Chapter 818

The Emperor of Great Ming sent envoys to Kyoto, Japan, to negotiate peace, catching Oda Nobunaga completely off guard.

Great Ming's overreach caused Oda Nobunaga and other daimyo to misjudge the situation, believing Great Ming intended to press its advantage and launch a direct invasion of Japan's homeland, instantly uniting all Japanese daimyo in shared hostility.

The Order of Consolidation was issued against this backdrop, and all responded enthusiastically.

But when Gao Qi arrived as envoy, this unified hostility fractured dramatically, creating an unprecedented rift within Japan.

Great Ming seemed exceptionally skilled at such maneuvering; with this push and pull, it had unraveled Japan's cohesion, and divisions reemerged.

One faction of daimyo believed that as the victor, Great Ming's sole demand for garrison troops was truly imperial grace—after all, all mined silver, gold, and copper would ultimately be exchanged at the Nagasaki Viceroyalty for treasure notes; now that Great Ming had stationed troops, these minerals would be converted into circulating treasure notes according to output.

Another faction firmly insisted that all peace terms must be rejected, that Japan must prepare for war to prevent a full-scale Ming offensive, and that this negotiation was merely an attempt to divide Japan—be vigilant, kill Gao Qi, force all daimyo into desperation, and compel them to unite against Great Ming.

Oda Nobunaga was deeply torn; indeed, he did not know what to do.

On one hand, he knew he could not win—the frontlines had suffered catastrophic casualties, morale had completely collapsed, and stubborn resistance now was merely the desperate struggle of a cornered beast; Great Ming need not even attack—merely conscript coastal Japanese pirates to harass Japan's borders would drive the country into chaos.

On the other hand, Oda Nobunaga clearly understood that if he accepted this peace, Japan would be finished, for public sentiment, like sand, once scattered, could never be gathered again.

This time they could still unite in hostility, but through this negotiation, Great Ming had gained a breathing space to regroup; when it returned next time, could Japan's daimyo still unite as they had now?

The answer was obvious: no.

"This surrender is total surrender—we are the fish, and they the knife," Oda Nobunaga said with reluctant bitterness: "I want to try once more. When Gao Qi enters Kyoto, kill him."

Oda Nobunaga would try once more: reject peace, kill Gao Qi as a sacrifice, rely once more on the divine wind, and create another miracle—he believed he still could.

"Take care," Oda Ichijo said sadly, bowed, and chose to leave; she did not know how to persuade him, nor what to say—the Emperor had sent her merely to demonstrate sincerity, to show that the Emperor of Great Ming kept his word.

She was no one important; she could not change Oda Nobunaga's decision.

This was undoubtedly a mad decision.

Oda Ichijo understood Oda Nobunaga's choice.

Militarily, Great Ming had fully transitioned from partial firearms to the firearms era; the sheer size of fast sailing ships was despair-inducing; Japan's traditional samurai tactics could not possibly withstand the new system; the mountain fortresses they relied upon were merely hard-to-crack turtle shells to Great Ming.

Japan's samurai and ashigaru were fleeing, preferring humiliation by the White Chicken Feathers rather than face death on the battlefield—military collapse was underway.

Economically, Great Ming had fully opened the seas, reducing Japan to a state of economic dependency; the mineral-treasure-note mechanism had fractured Japan at its economic foundation, creating winners and losers.

Oda Nobunaga foresaw the loss of economic sovereignty; Japan's smallholder agrarian economy was collapsing chaotically—not because Great Ming actively dismantled it, but because uncontrolled economic collapse shattered all Japanese consensus, leaving everyone in confusion.

Culturally, the rise of the Sukyo Sect signaled the collapse of rites and music; the most basic order could no longer be maintained; without order, power could not be stable.

These multidimensional crises ultimately pushed Oda Nobunaga toward the gamble of national fate:

Oda Nobunaga did not blindly believe in the divine wind; he clearly recognized that under Great Ming's systematic assault, any conventional strategy was doomed to fail.

