Li Chengliang 李成梁 (1526–1618) 184, 206, 226, 315 Li Hualong 李化龍 (1554–1612) 191, 193, 215

390

Glossary and index

Li Rubo 蝗如柏 (dates unknown) 226, 280, 299–300, 306 Li Rusong 蝗如松 (1549–1598) 158, 206, 211–12, 226–7, 231, 234, 240, 244, 248, 280, 289, 299–302, 304, 306, 309, 312, 315 Li Zhengyi 蝗徵儀 (dates unknown) 277, 292 Li Zongcheng 李宗城 (dates unknown) 101, 215 Lianbing shiji 練兵實記 208, 355 Liangchao pingrang-lu 蓐朝平攘錄 355 Lianxiang-ji 蓮襄記 355 Liao 遼 220–1, 267 Liao River 遼 265 Liaodong dusi 遼東都司 261, 308 Liaodong duzhi huishisi 遼東都指揮使 司 308 Liaodong 蘹東 78, 85, 180, 185, 200, 207, 210–13, 215, 223, 225–6, 228, 239, 245–6, 248, 261–5, 277, 280, 284, 286, 290, 297, 308–9 Libu 薰部 307, 314, 317 Liu Bang 劉邦 (256 or 247 BCE-195 BCE) 74 Liu Huangshang 劉黃裳 (1527–93; 1586 js) 210 Liu Ting 蛐綎 (1552–1619) 135, 185, 206, 212, 216, 227, 234, 249, 251, 286 logistics 127, 154, 156, 265, 266 Lu Kun 呂坤 (1536–1618) 206 Lu Zhongli 逯中立 (1589 js) 214 Luis Frois 104, 107–8 Luoyang 洛陽 297 Ma Gui 麻貴 (dates unknown) 134, 215–16, 249 Maeda Gen’i 前田玄以 (1539–1602) 104 Maeda Toshiie 前田蝍家 (1538–1599) 138, 329 Maeda Toshinaga 前田利長 (1562–1614) 138 Maehŏn shilgi 梅軒實記 353 maengsŏn 猛船 34, 122 mal/tu 斗 88 Manase Shōrin 曲直瀨正琳 (dates unknown) 337 Manchu invasions (see Pyŏngja horan and Chŏngmyo horan) 179, 278, 287–8, 306–7, 310–11, 313, 345, 373, 375 Manchuria (see also Liaodong) 200–1, 219, 267 Mandongmyo 萬東廟 295 Manji 万治 110–11, 118

Mao Wenlong 毛文龍 (1576–1629) 286–8, 290 maritime trade (see trade) 11, 52, 100, 176, 203, 231 Mashita Nagamori 增田長盛 (1545– 1615) 79, 89, 96 massacre (see minagoroshi) 78, 85, 94 masu 升 88 Matsura Shigenobu 松浦鎮信 (1549–1614) 109 Meiji [period or Restoration] 明治 (1868–1912) 5, 328, 350–1 Meng Sen 孟森 (1868–1937) 289, 292 merchant 19, 43, 47, 49, 60, 237 metal type 5, 324, 328–30, 335, 337, 341 Milyang 密陽 158 Mimizuka 耳塚 352, 356 Min Yŏ’gyŏng 閔汝慶 (1546–1600) 247 minagoroshi 皆殺し (see massacre) 85, 94–5 Minamoto Gi 源義 (dates unknown) 42–4 Minch’ungdan 愍忠壇 304–5, 307–11, 313, 317 Ming dynasty 明朝 (1368–1644) 163–6, 168, 170, 197, 207, 219, 222, 240, 259, 288, 295 Ming Shenzong shilu 明神宗實錄 273, 292, 355 (Ming Taizu) yuzhi ji (明太祖)馭製 集 221 Ming Taizu 明太祖 (see Hongwu Emperor) 234 Mingyi daifang lu 明夷待訪錄 217 mining (copper, silver) 48–9, 63, 217, 284, 291 Ministry of War (Ming) (兵部, C. Bingbu) 102–3, 180, 210–14, 217, 223, 226, 263 Miryang 密陽 101 missionaries 108, 333–4, 343, 353, 355 Mito Bunko 水戶文庫 329 Mito domain 水戶 326, 329, 337 Miyakonojō Shimazu 都城島津 112, 118–19 mo’myŏng sasang 慕明思想 295, 310 Mōgyū 蒙求 329 Mohwa’gwan 慕華館 305–6, 308, 316 Mok-p’o 木浦 133 moksa 牧使 145, 350 Mokuso hangan 牧司判官 350 Mokuso-kan 木曾官 350–1, 355 monks (as diplomats and students) 14, 28, 47, 60, 80, 199, 203, 324, 347–8

Glossary and index monks (as soldiers) 148, 150, 157–9, 162, 348, 354 Mōri Bunko 毛利文庫 329 Mōri Hidemoto 毛利秀元 (1579–1650) 83 Mōri Motoyasu 毛利元康 (1560–1601) 146 Mōri Terumoto 毛利輝元 (1553–1625) 77, 143–4, 330–1 Mori Yoshinari 森吉成 or毛利吉成 (d. 1611) 77, 83, 158 Motoori Norinaga 本居宣長 (1730–1801) 327 mugwa 武科 53, 67 Mugye 茂溪 143 Mun’gyŏng 聞慶 146 mun’in 文引 15, 43 mun’in palhaenggwŏn 文引發行權 34 Munch’ŏn 文川 77, 153 munhwa yakt’al chŏnjaeng ⶎ䢪㟓䌞㩚㨗 (文化掠奪戰爭) 324 munmyoje 文廟祭 294 Munso mallok 聞韶漫錄 344 Munsŏn ch’anju 文選纂註 336 Muromachi bakufu 室町幕府 17, 33, 43, 45, 50, 54, 59, 328, 330 musket (see arquebus) 226, 332 Muyŏlsa (shrine) 武蕢祠 280, 299–307, 312–13, 315 Myōhōin 妙法院 58, 66 Myohyang 妙香 158 Myŏngjong [King] 明宗 (r. 1545–1567) 25, 27, 45–6, 52, 55–7, 61, 121, 157, 161, 297 Myŏngnyang 鳴梁 120–1, 132–3, 138, 216 Nabeshima Katsushige 鍋島勝茂 (1580–1657) 84, 327 Nabeshima Naoshige 鍋島直茂 (1538– 1618) 77, 83, 90, 92, 109, 152, 154, 215, 327, 330, 331, 337 nadegiri 撫切り 85 naebu 內附 261–4, 271 Naeshirogawa 苗代川 87 naesok 內屬 263 Nagano Rokubee 長野六兵衛 (dates unknown) 114 Nagasaki 長崎 331 Nagasaki Kenritsu Tsushima Rekishi Minzoku Shiryōkan 長崎縣立對馬歷 史民俗資料館 337 Nagashino 長篠 [Battle of] 332 Nagata Zensai 永田善齋 (1597–1664) 336

