CHAPTER 162

Original: 2016-01-02

Rewritten: 2026-06-24

This country-pumpkin husband-and-wife team became so fascinated with Japanese television dramas that we felt compelled to travel to Japan ourselves—to see the places and seek out the people we had come to admire.

We have always enjoyed watching television dramas. The series we rented and purchased were primarily Japanese dramas, later supplemented by Korean dramas and Chinese political intrigue dramas, while Hong Kong productions ranked last. About half of the Japanese dramas we watched were period pieces, with a particular focus on historical figures and events.

Japan's history may be briefly summarized as follows: an island nation ruled by an emperor, isolated from much of the world. Beginning with the Sui Dynasty, Japan absorbed Chinese culture and institutions. From the Northern Song Dynasty until the late Qing Dynasty, real political power was largely exercised by warrior governments acting in the emperor's name. This era encompassed three shogunates and the intervening Warring States period. Eventually, the country was unified by the peasant-born Toyotomi Hideyoshi. After Hideyoshi's death, Tokugawa Ieyasu, who had once been forced into submission, seized power and established the third shogunate. From Edo (modern Tokyo), a place that had once been a place of exile, he effectively controlled the imperial court in Kyoto from afar.

For centuries, the emperor possessed prestige but little actual authority. At last, under Emperor Meiji, political power was restored to the throne under the banner of defending the nation against foreign threats. Through the process known as the "Restoration of Imperial Rule," authority was reclaimed from the increasingly outdated Tokugawa shogunate. Japan then embraced Westernization, strengthened itself militarily and economically, and emerged as the modern nation we know today.

For that reason, on our first visit to Japan, we chose Kyoto and Osaka. In Kyoto, we made a special pilgrimage in search of a historical figure who was assassinated at the age of thirty-one.

Through his efforts and those of fellow reformers, the old Tokugawa shogunate was overthrown, ending the thousand-year-old samurai order and restoring real power to the emperor. This ushered in a new era for Japan in 1867.

That man was Sakamoto Ryōma.

He was a lower-ranking samurai from Tosa Domain on the island of Shikoku. The ruling elite of the domain were outsider samurai of higher status, while Ryōma belonged to the local warrior class. His domain was governed by the Yamauchi clan, whose founder, Yamauchi Kazutoyo, had been a loyal retainer of the powerful Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi himself held the title of Kanpaku (Imperial Regent), an office bestowed by the emperor.

Ryōma challenged the very foundations of the samurai system, threatening the vested interests of the old order. As a result, he became a target for assassination. His killers are commonly believed to have been members of the Shinsengumi, a special force responsible for maintaining security in Kyoto, though some historians attribute the deed to the Mimawarigumi. Both groups are often remembered as fiercely loyal warriors.

This country bumpkin greatly admires Ryōma's vision, courage, determination, and foresight.

One evening, after enjoying a simple pork-rice meal at a fast-food restaurant, we walked only a few steps onto the main street when we spotted a stone monument. Inscribed upon it were the words:

"Site of the assassination of Sakamoto Ryōma, Nakaoka Shintarō, and Yamada Tōkichi - Teradaya."

The date was December 10, 1867.

The site had once been known as Omiya, an inn where Ryōma was hiding. That night, his close friend and fellow Tosa native, Nakaoka Shintarō, came to visit him. Another man, Yamada Tōkichi, was also present. All three met with tragedy there.

The original building no longer exists. The area has long since been transformed into a modern thoroughfare known as Kawaramachi Street.

To encounter, in a sense, the traces of a man from the distant past felt like a blessing.

The following day, we visited Ryōma's memorial museum and his grave. Most of the sites were symbolic memorials rather than actual burial places. Yet after our visits, both of us felt strangely uneasy.

There were three reasons for this uneasiness.

First, souvenir shops throughout Kyoto's tourist districts sold numerous Shinsengumi-themed items. Most prominent were replicas of their light-blue uniforms, emblazoned with the character 「誠」 ("sincerity" or "devotion"), signifying wholehearted dedication to one's mission. For the Shinsengumi, that mission was loyalty to the shogun and opposition to reform.

Second, inside Ryōma's memorial museum, alongside exhibits celebrating Ryōma's achievements, there were also detailed and respectful introductions to the leaders of the Shinsengumi, without the slightest criticism. Does this not amount to praising blind loyalty while overlooking their role in resisting reform? It felt as though the surface had been washed clean while the deeper issues remained untouched.

Third, while walking the streets of Kyoto, I saw vehicles belonging to Japanese ultra-nationalist political groups. They drove slowly through the city broadcasting messages over loudspeakers. Painted boldly on both sides of one vehicle were the four characters:

「一死報國」

"To repay the nation with one's death."

Even in this day and age, the ghost of Bushidō still lingers. How could one not feel a chill?

Kyoto's famous boiled tofu is a masterpiece of simplicity. The tofu releases a delicate fragrance. Yet beside it rests a Japanese sword, its blade radiating menace.

Beneath the layers of politeness and restraint, what truly lies hidden?