Only by gambling on national fate, by making one desperate bet, could there be any chance of breaking the deadlock.

Killing the envoy was essentially about forcing domestic consensus through irreconcilable conflict; more tragically, Oda Ichijo knew that whether Oda Nobunaga chose war or peace, the outcome remained unchanged—Great Ming was assaulting the entire world with an unprecedented posture, not merely Japan.

Oda Nobunaga's desperate gamble was merely to buy time for possible variables—but what were those variables? The divine wind? A chance military victory?

Even if Japan won a rare battle, the Emperor of Great Ming's unyielding nature would never permit retreat as Kublai Khan had; Great Ming could lose many times, but Japan could afford only one loss.

This was fundamentally a war of civilization; since Great Ming had preliminarily completed the Emperor Wanli Reforms, Great Ming had already won.

Oda Nobunaga had confided his decision only to Oda Ichijo, but his mobilization of samurai to strike the Ming envoy inevitably sparked baseless rumors in Kyoto; soon, the news spread like wings to the guesthouse at Sakai Port.

"From all available intelligence, Oda Nobunaga is about to act," Li Cheng analyzed the patrol reports seized from the coastal inspectors and reached a conclusion.

Great Ming had already notified Japan that a garrison of fifteen hundred troops would escort the envoy; facing such well-equipped Ming forces, Oda Nobunaga could not conceal troop movements from the coastal inspector's intelligence network if he intended to kill.

"I still must go," Gao Qi said after thinking: "The company commander's troops need not accompany me into danger—it is, after all, the enemy's territory."

Kyoto was Oda Nobunaga's stronghold; Gao Qi's insistence on going was extremely dangerous—there was no need to make soldiers risk their lives with him.

"I'll accompany the Grand Herald," Huang Bin said with a mocking tone: "My life is worthless; if Oda Nobunaga is as brave as he claims, let him try."

A game of bravery resembled children's stubbornness—no one would yield; whoever yielded was surrendering; this was a common diplomatic tactic, a high-risk strategic maneuver.

Both sides were risking everything, attempting to overwhelm the opponent through courage and strategy, forcing them into a decision error under pressure.

For example, in the sixteenth year of Yongping, Ban Chao was sent to the Western Regions to Ye Shanshan; the king had been friendly at first, then grew cold; when Ban Chao learned the Xiongnu envoys had arrived, he told his men: "If you don't enter the tiger's den, how can you catch the tiger's cub?" He launched a night raid on the Xiongnu camp, forcing Ye Shanshan to submit to Han.

This was not the first time such an event occurred; Han envoy Fu Jiezi, because Loulan had allied with the Xiongnu to kill Han envoys, went to Loulan; as Han troops approached, he declared to all Loulan: "Do not move, or your nation will be destroyed," then killed the Loulan king and brought his head back to Han.

Envoys represented Great Ming's dignity; Gao Qi would never back down.

"I want to see what he's capable of!" Li Cheng decided to go along; Gao Qi's words made it sound as if the Ming garrison troops in Japan were cowards!

On the second day of the second month of the sixteenth year of Emperor Wanli, the Grand Secretary of the Grand Honglu Temple, envoy to Japan Gao Qi, and eunuch supervisor Huang Bin, escorted by fifteen hundred Ming troops, set out for Kyoto, Japan.

In Kyoto, the Sōma family had a minor residence, utterly ordinary, inhabited by an ordinary man named Mori Ran Suke, age twenty-five.

His grandfather had participated in Oda Nobunaga's campaign to unify Japan and died in battle, receiving no compensation; his father, violating samurai spirit, fled and became a Sakai Port arquebus merchant, trading Ming firearms between Kyoto and Sakai.

Six years ago, his father died mysteriously in Kyoto; Mori Ran Suke made several trips to Kyoto but found nothing—not even the cause of death could be determined.

Eventually, Mori Ran Suke learned from his former lord, Sōma Norifusa, that a merchant under a daimyo had refused to pay for a shipment of firearms, falsely claimed insufficient gunpowder, seized the weapons, and murdered his father, suppressing all information.