391

Nagato 長戸州 59 Nagoya (in Honshū) 郞古耶 (from the early seventeenth century 名古屋) 59, 314, 337 Nagoya (in Kyūshū) 名護屋 37, 45, 61, 75–6, 80–1, 212, 338 Naikaku Bunkō 內閣文庫 90, 107, 336 Naitō Joan 内藤如庵(如安) (1550?1626) 213 Naju 羅州 84, 147 Nakabayashi 中林 18 Nakajima Atsushi 中島敦 (1909–1942) 354 Naktong River 洛東江 142–6 Nam Kon 南袞 (1471–1527) 33 Nam Myŏng 南冥 (see Cho Shik) 142, 162 Nam Yun chŏn 南允傳 346 nam’in 南人 143 Namdaemun 南大門 296, 298, 315 Namgang River 南江江 143 Nammyo 南廟 314 Nampyŏlgung 南別宮 306, 316 Namwŏn 南原 83, 85–7, 101, 115, 132, 249, 296, 304, 311, 314–15, 318 Nanbokuchō jidai 南北朝時代 324 Nanjung chamnok 綧中雜錄 90, 138, 254, 344 Nanjung ilgi 綧中日記 7–8, 139–40, 251, 255, 344 Nanki Bunko 南葵文庫 329, 337 Nanko 南湖 (dates unknown) 14, 29 Nanzenji 南禪寺 80 National Studies 國學 (see Kokugaku) 327 Natsuka Masaie 長束正家 (d. 1600) 89, 107 Nawa Kassho 那波活所 (1595–1648) 326, 336 neifu 內附 261 neishu 內屬 220, 263 Neo-Confucianism 87, 142, 204, 229, 273, 294, 324–30, 335–6, 341, 358–9 Ni Qian 倪謙 (1415–79, 1439 js) 201 nichirin no ko 日輪の子 74 Nihon kokuō 日本国王 (see King of Japan) 44, 67 Ningbo 寧波 2, 11, 17–18, 75, 81, 176, 203, 214, 222 ningyō jōruri 人形淨瑠璃 5, 341, 350 No In 編認 (1566–1622) 345, 354 nobi 奴婢 23, 144, 148, 154, 342, 352 Non’gae 緰介 (d. 1593?) 346, 353–4, 366–8, 374, 376

392

Glossary and index

Noryang 露梁 [Battle of] 86–7, 120–1, 134–5, 251 Nŭngsŏng 綾城 149 Nurhaci 緢兒哈赤 (1559–1626) 182, 184–5, 191, 278, 284–6 O Hŭimun 吳希文 (1539–1613) 8, 344, 368–9, 376 oboegaki 覺書 (memorandum or memoir) 75, 109–12, 117 Oda Hidenobu 織田秀信 (1580–1605) 75 Oda Nobunaga 織田信長 (1534–1582) 32, 34, 75, 330, 332 Oda Nobutada 織田信忠 (1558–82) 75 ofumidokoro 御文所 110 Okch’ŏn 沃川 150 Ōkōchi Hidemoto 大河内秀元 (dates unknown) 90, 109, 354, 356 Ok-p’o 玉浦 123 oktang 玉堂 310 Oku Sekisuke 奥関助 (dates unknown) 110–13 Oku Sekisuke oboegaki 奥関助覚書 108, 110–12, 118–19 Omodaka Renchōbō 面高連長坊 (dates unknown) 109 Omodaka Renchōbō Kōrai nikki 面高連 長坊高麗日記 90, 109 Ōnin War 應仁の亂 45 Onjo 溫祚 294 ŏnmun 諺文 154 Onyang 温陽 151 oryun 五倫 359 ōsei fukko 王政復古 337 Ōshige Heiroku Kōrai oboegaki 大重平六 高麗覚書 110 Oshikawa Rokubee mōshide 押川六兵衛 申出 110 Ōta Gyūichi 太田牛一 (b. 1527) 349, 354, 356 Ōta Kazuyoshi 太田一吉 (d. 1617) 109 Ōtani Yoshitsugu 大谷吉繼 (1559–1600) 79, 96 Ōtomo 大友 30, 33, 39, 52, 54, 64 Ōtomo Sōrin 大友宗麟 (1530–1587) 47 Ōtomo Yoshimune 大友吉統 (1558–1610) 154 Ŏu yadam 於于野談 374, 377 Ōuchi 大內 12, 17–18, 21, 28, 33, 39, 44, 46–7, 52, 54–5, 59, 64, 66, 222 Ōuchi Yoshitaka 大內義隆 (1507–1551) 18 Owari Bunko 尾張文庫 329 owi 五衛 161

Oze Hoan 小瀬(瀨)甫庵 (1564–1640) 349 Ōzu 大洲 87 P’adamja 坡潭子 345 P’aldo sipyuk chongdo ch’ongsŏp ŭisŭng 八道十蜄宗都總攝義僧 158 P’alsan 八山 331 p’anoksŏn 板屋船 34, 37, 121–2, 136 p’il 匹 50 P’isaeng myŏng mongnok 皮生冥夢 錄 345 P’ungsan 豊山 147 P’yohun Temple 表訓寺 158 P’yŏng’an Province 平安道 48, 77, 147, 154, 156–8, 279, 300, 306, 308 p’yŏngjŏsŏn 平底船 122 P’yŏngsan 平山 155 P’yŏngyang 平壤 127, 154–8, 181, 220, 226, 261–2, 270, 279–80, 300–4, 306–9, 313, 316–17, 342 P’yŏngyang 平壤 [Battles of] 78–9, 81, 127, 158, 180, 195, 211–12, 239, 241, 245, 278, 280, 289, 299–300, 309, 352–3 Pae Sŏl 裵楔 (1551–1559) 133 Paek P’asŏn 百婆仙 (1561–1656) 331, 337 Paekch’ŏn (or Paech’ŏn in Hwanghae Province) 白川 155–6 Paekch’ŏn River 白川江 271, 351 Paekche 百濟 265, 271, 351 Paekgang 白江 265, 271 Paekmagang 白馬江 271 Pak Ch’igong 朴致公 (dates unknown) 137 Pak Ch’unmu 朴春茂 (1568–1646) 149 Pak Hyŏkkŏse 朴赫居世 (trad. dates: 69 BCE-4 CE; 57 BCE-4 CE) 294 Pak P’yŏngŭi 朴平意 (1558–1623) 331 Pak Such’un 朴壽春 (1572–1652) 292 Pak Tongnyang 朴東亮 (1569–1635) 262 Pak Ŭijang 朴毅長 (1555–1615) 248 panggun sup’oje 防軍收布制 24 pangnap 防納 23 Pangŏsa 防禦使 34 Parhae/Bohai 渤海 265, 267 peace negotiations 29, 31, 79–82, 84, 93, 95, 97–100, 102–4, 121, 127, 157, 159, 206, 212, 215, 282, 301, 340 pepper (including chili; see hoch’o) 5, 13, 45–7, 60, 332, 334–5 Pibyŏnsa 備邊司 (see Border Defense Council) 33, 131, 285, 296

