Chapter 349: , Taiga Drama

I don't know why, but after Uesugi Muneyuki went missing for a few days, Ikeda Erena always felt that he seemed different in some way, though she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly what was different.

Upon reflection, it seemed similar to last year when Uesugi Muneyuki disappeared for a few days during the New Year and returned feeling somewhat changed.

However, Ikeda Erena didn't dwell on it much, and the tall beauty soon sensed in what way Uesugi Muneyuki had changed.

He had become stronger and more powerful! Strong and powerful, indeed!

Erena quickly stopped thinking, swaying blissfully on the small boat amidst the surging waves, indulging in the gentle rocking.

However, with Uesugi Muneyuki's return, there was a matter that needed to be put on the agenda: his cameo appearance in this year's NHK taiga drama *Gunshi Kanbei*.

As mentioned earlier, Grandfather Uesugi Kuninori will turn 74 after the New Year, very close to the age of 75 for rehirement retirement; despite his robust health, preparations must be made for the future, one important arrangement being his appointment as historical consultant for *Gunshi Kanbei*, with Uesugi Sadanori and Uesugi Muneyuki cast as the young versions of Uesugi Kagekatsu and Uesugi Kagetora in the drama—though only a few scenes, appearing in a taiga drama carries immense significance.

Grandfather hopes Uesugi Muneyuki and Uesugi Sadanori will inherit his influence and network at NHK Broadcasting Corporation; elder brother Uesugi Sadanori, whose main profession is archaeology, has a natural connection to the taiga drama, while Uesugi Muneyuki is a true tempestuous figure, a major traffic star—especially since when he first discussed the cameo, he wasn't this famous, and now it seems NHK has reaped great benefits.

What further irks Uesugi Muneyuki is that the remuneration for this cameo appearance is only 10,000 yen.

Upon returning from Gunma Prefecture, Mai Xuejie arranged for her agent Hamada Rikka to prepare for her personal management company to sign a contract with Uesugi Muneyuki, to be affiliated under Soul Agency, thereafter handling his entertainment-related affairs; Uesugi Muneyuki naturally had no objection, but Minami Ojou-sama insisted on first discussing terms with the other party.

On January 6, the last day of the New Year holiday, Uesugi Muneyuki and Ikeda Erena drove to the filming location of *Gunshi Kanbei*.

Ikeda Erena, nourished once more by Uesugi Muneyuki, her face renewed with vitality and radiance, drove the car, feeling that with Uesugi Muneyuki by her side, there was nothing to worry about: "Speaking of which, I really have no interest in taiga dramas at all,

with so many characters and so many plot threads, it gives me a headache; moreover, there are so many familiar faces, I just can't figure it out—how can this person be Oda Nobunaga one moment, Sakamoto Ryoma the next, and then Tokugawa Iemitsu the next?"

"Pfft—there's some truth to that." Uesugi Muneyuki couldn't help but laugh, nodding repeatedly.

Here, I should briefly explain what a taiga drama is.

NHK's taiga drama refers to the large-scale, long-running historical serial dramas produced by NHK since 1963; the term "taiga" comes from the French "roman-fleuve" (great river novel), meaning a series of long novels written with the life and thought of family lineages as their theme, and the taiga drama is the television adaptation of the great river novel.

It is worth noting that taiga dramas are essentially adaptations of various historical novels, not entirely factual history,

but compared to novels, taiga dramas pay stricter attention to costume research, historical context, and the depiction of daily life in the drama, so they can be considered similar to *The Ming Dynasty 1566* and *The Yongzheng Dynasty*—that is, "authentic historical dramas."

However, as Erena pointed out, after over fifty years of taiga dramas, Japan's taiga dramas have reached the point of "nothing left to film," since the interesting segments of ancient Japanese history are mainly limited to a few periods:

the Genpei War, the Northern and Southern Courts divide, the Azuchi-Momoyama period (i. e., Japan's Sengoku period), the Edo period, and the Bakumatsu turmoil; after that comes the modern era, and strictly speaking, taiga dramas do not include the modern era, only occasionally featuring works like *Clouds Above the Hill* or *Yaezakura*.

Theoretically, there are five exciting historical periods, but in practice?

In practice, it can be said that the most exciting and essential parts of Japanese history are only the Sengoku period and the Bakumatsu turmoil.

These two periods have been repeatedly dramatized and embellished by the Japanese, so much so that they now bear little resemblance to actual historical figures—for example, the famous Bakumatsu Shinsengumi and Sakamoto Ryoma: their on-screen images, aside from sharing names with their historical counterparts, basically have no relation to the real Shinsengumi or the historical Sakamoto Ryoma.

Uesugi Muneyuki has previously complained, saying the Japanese consistently favor fabrication and dramatization of history.

Of course, here I should offer a slight defense of the Japanese: this fabrication is not like claiming my ancestors were called Higashiyama, once suffering a brutal plowing and sweeping of the estate, humiliating beatings, so I simply disowned my ancestors.

Rather, the Japanese themselves don't really know what's going on.

In fact, Japanese history can be very simply divided into the period before the Edo shogunate and the period after the Edo shogunate began,

because only with the start of the Edo shogunate did the Japanese truly begin to universally eat well and dress warmly, and only then did they begin to systematically record history in earnest; before the Edo shogunate, Japanese history was a chaotic mess.