That daimyo was Gorōzaemon-no-jō Niwa Nagahide, granted the surname Ijuin, one of Oda Nobunaga's direct retainers and one of the Four Heavenly Kings.

After multiple investigations, Mori Ran Suke was certain his father had been killed by this merchant; Niwa Nagahide may not have known, but Mori Ran Suke was only nineteen then and could do nothing.

Mori Ran Suke learned firearm manufacturing under Sakai Port arquebus merchants—actually reverse-engineering Ming matchlocks; originally he planned to avenge his father, but over time, the thought faded; later, Niwa Nagahide died of illness.

From then on, Mori Ran Suke resolved to live well; he married a wife and lived with his mother, working hard just to keep his family fed.

He had a son and a daughter; though life was hard, he was content with his current existence.

Until the Sukyo Sect began spreading wildly in Japan.

Mori Ran Suke had heard of these extreme believers and avoided them to prevent misfortune; but three years ago, his mother and young daughter vanished, along with his father's arquebus business earnings and all his savings, leaving only a broken string of Buddhist prayer beads.

The greatest trait of these demons was greed.

Mori Ran Suke searched for a full month before finding his mother and daughter in the wild; both were corpses, decapitated, heads hanging from trees, torsos split in half and hung opposite.

Clearly, his mother and daughter had been sacrificed as human offerings to the Sukyo deity.

In overwhelming grief, Mori Ran Suke buried his mother and daughter; but the month-long search had worsened his already dire poverty; his wife became a tea-fetching girl at a tea house to supplement income.

A tea-fetching girl was not a prostitute; she assisted the tea master by preparing water, tea utensils, and ensuring the tea ceremony proceeded smoothly—fetching water, boiling it, cleaning utensils.

Soon, Mori Ran Suke lost his wife—not to the Sukyo Sect, but because she became a NanYang prostitute, leaving Japan for the southern seas to start anew.

Even as a concubine in a Han village in the southern seas was better than this hell called Japan.

Creditors soon came knocking; only then did Mori Ran Suke learn his wife had fled because of massive debts—she had gambled away much money, borrowed heavily from the gambling den, and, due to her beauty, had qualified for passage to the southern seas.

Mori Ran Suke was beaten, his remaining property looted by the gambling den; he became penniless, a wandering rōnin; his son died three months later from cold and hunger.

At the end of the fifteenth year of Emperor Wanli, Mori Ran Suke's former lord, Sōma Norifusa, encountered his old retainer and was shocked by his destitution.

The Sōma family had once been lords of Bizen Province; when Oda Nobunaga attacked, they lost their lordship but still received a stipend of ten thousand koku.

Sōma Norifusa, seeing his old retainer, rescued Mori Ran Suke.

On the morning of the second day of the second month of the sixteenth year of Emperor Wanli, Mori Ran Suke received an order from Sōma Norifusa:

Sōma Norifusa ordered him to a high position at Nijō Castle, where three Ming Pingyi muskets, already loaded with Ming brown gunpowder, were prepared; he was to kill Oda Nobunaga as he passed by.

Mori Ran Suke, having worked in an arquebus workshop, knew all types of firearms intimately; the Pingyi musket, with its Ming iron armor, could penetrate armor at sixty paces; Japanese crude armor could be pierced at up to a hundred paces; its barrel had yin-yang rifling, causing lead balls to spin, increasing accuracy.

Mori Ran Suke was an exceptional marksman; with a Japanese arquebus, he could hit a flying bird within twenty paces—this was why Sōma Norifusa had rescued him; such a skilled marksman might one day prove useful.

The order clearly stated: if unwilling to carry it out, he could leave.

Sōma Norifusa knew nothing of Mori Ran Suke's hatred and cared little; he maintained dozens of such marksmen; three were enough; he no longer cared about the consequences of failure.

For Sōma Norifusa, whether he lived or died mattered little; what mattered was Oda Nobunaga's death, the man who had stripped his family of its lordship.