Glossary and index Pigak 碑閣 316 pigyŏk chinch’ŏlloe 飛擊震天雷 38 pike 38, 225, 332 pi’manggi 備忘記 304 piracy (see pirate) 19, 44, 52–4, 56–7, 61, 80, 160, 170, 172, 176, 192, 194, 202–3, 222–3, 324 pirate 11–14, 16, 18, 20–1, 26, 29, 33–5, 37–8, 43–4, 51–2, 57–8, 81, 121–2, 176, 179, 190, 194, 196, 199, 202–10, 218, 223, 229, 234, 238, 240, 242–3, 245, 252, 324, 346 plunder 37, 52, 78, 84, 154, 181, 199, 202, 214, 223, 248–9, 251, 283, 323–4, 328–30, 335, 341–2 Pobingsa 報聘使 26 pobŏp 保法 24 poetry 47, 201, 281, 302, 305, 329, 341, 347 pogŭm 福音 280 Poin 保人 361 pongjokche 奉足制 24 pongsa 奉事 146 Pongsan 鳳山 154–5 Pongsangsa 奉常寺 310, 317, 320 pongsangshi ch’ŏmjŏng 奉常寺僉正 151 Portuguese 18, 45, 171, 179, 185, 222, 323, 332, 334, 337, 353 Posŏng 寶城 149 Post Stations (see ch’albang) 145, 149 post-station attendants 148 pottery (see ceramics) 19, 60, 87, 331, 337 prince (see crown prince) 80, 82, 96–7, 99, 101, 103–5, 160, 177–9, 186, 200, 210, 213, 217, 230, 261–5, 288, 344 Prince Imhae (see Imhae-gun) 97, 152, 279 Prince Sunhwa (see Sunhwa-gun) 97, 152, 279 princess 96–8, 100, 104, 161, 174, 213, 346 prisoner of war 87, 326, 341, 345–7 provisions (see supplies) 78, 82, 127–9, 134, 142, 149, 156–7, 159, 175, 245, 266, 279, 281, 287, 361 pug’in 北人 143 puhŏ 臺許 263 puin 臺仁 263 puk pŏllon 北伐語 288 Pukch’ŏng 北靑 77, 152 pukp’yŏngsa 北評事 153 purity 360, 365, 368–9 Pusan-p’o 釜山浦 (alternate 富山浦) 11–12, 29, 38, 43, 51, 58, 61, 76, 81, 83, 93, 95, 101–2, 125–6, 131, 135, 143–4,

393

146, 150, 180, 212–13, 215, 228, 240, 251–2, 261, 267, 279, 340, 352, 354 Puyŏ 扶餘 83, 271 Pyŏkchegwan 碧蹄館 [Battle of] 127, 212, 239, 248, 278, 307–9, 313, 317 Pyŏkp’ajin 碧波津 133 Pyŏngja horan 丙子胡亂 (Manchu Invasion of 1636–1637) 278, 288, 375 Pyŏngjo p’ansŏ 兵曹判書 344 pyŏngnong ilch’ije 兵農一致制 24 Qi Jiguang 戚繼光 (1528–88) 176, 182, 204, 207–9, 223 qiujiu 求救 220, 263 Qu Jiusi 瞿九思 (1546–1617) 216–17, 232 rape 6, 20, 249, 358–9, 361, 365, 370–1, 373 rebellion 12, 17, 94, 99, 147, 152–3, 171, 177–8, 183–7, 191–2, 209, 240, 265, 338, 350–1, 355 recognition envoy (册封使, C. cefengshi, J. sakuhōshi) 101–4 resident Japanese (恒居倭人, K. hanggŏ Waein) 11–12 revolt (see rebellion) 3, 94–5, 105, 151–2, 155, 168, 175, 183 Riben guowang 日本國王 211 rice 12–14, 23–4, 26, 34, 77, 101, 115–16, 129, 142, 157, 243, 245, 252, 266, 287, 310, 342 rifle (see arquebus) 332, 340 riflemen 38, 284 righteous soldiers (see ŭibyŏng)22, 78, 95, 282, 343, 352 Rinzai Zen 臨済禅 28, 44, 47, 60 Riot of the Three Ports (see Samp’o Waeran) 11–12, 14–18, 22, 26, 28–9, 31, 33, 37–8, 43 ritual 2, 5, 163, 198, 202–3, 205, 220, 270, 294–300, 302–3, 305, 307–15, 345, 365 ri 里 (3.927 km or 2.44 miles) 115–17 ru 入 263 Ryōuemon 量右衛門 (dates unknown) 117 Ryūkyū 琉球 14, 18, 20, 36, 45, 47, 54, 73, 108, 181, 199, 210, 237–8, 241, 259–60, 323 ryūto-dabi 龍頭蛇尾 216 Sa’myŏng taesa 四溟大師 (see ‘Yujŏng’) 158 Sa’myŏngdang 泗溟堂 (see ‘Yujŏng’) 346, 353–4

394

Glossary and index

Sa’myŏngdang chŏn 泗溟堂傳 347 sanyŏ 士女 (aristocratic women) 369 Sach’ŏn 泗川 86–7, 111, 123, 125, 135, 216, 239 sadae 事大 200, 205, 221, 237 sadae chŏngch’aek 事大政策 285 Sadae mun’gwe 事大文軌 308, 317 sadaebu 士大夫 353 saengsa-dang 生祠堂 280 saengsa 生祠 299–300 Saga 佐賀 327, 331, 336 Sago-gun 佐護郡 14 sahwa 士禍 25 Sahyŏn 沙峴 316 Saikensen 歳遣船 12 Saishō Shōtai 西笑承兌 (1548–1607) 215, 325 sajik 社稷 263 Sajikdan 社稷壇 294 sajŏl 死節 (die with honor) 359 sajŏn 祀典 294 Sakai 堺 43, 47, 59–60, 62, 74, 332 sakoku 鎖國 354 sakuhō 冊封 95, 97 samch’ang 三倉 26 Samdo sugun tongjesa 三道水軍統制 使 352 samgang 三綱 359–61, 365, 368, 370, 372–3 Samguk sagi 三國史記 265 samno pyŏngjin 三路竝進 134 Samp’o Waeran 三浦倭綧 (Riot of the Three Ports, 1510) 12, 22, 43 sanghang 霜豭 299 Sangju 尙州 146, 311, 358 sangmu 尙武 142 Sangnyŏng 雙嶺 310–11 Sankan seibatsu 三韓征伐 347 sankin kōtai 芔勤交代 336 sanlu bingjin 三路竝進 134 Sanpo no ran 三浦の綧 12, 21 Sappan kyūki zatsuroku, kōhen 薩藩旧記 雑録後編 91, 107, 111–12, 118 sappanwood 丹木 13, 31, 45 sarim 士林 25, 142, 155 saro pyŏngjin 四路竝進 134 sarumi さるみ 116 Saryang 蛇梁 16, 31, 43, 51–2 sasong 使送 28 Satsuma 薩摩 73, 87, 108–9, 111–13, 117, 237, 241, 331 segyŏnsŏn 歳遣船 (Annual Trading Ships) 12, 26 seibatsu 征伐 260