Taking Uesugi Kenshin as an example, it is well known that his father, Nagao Kagetora, the Etchu Province Guard, was a famous gekokujin villain, a fierce general who fought in over a hundred battles—so when did he die?

The answer is, even the Japanese themselves don't know, because around twenty contemporary historical records mention Nagao Kagetora's death,

and these twenty records contain as many as ten different accounts, with dates ranging from Tenbun 5 to Tenbun 15.

Who is telling the truth and who is lying? Sorry, the Japanese themselves cannot verify it, so they have merely adopted one of the more reasonable and persuasive versions.

Moreover, did Uesugi Kenshin actually rule over Sado Island?

There are over ten historical records, with six different accounts: direct rule, control through vassal retainers, subordination, nominal submission but actual independence,

assistance in suppressing rebellions, and no military presence at all.

Which one is true? The Japanese themselves cannot determine it.

Truly reliable historical records only appear from 1589 onward, when Uesugi Kagekatsu personally led troops across the sea to attack and kill local tyrants, completely occupying Sado Island; before that, Japanese historical records of the Edo period era are just this chaotic and bizarre—everyone is publishing books, each account differs, giving off a feeling like Warhammer military manuals: you say your thing, I say mine, everyone boasts about themselves, details clash everywhere, nothing matches up.

Another fairly typical example is that historical records from that time were greatly influenced by standpoint—for instance, the famous Battle of Handakawa River: academic circles range from fully affirming its occurrence with great seriousness to completely denying it, claiming it's merely novelist gossip, and in recent years, a new theory suggests it might indeed have existed, primarily because Toyotomi Hideyoshi himself was involved.

The reason for denying the Battle of Handakawa River is the widely accepted fact that reputable histories like *Oda Nobunaga Chronicle* make no mention of this battle; however, according to later research, since the author of *Oda Nobunaga Chronicle*, Ota Gyuichi, was on extremely good terms with Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Maeda Toshiie—who financed and supported him in writing the chronicle—both were on the losing side and even voluntarily retreated, only to be scolded by Nobunaga, the author thus employed the Spring and Autumn annalistic technique, omitting mention of his benefactor in the historical record due to its disgraceful nature.

As for the Uesugi side, they do not mention it because, facing imminent destruction by Oda, Uesugi Kagekatsu, preparing to commit seppuku, fortuitously encountered the Honnō-ji Incident, hastily submitted to Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and naturally would not bring up this defeat to provoke the Taikō's displeasure; thus, the defeated side does not mention it, the victorious side does not mention it, and it is quite possible that the real Battle of Handakawa River was buried in this way by history.

This is the fascinating aspect of Japanese Sengoku history: on one hand, from the mid-Ashikaga shogunate period onward, a large number of folk records and anecdotes emerged, various short tales and interesting plots enriching the historical materials; on the other hand, there is no officially recognized history, and between them lies a vast space for adaptation and dramatization, further compounded by the Honnō-ji Incident—this most legendary and bizarre outcome in Japanese history—collectively forming the most exciting period of Japanese Sengoku history.

However, even the most exciting history, after decades of repeated remakes, becomes bland and tiresome; by today, every major historical figure in the Japanese Sengoku era has already been remade from different angles and interpretations at least three times, content growing increasingly stale, and just as Erena said, the actors are always the same faces, gradually leading to typecasting.

For example, Takenaka Hanbei has played Oda Nobunaga, Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Ishida Mitsunari, and Tokugawa Nariaki, then appeared as the Foreign Minister in *Clouds Above the Hill*—no matter how you look at it, it feels like typecasting.

Moreover, the famous actor Nishida Toshiyuki, without mentioning his other roles, has alone portrayed the shogun as Tokugawa Ieyasu, Tokugawa Hidetada, Tokugawa Iemitsu, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi, and Tokugawa Yoshimune—he has played five of the first eight shoguns.

Not to mention the supporting cast.

Thus, Ikeda Erena is completely confused about who is who, and she doesn't understand historical figures either.

This is also a major cause of the taiga drama's decline, actually very simple: there is nothing left to film.

History before the Sengoku period has even scarcer records, the populace basically doesn't know a few people, interest is extremely limited, and when filmed, no one watches, leading to repeated setbacks in ratings.

As for the Sengoku period and the Bakumatsu turmoil, these have already been filmed to exhaustion, with no freshness left.

Besides, the Japanese have collectively remade the Honnō-ji Incident at least twenty-eight times (laugh), every year they have to roast the Demon King once.

Of course, NHK has also begun attempting to reform the taiga drama; this invitation to the Uesugi brothers for a cameo is a major signal—if the effect is good enough, preparations are already underway for the project *Sanada Maru*, which may continue to cast the Uesugi brothers.

Uesugi Muneyuki arrived early today, mainly wanting to visit his elder brother Uesugi Sadanori and, by the way, ask about archaeology.

As a person of the archaeological world, Uesugi Sadanori—how much does he know about archaeology in the Kansai region?

Perhaps the secret to resolving the existence of the New God and ascension lies with his elder brother.