At noon, outside Nijō Castle's Ying'en Gate, fifteen hundred soldiers formed a column, armed with various firearms, arriving at the gate; according to coastal inspector intelligence, fifteen hundred samurai were hidden, preparing to assassinate the Ming envoy.

The column quickly shifted into a line formation, the fifteen hundred soldiers arranged in three ranks, ready to repel a Japanese charge.

Mori Ran Suke reached his assigned position without difficulty; indeed, three loaded Pingyi muskets stood ready—but he was alone, no one else.

He inspected the three muskets, confirmed they were intact, then lay prone at the parapet; strangely, such a critical high point had no patrols.

Oda Nobunaga's crimson jinbaori appeared along the granary corridor several hundred paces away; jinbaori were worn over armor; Oda Nobunaga favored red and Western capes; behind him marched two squads of armored retainers, each carrying mōi— one crimson, one black.

These two squads were the Crimson Mōi Corps and the Black Mōi Corps; the cage-like objects on their backs were mōi, designed to deflect arrows.

Mori Ran Suke's face remained calm as he aligned his sight with Oda Nobunaga's head; the weather was fine, no wind—wind would affect the Pingyi musket's accuracy; his expression was serene as he silently counted; at sixty paces, he pulled the trigger, flint striking the steel.

He inspected three Pingyi muskets, confirmed they were in good condition, then lay prone at the parapet. It was strange—such a vital high point had no patrols at all.

The lead ball spun from the barrel, flying toward Oda Nobunaga; the first shot missed Oda Nobunaga, striking a Crimson Mōi retainer behind him; the granary corridor formation erupted into chaos; Mori Ran Suke calmly moved to the second Pingyi musket.

The first shot missed because Mori Ran Suke underestimated the Pingyi musket's power; the lead ball's natural drop was less than he expected.

Mori Ranosuke's expression was calm as he centered his sight on Oda Nobunaga's head. The weather was fine, no wind—wind would disrupt the Pingyi musket's accuracy. Mori Ranosuke's face remained perfectly still as he silently counted; at sixty paces, he pulled the trigger, the flint striking the steel.

The lead ball spun again, whistling through the air, aimed once more at the heavily protected Oda Nobunaga; this shot also missed—not because Mori Ran Suke missed, but because Oda Nobunaga was too well shielded.

The lead bullet spun out of the barrel, hurtling toward Oda Nobunaga. The first shot missed him, striking instead the red back banner behind him.

As the third shot fired, Mori Ran Suke knew it would miss; as the musket exploded, Oda Nobunaga performed a clumsy roll—a donkey's flop—though undignified, it evaded the fatal shot.

Mori Ran Suke sighed, sat cross-legged; he knew his assassination had failed; he drew his wakizashi (short sword) from his waist, preparing to disembowel himself; he did not wish to implicate his benefactor, Sōma Norifusa—this blade had been gifted to him by Sōma Norifusa.

He had no kaishakunin; this cut must be precise and brutal—no chance of survival.

Before disemboweling, Mori Ran Suke reflected on his brief life: he had worked hard, been diligent, even morally upright; yet his father died, his mother and daughter sacrificed as human offerings, his wife betrayed him, his son died of cold and hunger.

Whose fault was this misfortune? His own? Oda Nobunaga's? Or the world's?

But all this suffering would end; he raised the wakizashi high, plunged it deep into his abdomen, twisted hard, and slashed horizontally; blood sprayed out, splattering the Pingyi musket in speckles; searing pain came, yet he still glared fiercely at Oda Nobunaga.

Mori Ran Suke's expression soon turned to confusion; the samurai in the granary corridor had not charged forward—they were locked in fierce combat; cries, arrows whistling, firearms exploding—sounds rose and fell; thick smoke filled the corridor.

Mori Ran Suke strained to watch the battlefield; he should not have killed himself.

In his final moments of consciousness, he smiled faintly, collapsing before the Pingyi musket; for Oda Nobunaga was locked in battle, and more and more samurai were pouring into the narrow granary corridor.