seigi 正義 260 Seikadō Bunko 靜嘉堂文庫 329 Seikan zasshi 征韓雜志 349 seikan 征韓 91, 347, 349 Seikanroku 征韓録 87, 91, 110–11 Seiki 姓貴 349 seimin kyōdō 征明嚮導 75, 79 Seisei nikki 西征日記 109 Seizanji 西山寺 28, 47 Sejo [King] 世組 (r. 1455–1468) 24, 27, 121 Sejong [King] 世宗 (r. 1418–1450) 26–7, 121, 303, 317, 328 sekibune 關船 122, 133 Sekigahara 關ヶ原 [Battle of] 325, 329, 348 sekiten 釋奠 294 Sen no Rikyū 千利休 (1522–1591) 330 Sengoku (period) [Japan] 戰國 (1467[1493]–1590) 85, 122, 243, 340 Senka zakki 潛窩雜記 326 senryū 川柳 341, 354 shaku (30.3 cm.) 尺 113, 115 Shandong 山東 210, 246, 253 Shanxi 山西 209, 297 sheji 社稷 263 Shen Weijing 沈惟敬 (d. 1599) 78–9, 81, 87, 96–7, 99–101, 103–4, 157–8 Shenhe 深河 286, 290 Shenzong 神宗 (see Wanli Emperor) 207, 210–11, 213–14, 224, 241, 244, 281, 287, 295, 355 Shi ji 史記 253 Shi Ru 史儒 (dates unknown) 210, 248 Shi Xing 石星 (1538–99; 1565 js) 78, 101, 211, 213–15, 226, 228, 280, 299–301, 303, 312, 316 Shiba 斯波 55 shida 事大 200 shijo 時調 341, 347 Shikoku 四國 260, 336 shiljŏl 失節 (lose honor) 371 Shillyŏng 新罋 146 Shim Sugyŏng 沈守慶 (1516–1599) 149–50 Shim Tanggil 葘當吉 (dates unknown) 331 Shimabara 島原 338 Shimai Sōshitsu 島井宗室 (d. 1615) 47, 58, 64–5 Shimazu Hisamichi 島津久通 (1604–1674) 111 Shimazu Iehisa 島津家久 (1576–1638) 89

Glossary and index Shimazu Moriemon 島津守右衛門 (dates unknown) 113 Shimazu Nakatsukasa 島津中務 (dates unknown) 115 Shimazu Sagami 島津相模 (dates unknown) 116 Shimazu Tadatsune (Shimazu Iehisa) 島 津忠恒 (島津家久) (1576–1638) 84, 86, 111 Shimazu Yoshihiro 島津義弘 (1535– 1619) 82–3, 85–6, 89, 111, 113, 135, 329–31 Shimazu Yoshihisa 島津義久 (1533– 1611) 86, 91 Shimazuke Kōraijin hiroku 島津家高麗陣 秘録 112, 117 shimman yangpyŏng sŏl 十萬養兵說 39 Shimokawa Heidayū 下川兵大夫 (dates unknown) 91 Shin Ip 申砬 (1546–1592) 54, 361 Shin Kyŏng 申炅 (1613–1653) 252, 305, 353 Shin Sejun 申世俊 (dates unknown) 153 Shin Yuhan 申維翰 (b. 1681) 330 shin’gijŏn 神機箭 38 Shinsen shōjiroku 新選姓氏録 271 shinshowa 深處倭 13 shirhak 實學 332 Shisho gokyō Wakun 四書五經倭訓 325 shitennō 四天王 336 Shō Nei 尚寧 (1564- r.1587–1620) 210 Shōfukuji 聖福寺 44, 47, 62, 79 shōgun 將軍 12, 16–18, 26, 28, 44, 46–7, 50–1, 54–5, 58, 60–2, 66, 98, 173, 202, 222, 325–6, 328, 353–4 Shōheizaka Gakumonsho 昌平坂学問 所 351 shokei 書契 15, 43 Shōkōkan Bunko 彰孝館文庫 337 shominzoku zakkyo 諸民族雜居 19 Shōni 少貳 12, 28–9, 31, 46, 50, 59 Shonichi Yamashiro no kuni chikushōzuka 初日山城の國畜生塚 354 Shoryōbu 書陵部 58, 65, 337 Shuangyu 雙嶼 19 shugo 守護 12 Shuihu houzhuan 水滸後傳 355 Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 206 Shuilujun 水路軍 134 shuinjō 朱印蟳 330 shun hua wang 順化王 215 Shushigaku 朱子學 (see NeoConfucianism) 87 siege 85, 148, 158, 177, 182, 216, 227

395

silk 46, 203 silu bingjin 四路竝進 134 Sinocentric regional order 238 siyi fanping 四夷藩屛 243 slaves (see ‘nobi’) 51, 53, 346, 374 smuggling 12, 19, 49, 51–2, 203 so Chunghwa ŭishik 小中華意識 295 Sō Daizen-no-suke Kuniyuki 宗大膳亮 國幸 (dates unknown) 15 Sō Daizen-no-suke 宗大膳亮 (dates unknown) 14–16 Sō Izu-no-kami Kuniyuki 宗伊豆守國幸 (dates unknown) 14 Sō Kuniyuki 宗國幸 (dates unknown) 16 Sō Morihide 宗盛秀 (dates unknown) 14 Sō Moritoshi 宗盛俊 (dates unknown) 14 Sō Sadakuni 宗貞國 (1468–1492) 14, 28 Sō Saemon daibu oboegaki 宗左衛門大 夫覺書 12 Sō Shigemoto 宗成職 (dates unknown) 28 Sō Yoshimori 宗義盛 (1476–1520) 13–16, 62 Sō Yoshishige 宗義調 (1532–1588) 57 Sō Yoshitoshi 宗義智 (1568–1615) 32, 35, 58, 60, 79, 91, 94, 109, 130, 333, 337 Sŏ Yuyŏng 徐有英 (1801–1874) 346 Sŏae chip 西厓集 297 Sŏch’ŏn 舒川 115 sog’ogun 束伍軍 145 sŏgye 書契 43 Sŏho ch’ungyŏllok 西湖忠蕢錄 353 sohwa 小華 259 Sŏin 西人 (see ‘Westerner Faction’) 35, 286 sŏja 庶子 150 Sok Taejŏn 續大典 297 sŏk 石 12–13, 26, 77, 88, 245 Sō-ke Bunko 宗家文庫 329 Sŏmjin River 蟾津江 132 Sōmoku rokubu kōshuhō 草木蜄部耕種 法 334 sŏn’gwa 禪科 157, 161 Sŏng Hon 成渾 (1535–1598) 150, 336 Song Kyep’il 宋啓弼 (dates unknown) 353 Song Maocheng 宋楙澄 (1569?1620?) 206 Song Shiyŏl 宋時蕢 (1607–1689) 295 Song Suqing 宋素卿 (d. 1525) 17 Song Yingchang 宋應昌 (1536–1606) 191, 210–11, 215, 226–7, 246, 249

396

Glossary and index

Song’un taesa 松雲大師 (see Yujŏng) 158 Sŏnggyungwan 成均館 294 Sŏngjin 城津 77, 152, 154 Sŏngjong [King] 成宗 (r. 1469–1494) 26–7, 54, 56–7, 61, 121, 157, 161, 335 Sŏngju 星州 143–6, 296 sŏngnihak 性理學 341 Sŏngyo chongp’ansa kyŏm tangsang kwanjik 禪敎宗判事兼堂上官職 158 Sŏnjo [King] 宣祖 (r. 1567–1608) 7, 25, 27, 31, 39, 50, 57–9, 61, 64, 94, 101, 131, 157, 182, 198, 205, 210, 213, 221, 236–8, 240–1, 245, 247–8, 250–2, 254, 261–4, 266, 279–83, 289, 296–305, 307–9, 312–13, 315–16, 332, 342, 360, 371 Sŏnjo shillok 宣祖實錄 254, 271, 298–9, 302, 315–17, 373–5 Sŏnjo sujŏng shillok 宣祖修正實錄 39, 299, 307–8, 315 Sonkeikaku Bunko 尊經閣文庫 329 Sŏnmusa 宣武祠 281, 294–5, 299, 302–7, 311–13, 315–16 sonnō-ron 尊王論 337 Sŏnsan 善山 129, 146–7 Sŏrogun 西路軍 134 Sŏsan Taesa 西山大師 (see Hyujŏng) 150, 157, 354 Sōsetsu 宗設 18 sŏwŏn 書院 25 soyu’gwŏn 所有權 23 state letter (國書, C. Guoshu, K. Kuksŏ, J. Kokusho) 18, 33, 35, 58–61, 98–100, 102–3, 354 strategic culture 164–9, 189, 207, 257–8, 270 Sudosŏsŏn 受圖書船 26 Sueyama Shrine 陶山神社 337 Sugun chŏldosa 水軍節度使 (Naval Command-in-Chief) 121, 352 sujik 受職 26 sujo’gwŏn 收租權 23 Sukch’ŏn 肅川 279 Sukcho [King] 肅宗 (r. 1674–1720) 295 Sun Kuang 孫礦 (1543–1613) 215 Sun’an 順安 158 Sunch’ŏn 順天 83, 134, 216 sŭngja ch’ongt’ong 勝字銃筒 38 sungjŏng ch’ŏsa 崇禎處士 288, 292 Sŭngjŏngwŏn 承政院 300–1, 303, 316–17 Sŭngmunwŏn 承文院 308, 317 Sungnyemun 崇薰門 296, 314–15 sŭngnyo tŭngyongmun 僧侶登龍門 162 sŭngwa 僧科 161

Sunhwa-gun 順和君 (1580?-1607) 97, 152, 279 Sunjo [King] 純祖 (r. 1800–1834) 315 Sunzi bingfa 孫子兵法 189 sun寸 (3.03 cm.) 113–14, 116 sup’o taeripche 收布代立制 24 supplies (military) 50, 76, 122, 180, 186, 210–12, 217, 239, 245–7, 252–3, 265–7, 281–2, 289 Surak 水落 158 Surogun 水路軍 134 surrendered Japanese (降倭 K. hangWae, J. kō-Wa) 333 Suruga Bunko 駿河文庫 329 Susŏn Chŏndo 首善全圖 315 Suŭnjip 睡隱集 336 Suzhou 蘇州 49, 203 suzuribako すずり箱 (see inkstones) 46 Swaemirok 鎖尾錄 8, 344 swords 38, 46, 179, 203, 251 swordsmen 115, 156, 183 T’aebaeksan 太白山 298–9, 315–16 T’aejong [King] 太宗 (r. 1400–1418) 26–7, 121, 311 T’aengniji 擇里誌 301, 315 T’an’gŭmdae (Ch’ungju) 彈琴臺 (忠 州) 38 T’oegye 退溪 (see Yi Hwang) 142, 325, 336, 338 t’ŏng’ŏyŏng 統禦營 136 t’ongchŏng taebu 通政大夫 147, 151, 154 T’onggam hoeyo 通鑑會要 336 T’ongjesa 統制使 129 t’ongjeyŏng 統制營 136 T’ongshinsa 通信使 (Communication Embassy) 26, 30, 32, 35, 74, 103, 128, 332, 344, 354 T’osan 兎山 310–11 Tachibana Chōsenki 立花朝鮮記 109 Tachibana Muneshige 立花宗茂 (d. 1642) 83, 109 Tachibana Yasuhiro 橘康廣 (dates unknown) 28, 32 Tachibana Yasutoshi 橘康年 (dates unknown) 28, 32 Taebodan 大報壇 295, 301, 305, 311–12, 314 Taedong chiji 大東地志 300, 316–17 Taedong River 大同江 79, 81, 154, 180, 211 Taedongbŏp 大同法 24, 152 taeguk 大國 262