Was all this misfortune his fault, or Oda Nobunaga's, or the world's?

Yet all this misfortune was about to end—he raised his wakizashi high, drove it forcefully into his abdomen, twisted it hard, and slashed sideways; blood sprayed out, splattering the heiyi musket in speckled dots. Intense pain came, yet he still glared fiercely at Oda Nobunaga.

Mori Ranjiong's expression quickly turned to confusion, for the warriors inside the supply route had not charged forward—they were locked in bitter combat. Shouts, the whistle of arrows, and the detonations of firearms rose and fell in succession; thick smoke filled the entire supply route.

Mori Ranjiong forced himself to watch the battlefield—he should never have killed himself.

In the final moment before his consciousness faded, he smiled with satisfaction and collapsed before the heiyi musket, for Oda Nobunaga was locked in bitter combat, and more and more warriors were pouring into the narrow supply route.

Not only was Tashiro Sōjō rebelled; on this day, many daimyō chose to rise in revolt.

Oda Nobunaga forgot whose life he owed—he was not his own; he belonged to the Emperor of Great Ming.

During the Incident at Honnō-ji, the Great Ming army, led by Li Cheng, entered Honnō-ji and rescued Oda Nobunaga.

Though Honnō-ji appeared to be instigated by Akechi Mitsuhide, its very occurrence revealed that in Wa, many desired to be Akechi Mitsuhide; countless ambitions lay dormant, paralyzed by the presence of the Great Ming army.

This was a

tacit understanding: Great Ming had enfeoffed the King of Wa, and the Great Ming garrison's battalion command provided protection—these daimyō dared not move.

When Oda Nobunaga planned to strike the Great Ming envoy, this tacit understanding shattered, and all began to act.

"Puff."

A tachi slashed across Oda Nobunaga's shoulder; soon, his back was cut open, too—blade after blade, flashes of steel, arrows and lead bullets whistled in.

Oda Nobunaga fought desperately, but he was utterly spent; he knelt on the ground, received several more wounds, then collapsed into a pool of blood, gazing at the narrow, elongated sky of the corridor, gasping for breath, suddenly smiling with relief.

He was tired—exhausted. He would rather return to being the fool of Owari than continue as this false ruler of all under heaven.

He had done everything he could to lead Wa out of its predicament, wanting the Wa people to live better, free from the suffering of the Sengoku wars; he tried, gave his all—but in the end, fell short by a hair's breadth.

What grieved him most was that he did not die at the hands of the Great Ming army, but at the hands of his own.

He tilted his head, watching the daimyō rush over; their faces anxious, they desperately repelled the attacking samurai, rushed to Oda Nobunaga's side, shouting for physicians to come treat him.

This was mere pretense; even in Wa, no one dared admit they were the traitor—only when his death was certain would they rush forward to feign concern.

As for what would become of these daimyō and Wa in the future—only heaven knew.

Oda Nobunaga left no last words; slowly, he closed his eyes, departed this world, left the land he had fought so hard to protect, and ended his life.

"Hmm…" Gao Qi stood beneath the banner, holding a telescope, watching the events at Nijō Castle; after staring for a long while, he said: "I came with the certainty of death—just to watch them tear each other apart?"

"I forgot Wa's tradition of gekokujō," Li Cheng said, half-laughing, half-sighing: "Had it not been for the Great Ming army holding them in check, these daimyō would have moved long ago."

Gao Qi said helplessly: "We'll stay at the Ying'en Pavilion and wait for Wa's internal struggle to reach a conclusion."

All these daimyō commanded troops; without consensus, Oda Nobunaga secretly mobilized his forces to assassinate the Great Ming envoy—this outcome stunned the Great Ming envoy's delegation.

By afternoon, news arrived from Kyoto: Oda Nobunaga was critically wounded and undergoing emergency treatment; the envoy was requested to remain calm. Upon hearing this, Gao Qi knew Oda Nobunaga was already dead.

If he were truly wounded, they would conceal it until a decision was made; since they publicly announced his critical condition, it was certain he was dead—they were preparing everyone for the transition.