Glossary and index Taejŏn hu songnok 大典後續錄 51 taemyŏng kŏsa 大明居士 288, 292 Taep’yŏnggwan 大平館 306, 316 taika 対価 49 Taikō no Chōsen seibatsu 太閤の朝鮮征 伐 347 Taikōki 太閤記 349 Taikun gengōroku 大君言行錄 326 Taizu 太祖 (see Hongwu Emperor) 221, 297 Tajiri Akitane 田尻鑑種 (d. 1593) 109 Takada 高田 331 Takamoto Shimei 高本紫溟 (1738–1813) 326–8 Takatori 高取 331 Takenouchi Kakusai 武內確齋 (dates unknown) 349 Taku 多久 327 Takuko Karatsu 多久古唐津 337 Talch’ŏn mongyurok 達川夢遊錄 345 Talch’ŏn 獺川 311, 345 Tallyang Waebyŏn 達梁倭變 16, 33 Tallyang 達梁 16, 53, 202 Tamazato Bunko 玉里文庫 110, 112, 118–19 Tamyang 潭陽 147, 149 Tan’gun 檀君 294 Tanch’ŏn 端川 48–50, 77, 152, 154 Tanegashima 種子島 19, 332 Tang Shunzhi 唐順之 (1507–1560) 218 Tang Yipeng 唐一鹏 (1583 js) 214 Tangdong Bay 塘洞灣 124 Tanghang-p’o 唐項浦 123, 125 Tang-p’o 唐浦 123 Tatsuno 竜野 336 tax 23–5, 48–9, 53, 76–8, 84, 101, 152, 161, 183, 187, 209, 217, 247, 279, 284, 291, 310–11, 358, 368 Tengudaniyo 天狗谷窯 337 Tenjiku Tokubee ikoku banashi 天竺德兵 衛韓噺 350 Tenjiku 天竺 75, 350, 355 Tenkei 天荊 (fl. 1577–1592) 109 Teppōki 鐵砲記 332 Terazawa Hirotaka 寺澤廣高 (1563–1633) 99 Tetsu no kubikase 鐵の首枷 354 theater (see kabuki and ningyō jōruri) 176, 218, 267, 341, 350–1, 354–5 Tiandi 天帝 294 Tianjin 天津 245 Tianzhu shiyi 天主實義 334 Tidu 提督 (Supreme Commander) 226, 299

397

tiju shibosi 題擧市舶司 (Maritime trading intendancy) 203, 222 Tobacco 5, 332, 334–5 Toch’ech’alsa 都體察使 344 Tōdō Takatora 藤堂高虎 (1556–1630) 85, 87, 89, 124, 135, 335 toe/sŭng 升 88 Tōgō Heihachirō 東鄕平八郞 354 Tŏg’wŏn 徳源 77, 153 Tōhoku 東北 85 tojagi chŏnjaeng G☚㧦₆㩚㨗GG(陶瓷器戰 爭) 331 Tokugawa Iemochi 德川家茂 (1846–1866) 326 Tokugawa Ieyasu 徳川家康 (1542–1616) 159, 324–5, 340, 348 Tokugawa Mitsukuni 德川光國 (dates unknown) 337 Tokugawa Mitsusada 德川光貞 (1626–1705) 326 Tokugawa sōgyō kikōi 德川創業記簊 異 326 Tokugawa Yorinobu 德川賴(頼)宣 (1602–1671) 326, 336 Tokugawa Yoshimune 德川吉宗 (1684–1751) 326 tokusōsen 特送船 12 Tokutomi Sohō 德富蘇峰 (1863–1957) 335 Tomohito 智仁 (dates unknown) 75 Tong’in 東人 (see Easterner Faction) 35, 142 tong’wŏn 東援 289 Tongdaemun 東大門 296, 298 Tongguk T’onggam 東國通鑑 337 Tongji Chungch’ubusa 同知中樞府 事 157 Tongmyo 東廟 314 Tongmyŏng 東明 294 Tongnogun 東路軍 134 Tongp’yŏnggwan 東平館 51 tongyak 洞約 142 Toragari no ki 虎狩之記 4, 112, 119 tosa 都事 149 Toshiyori 蔷寄 336 toshobu 圖書部 323 tōshu 島主 12 tosŏ 圖書 16, 42 Towŏn 桃源 352 Towŏnsu 都元帥 131, 158, 352 Toyotomi (Hashiba) Hidenaga 豊臣(羽 柴)秀長 (1540–91) 75 Toyotomi (Hashiba) Hideyasu 豊臣(羽 柴)秀保 (1579–95) 75

398

Glossary and index

Toyotomi Hidetsugu 豊臣秀次 (1568–95) 130 Toyotomi Hideyori 豊臣秀賴(頼) (1593–1615) 348 Toyotomi Hideyoshi豊臣秀吉 (1536– 1598) 6, 35, 43, 64–5, 73, 93, 108, 122, 126, 176, 179, 197, 209, 217, 236, 277, 323, 340 Toyotomi regime (豐臣政權, J. Toyotomi seiken) 22, 73, 86, 93–5, 99, 105, 141, 160, 323–4, 340, 342 Toyozaki-gun 豊崎郡 14 tozama 外様 215 trade 2–3, 11–19, 23–5, 29–31, 33, 35, 42–62, 75, 80–1, 96–100, 129, 172, 174, 176, 178–9, 202–3, 205–6, 210, 213–14, 222–3, 243, 253, 264, 354, 378 tribute system 45, 180, 189, 198–9, 204–6, 217, 220–3 Tsurumŏe Shigenobu 鶴峯戊申 (1788–1859) 349 Tsuruya Namboku 鶴屋南北 (1755–1829) 350 Tsushima 對馬 2–3, 11–17, 19, 28–31, 33–5, 39, 42–7, 52–62, 64–5, 73–4, 79, 242–3, 329, 333, 337, 354, 378 Tsūshinshi 通信使 74 Tuch’ijin 豆耻津 132 tukche 纛祭 302–3, 315 tŭksongsŏn 特送船 12 tŭksong 特送 28 Tumu Incident (土木之變, C.Tumu zhi bian) 175, 190 Tumu zhi bian 土木之變 (see Tumu Incident) 175 Tumu 土木 175, 190 tŭngnok 謄錄 308 tunjŏn 屯田 129 U Paesŏn 禹拜善 (1569–1621) 144 Uchiyama Saemonsa 內山左衛門佐 (dates unknown) 13 Ueno Gon’emon 上野権右衛門 (dates unknown) 114 Uesugi Kagekatsu 上杉景勝 (1555– 1623) 138, 329 Ŭi chŏng i tŏk 義政以德 58, 65 ŭiam 義巖 353 Ŭibinbu 儀賓府 161 ŭibyŏng 義兵 22, 39, 78, 95, 141, 143, 145, 150, 155, 282, 343, 352 ŭibyŏng taejang 義兵大將 145 Ŭigŭmbu 義禁府 161 Ŭiju 義州 48, 147, 154, 157, 220, 246–8, 261–2, 280, 283, 308, 342

Ŭiryŏng 宜罋 142–3, 145 Ŭisŏng 義城 146–7 Ŭisŭng todaechang 義僧都大將 158 ŭisŭngbyŏng 義僧兵 (see monks [as soldiers]) 150, 158 Ukita Hideie 宇喜多秀家 (1573–1655) 75, 77, 83, 115, 138, 306, 328–9 Ŭlmyo Waebyŏn 乙卯倭變 16, 33, 121 Ŭlsa sahwa 乙巳史禍 25 Ulsan 蔚山 85, 134–5, 216, 249–50, 311, 331 Ungch’ŏn 熊川 99, 128, 331, 333 Ungji 熊峙 148 universal rulership 163, 198 universal sovereignty (see universal rulership) 239, 241–4, 252 Unjerok 雲提錄 336 uprisings (see ‘rebellion’) 153, 170, 178, 183, 186–7, 282 Usuyŏng 右水營 133 Utsunomiya Kōrai kijin monogarari 宇都 宮高麗帰陣物語 109 Utsunomiya Kunitsuna 宇都宮国綱 (1568–1607) 109 Uŭijŏng 右議政 149, 297 verse (see poetry) 5, 281, 341, 347 virgins, female [sent as tribute] (K. kongnyŏ 貢女) 198, 200, 205 virtuous woman (see yŏllyŏ)357–9, 368–9, 371–2, 375 Wae 倭 5–7, 11–12, 16, 19–20, 22–4, 26, 33–4, 36–9, 43, 73, 78, 93, 108, 120–2, 126, 135–6, 141, 143–4, 148, 153, 160, 176, 197–9, 206, 208, 216, 218, 224–5, 242, 253, 263, 277–85, 287, 289–90, 294–6, 302, 305–7, 310–12, 315–16, 323–4, 328, 330–8, 340–55, 366, 371–3, 379 waebok 外服 263 Waegu 倭寇 (see piracy) 122, 144, 148, 176, 242, 324 Waegwan 倭館 (Japan House) 43 Waeno 倭奴 39 waifan lifu 外藩籬輔 241, 243 waifu 外服 263 waiyi jimi 外夷羈縻 241–3, 253 Wakisaka Yasuharu 脇坂安治 (1554–1626) 125–6 wakō-teki jōkyō 倭寇的狀況 18 Wakō 倭寇 (see piracy) 11, 18, 144, 176, 198, 202, 204, 222, 226 Wang Chonggu 王崇古 208 Wang Dewan 王德完 (1554–1621) 214

Glossary and index Wang Kŏn [Koryŏ king] 王建 (877–943, r. 918–943) 294 Wang Zhi 王直 (d. 1559) 19, 203, 209 Waniura 鰐浦 19 Wanli [Emperor] Shenzong 萬曆神宗 (r. 1573–1620) 207, 210–11, 213–14, 241, 244, 281, 287, 295 Wanli qijuzhu 萬暦起居注 224 Wanli san da zheng 萬暦三大征 197 Wanli san dazhenggao 萬暦三大征ٜ 216 wei 威 (awe) 168 Wendi 文帝 (r.581–604) 74 Westerner Faction (西人, K. Sŏin) 130, 137 Wo 倭 263 Wokou 倭寇 (see ‘piracy’) 144, 176, 190, 202 Wŏlbong haesangnok 月峯海上錄 345 wŏn kwi 寃鬼 345 Wŏn Kyun 元均 (1540–1597) 82, 122, 130–2, 216, 283 Wŏn’gudan 圓丘壇 294–5, 311, 314 Wŏnju 原州 311 Worship 294–6, 298, 300–1, 303–4, 307–8, 311–12, 353 Wu Weizhong 吳惟忠 (dates unknown) 212, 249 Wuan 武安 297 Wujiang 呉江 49 xia 俠 206 Xiao Xi Fei 小西飛 (see Konishi Joan) 214 Xie Sheng 解生 85 Xie Yongzi 謝用梓 (1559–1600) 80 Xietian Dadi 協天大帝 297 Xilujun 西路軍 134 Xing Jie 邢玠 (dates unknown) 85, 216, 228, 250, 281, 283, 302, 305, 313 Xu Guanlan 徐觀瀾 (dates unknown) 214, 279 Xu Guowei 許國威 (dates unknown) 297 Xu Yiguan 徐一貫 (dates unknown) 80 Xu Yijun (Xu Yihou) 許儀俊 (許儀後) (fl. 1586–1596) 237 Xuande [Emperor] Xuanzong 宣德宣宗 (r. 1426–36) 201 Xue Susu 薛素素 (fl. 1574–1635) 206 Yabu Kozan 藪孤山 (1735–1802) 327 yadam 野談 354, 365 Yamaguchi 山口 329, 331 Yamazaki Ansai 山崎闇齋 (1618–1682) 330, 337 Yamazaki Hisanaga 山崎尙長 (dates unknown) 349, 354

399

Yan Song 嚴嵩 (1480–1565) 208 Yanagawa ikken 蛢川一件 (1635) 28 Yanagawa Shigenobu 柳川調信 (d. 1605) 28, 32, 36, 58, 103–4 Yang Fangheng 楊方亨 102–3, 215 Yang Hao 楊鎬 (d. 1629) 216, 225, 228, 250, 281, 304–6, 313, 316 Yang Jian 楊堅 (see Wendi emperor) 74 Yang Ŏsa 楊御史 306 Yang Shaocheng 楊紹程 (1549–1617) 214 Yang Tinglan 楊廷蘭 253 Yang Yuan 楊元 (d. 1597) 84, 280, 299–301, 315 yang 蓐 33, 50–1 yangban 兩班 23, 36, 53, 61, 142–4, 147, 149–50, 155, 158–60, 347, 360 yanglai 仰賴 263 yasa 野史 344, 365 Yasuda Jirobee 安田次郎兵衛 (dates unknown) 113 Yatsushiro 八代 331 ye 禮 243 Yean 禮安 146 Yech’ŏn 醴泉 146–7 Yegyo 曳橋 134–5 Yejo 薰曹 (see Board of Rites) 50, 313 Yemun’gwan 藝文館 316 Yesou baoyan 野叟曝言 355 Yi Changbaek chŏn 蝗長白傳 346 Yi Chin’yŏng 蝗眞榮 (1571–1633) 326–7, 336 Yi Chŏng’am 李廷馣 (1541–1600) 155–7, 159 Yi Chonghan 蝗宗閑 (dates unknown) 327, 336 Yi Chŏnghyŏng 李廷馨 (1549–1607) 155 Yi Chŏnjik 蝗全直 (1617–1682) 326, 336 Yi Chunghwan 蝗重煥 (1690–1752) 301, 315 Yi Hae 李荄 (b. 1544) 150 Yi Hallim chŏn 蝗翰林傳 346 Yi Hangbok 蝗恒福 (1556–1618) 240 Yi Homin 蝗好閔 (1553–1634) 293 Yi Hŭiryang 蝗希良 (1584–1645) 292 Yi Hwang (T’oegye) 蝗滉 (退溪) (1501–1570) 142–3, 325, 327–8, 330, 336–7, 344 Yi I (Yulgok) 蝗珥 (蜚谷) (1536–1584) 34, 39, 53, 64, 325 Yi Kugwang 蝗勾光 (dates unknown) 331 Yi Kŭmgwang 李金光 (dates unknown) 87 Yi Kwang 李洸 (1541–1607) 147