Concealing death to secure power transfer—this was not uncommon anywhere.

They waited twelve days, until February 14, when the outcome was confirmed: Oda Nobunaga was truly dead. During those twelve days, screams of battle echoed intermittently through Kyoto; once, the fighting lasted three full days.

By February 14, the slaughter still continued, but Kyoto returned Oda Ichi to the Great Ming envoy.

Oda Ichi suffered no harm; no one even disturbed her. The reason the daimyō refrained from acting was simple: she was sent by Great Ming.

Killing Oda Ichi was no different from killing Gao Qi—both were slaps to the Emperor of Great Ming. If the Emperor lost face, it was these daimyō who would suffer.

After another seven days, on February 21, the bloodshed in Kyoto finally ended. Hashiba Hideyoshi became Kanpaku, was enfeoffed as Dajō-daijin by the Emperor, and granted the surname Toyotomi—thus, the de facto ruler of Wa became Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

"We do not accept this assessment of Oda Nobunaga," Gao Qi said after reading the document sent by Kyoto, expressing his stance and handing the document to the envoy to take back.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi's first edict as Kanpaku was to condemn Oda Nobunaga.

In this nearly thousand-character edict, Oda Nobunaga was painted as a great evil: a tyrant who used brute force to oppress the imperial court, abuse his subordinates, and destroy the authority of Shinto and Buddhism—a demon king, a great villain.

Toyotomi Hideyoshi accused Oda Nobunaga of ten crimes.

First: despising Buddhism and slaying saints—mainly burning Enryaku-ji on Mount Hiei, turning three thousand Buddhist halls to ash; massacring the followers of Genshō-ji on Nagashima, filling ditches with twenty thousand believers; further destroying Ishiyama Ishiyama Hongan-ji, spreading the infamous title of "Enemy of the Buddha" even to Tang lands. This was fact—and why Oda Nobunaga was called the Sixth Heaven Demon.

But the rest were fabricated charges.

Some were outright lies—for example, the second: "disrupting the state's structure," falsely claiming to uphold martial order while practicing tyranny, forcibly conscripting soldiers from fifteen provinces, causing widespread famine.

According to long-term observations by the Nagasaki Governor's Office, under Oda Nobunaga's rule, the common people lived far better than under other daimyō; after all, his tax rate was one part state, two parts people.

For example, the seventh: "colluding with demons"—blaming Oda Nobunaga directly for the spread of the Jikkyō cult, as if his indulgence had caused the demonic disturbances.

Others pinned collective guilt onto Oda Nobunaga alone.

For example, the eighth: "disrupting foreign relations," recklessly launching a campaign against Korea, provoking the thunderous punishment of Heaven's troops. This was not Oda Nobunaga's doing alone—it was a collective decision by these daimyō, driven by soaring grain prices and the desire to send conscripts to Korea to die.

Of these ten charges, only the first was barely credible. Gao Qi rejected this judgment not to vindicate Oda Nobunaga, but to pressure them—to make it clear: they were manufacturing excuses, inventing grievances, creating leverage to extract greater benefits.

Oda Nobunaga had been explicitly enfeoffed as King of Wa by an imperial decree of Great Ming; now he was dead, and his successor was not his descendant, but Hashiba Hideyoshi—much could be done here.

Gao Qi would slowly probe the limits of what Wa would accept, striving for the best possible terms; the negotiations would not be settled overnight.

Gao Qi drafted his memorial and sent it back to Great Ming via the Coastal Patrol Inspector; Oda Ichi had already bid farewell and would return to Great Ming with his memorial.

Oda Ichi stood at the port of Sakai, still bustling as ever; she gazed toward Kyoto, unable to believe her all-powerful brother was dead—killed by his own.

Oda Ichi boarded the ship; seabirds flew over the deck, the sea breeze brushing through her fingers.

Perhaps, had Oda Nobunaga died at Honnō-ji, he might have borne less blame.

Perhaps, if Oda Nobunaga had died at Honnō-ji, he would have borne less blame.