400

Glossary and index

Yi Kyŏng 蝗敬 (dates unknown) 331 Yi Kyŏngjŏn 蝗慶全 (1567–1644) 291 Yi Minsŏng 蝗民宬 (1570–1629) 291 Yi No 蝗編 (1544–1598) 344 Yi Pangwŏn 李芳遠 (r.1400–18) 200 Yi Pong 李逢 (dates unknown) 150–1 Yi Samp’yŏng 蝗芔平 (d. 1656) 331, 337 Yi Sanhae 蝗山海 (1539–1609) 237 Yi Shibal 蝗時發 (1569–1626) 309 Yi Sŏnggye 李成桂 (1335–1408) 200, 221 Yi Sugwang 蝗晬光 (b. 1623) 334, 366 Yi Sun 蝗順 (b. 1605) 327 Yi Sunshin chŏn 蝗舜臣傳 347 Yi Sunshin 蝗舜臣 (1545–1598) 4, 6–7, 22, 34, 39–40, 120, 123, 125, 128, 130, 132, 134–6, 216, 251, 266–7, 283, 332, 340, 343–7, 349, 352, 354 Yi Tŏkhyŏng 蝗德馨 (1561–1613) 248–9, 262, 297, 316 Yi Wŏnik 蝗元翼 (1547–1634) 131, 137, 347 Yi Yuin 蝗裕仁 (1533–1592) 238 Yi Yun’gu chŏn 蝗允九傳 346 Yijo samŭi 吏曹芔議 155 Yingzong 英宗 (1427–1464, r. as Zhengtong Emperor 正統 1436– 1450; Tianshun Emperor 天順 1457–1465) 201 Yoan’in Bunko 養安院文庫 337 Yŏdan 厲壇 310–11, 317 yŏje 厲祭 310, 317 Yŏji tosŏ 輿地圖書 300 yŏllyŏ 蕢女 (virtuous woman) 357, 370 Yŏm-p’o 塩浦 11 Yŏn’an 延安 155–7 Yonezawa 米澤 329 Yŏngbyŏn 寧邊 261–2 Yŏngch’ŏn 榮川 305, 316 Yŏngch’ŏn 永川 146 Yŏnggwang 薠光 335–6 Yŏnggyu 靈圭 (d. 1592) 145, 149–51 Yŏnghŭng 永興 77, 153 Yŏngjo [King] 英祖 (r. 1724–76) 295, 300–1, 311–12, 316 Yongle [Emperor] Chengzu 永樂成祖 (r. 1403–1425) 173–4, 177, 187, 190, 200–3, 221, 253, 297 Yongle da dian 永樂大典 (The Grand Encyclopedia of Yongle) 173 Yongmun mong’yurok 虙門夢遊錄 345 Yŏngnam 蕾南 34, 36, 142, 149, 155, 347, 358, 369 Yongsa ilgi 虙蛇日記 344 Yŏngsan 薠山 143, 145

Yŏngŭijŏng 領議政 146 Yŏnp’yŏng mundap 延平問答 330 Yŏnsan-gun [King] 燕山君 (r. 1494– 1506) 27, 48, 63, 161 yŏnyŏn ch’ŏl wi ŭn 鍊鉛鐵爲銀 (see cupellation) 48 Yŏsan 砺山 148 Yoshiga 吉賀 15 Yoshihito 良仁 (dates unknown) 75 Yoshino Jingozaemon 野甚五左衛門 (dates unknown) 109 Yoshino nikki 吉野日記 109 Yoshira 要時羅 (dates unknown) 130 Youji (jiangjun) 遊擊將軍 (Commander) 78, 309 Yu Chin 蛢袗 (dates unknown) 344 Yu Chonggae 蛢宗介 (1558–1592) 146 Yu Dingguo 于定國 (d. 40 BCE) 315 Yu Kŭn 蛢根 (1549–1627) 237 Yu Mong’in G蛢夢寅 (1559–1623) 353, 374 Yu Qian 俞謙 (1398–1457) 201 Yu Shiji 俞士吉 (d. 1435) 200 Yu Sŏngnyong 柳成龍 (1542–1607) 7, 158, 162, 245, 251–2, 297, 312, 344, 349, 354 Yu Ŭngsu 柳應秀 (b. 1558) 78 Yuan Baode 袁保德 (dates unknown) 206 Yuan dynasty 元 (1271–1368) 172, 190, 199–200, 221, 267 Yuan Huang 袁黃 (1533–1606) 210 yuan neishu 願内屬 220 Yue Fei 岳飛 (1103–1142) 316 Yugok 幽谷 145 Yujŏng (Sa’myŏngdang, Song’un taesa) 惟政(泗冥堂, 松雲大師) (1544–1610) 158–9, 346, 353 Yukchŏn chorye 六典條例 313 Yul-p’o 蜚浦 123 Yun Hwi 尹暉 (1571–1644) 291 Yun Hwŏn 尹暄 (1573–1627) 291 Yun Kukhyŏng (Sŏn’gak) 尹國馨 (先覺) (1543–1611) 150–1, 344, 368 Yun Kŭnsu 尹根壽 (1537–1617) 301 Yun Kyesŏn 尹繼善 (1577–1604) 345 Yun Tusu 尹斗壽 (1533–1601) 131, 137, 237, 240, 353 Yungmi tanggi 蜄美堂記 346 zanhua zhushi 贊畫主事 (military superintendent) 250 Zeng Weifang 曾偉芳 (dates unknown) 213 Zenrin kokuhōki 善隣國寶記 27, 32

Glossary and index zhafu箚符 102 zhang (K. chang) 丈 308, 317 Zhang Juzheng 張居正 (1525–1582) 176, 206, 208–9, 219, 223–5, 240 Zhang Ning 張寧 (1592 js) 201 Zhang Shijue 張世爵 (dates unknown) 281, 299–300 Zhanjiaoji 斬蛟記 355 Zhao Canlu 趙參魯 (1571 js) 210, 237 Zhao Wanbi 趙完璧 (dates unknown) 214 Zhengde [Emperor] Wuzong 正德武宗 (r. 1505–1521) 17, 172, 177, 187, 190–1 zhengfa 征伐 260

401

Zhengguan zhengyao 貞觀政要 325 Zhihui shichaiguan 指揮使差官 (Dispatched Commander) 284 zhonglujun 中路軍 135 Zhou Weihan 周維翰 (1580 js) 253 Zhu Di 朱棣 (see ‘Yongle Emperor’) 173, 200 Zhu Wan 朱紈 (1494–1549) 203 Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 (see ‘Hongwu Emperor’) 172–3, 199, 221 Zoku gunsho ruijū 続群書類従 112, 117 Zu Chengxun 祖承訓 (fl.1570–1600) 210–11, 226, 245, 248, 309 Zuo zhuan 左傳 260