Chang'an's citizens treated public spectacle like a competitive sport.
If there was chaos to be witnessed, you could find it at the Lone Willow Tree, where locals critiqued an executioner's axe technique with the fervor of opera critics. You could swarm the East and West Markets to gawk at Persian merchants draped in exotic fabrics and surrounded by strange spices. You could line Zhuque Avenue to judge the extravagance of an imperial procession, or crowd Anshang Street simply to stare at the shiny bald heads of foreign monks.
Entertainment was not a hobby in Chang'an. It was practically a civic duty.
Today, a new attraction appeared outside Chunming Gate.
Tools were abandoned. Market stalls were left unattended. A dense crowd gathered to watch the group of foreigners whom the locals had already begun calling the Wa.
Most ordinary residents had no idea what a Wa was. The word meant nothing to them.
But Chang'an's rumor mill operated with terrifying speed. Someone bold enough walked up to the armored cavalry escorting the group and asked questions. The answer rippled through the crowd instantly.
These odd little men were diplomats from an island nation across the Eastern Sea. They had come to pay tribute to the Heavenly Qaghan.
The citizens nodded in collective understanding. Mystery solved. Just another vassal state bending the knee.
Common occurrence.
However, these specific diplomats offered a brand of entertainment that even towering Turkic warriors and perfumed Persian traders could not match.
The envoys traveled in a tight, nervous pack, constantly craning their necks back to stare at the verticality of the city walls. So busy looking up, they walked blindly forward, stumbling over uneven stones and nearly walking into market stalls.
When they watched the endless river of pedestrians flowing in and out of the capital, the sheer volume of humanity overwhelmed them. They pointed at everything, speaking rapidly in their own tongue. No one in the crowd understood a single syllable, but translation was unnecessary.
Their eyes said everything.
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Not cruel laughter, but the amused chuckles of people watching islanders set foot on the mainland for the first time.
Right at that moment, a wealthy local woman strolled through the gate, returning from a countryside excursion.
She walked with practiced grace, flanked by a small army of domestic servants.
The entire foreign delegation stopped dead. Every envoy locked eyes on her. A collective, audible gasp rippled through their ranks.
The lady did not flinch. She had seen foreigners from a dozen kingdoms pass through these gates. Turkic horsemen, Persian merchants, monks from the western lands. These islanders were simply the latest novelty. She glided past them like a swan ignoring a flock of pigeons.
She glided past them like a swan ignoring a flock of pigeons.
The Tang military officer leading the escort did not share her patience.
His face tightened. These foreigners were embarrassing him in front of the locals. He reached for the leather riding whip hanging at his side, drew it sharply, and snapped it hard against the cobblestones.
The sharp crack sounded like a firecracker.
The envoys flinched and immediately lowered their eyes.
"Hey! You! The one named Dog!" The officer pointed his whip directly at the delegation's leader. "Keep your people under control!"
A man scurried out from the center of the delegation. He bowed deeply, nodding his head so fast he looked like a pecking chicken. A stream of apologies spilled from his mouth.
The surrounding crowd found this display entertaining. Fresh waves of laughter washed over the square.
The man enduring their amusement was Inugami no Mitasuki, leader of the delegation.
His surname literally translated to Dog Superior.
Despite the public humiliation, Inugami showed no sign of anger. He hurried back toward his companions and leaned close to a calm looking Buddhist monk standing among them.
"Master Honichi," Inugami whispered, his eyes still filled with awe. "This Tang Empire truly is a superior realm."
The monk, Yakushi no Honichi, kept his expression perfectly neutral. His reply was flat and measured.
"Inugami, remember your duty. Control the delegation. Do not annoy the local people. If you anger the Heavenly Qaghan, we will all suffer his wrath."
Inugami nodded vigorously, promising to keep his men under control.
Even so, he could not resist turning his head for one final glance in the direction of the noblewoman who had just disappeared through the gate.
What truly fascinated him was the enormous man following several paces behind her. Her personal bodyguard. A Turkic slave.
For one dangerous moment, Inugami allowed himself to imagine it.
Japanese ships sailing up the Yellow River. Japanese soldiers marching through the streets of Chang'an. Japanese envoys demanding tribute from the Tang Emperor.
He slammed the brakes on his own imagination. Cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He shoved that thought into the deepest, darkest vault of his mind.
Japan was a cluster of rocky islands with barely enough farmland to feed its own people. The Tang Empire stretched across a continent. The very idea was absurd.
This was not his first time setting foot on the Chinese mainland.
Decades earlier, during the tenth year of the Daye era, Prince Shotoku had sent him across the sea as an official envoy to the Sui Dynasty. Even after all those years, Inugami still remembered the vastness of the mainland. The sprawling territories. The glittering palaces. The enormous cities. The terrifying military power of the Sui.
But he remembered something else just as vividly.
The chaos.
War had erupted across the empire. Rebellions spread through the countryside, armies marched in every direction, and blood soaked the land. Inugami had felt like a rabbit trapped inside a cage full of starving wolves, with nowhere to run and no idea which army would arrive next.
He survived for six miserable months before finally fleeing to the docks and boarding a ship home.
The monks who had accompanied his delegation, however, refused to leave. They insisted on remaining behind to study Buddhist scriptures, even as the empire descended further into bloodshed. Inugami assumed they would never survive the chaos.
He was wrong.
Eight years later, those same monks appeared on the shores of Japan.
Honichi had been one of them. He had stayed behind when Inugami fled, studying in the temples of a dying dynasty. He had returned to Japan years later, carrying sutras, scrolls, and a head full of political knowledge that was now dangerously outdated.
The monks quickly sought out Inugami. They knew he had witnessed the glory of the mainland with his own eyes, and they begged him to help persuade Emperor Jomei to send a new diplomatic mission to the Tang Empire.
Inugami initially had his doubts. He remembered the horrors of the Sui collapse far more vividly than the splendor of its palaces.
But the monks would not give up.
They lobbied the court for years, arguing that Japan needed to reconnect with the civilization across the sea. It was a grueling political struggle.
Emperor Jomei had other concerns. The Soga clan was more interested in consolidating power at home than in sending expensive ships across the ocean. The monks spent years petitioning, persuading, and waiting. But eventually, they secured the royal mandate.
The ships were prepared. The delegation boarded. And Inugami once again crossed the Eastern Sea, braving treacherous currents and an ocean that had already claimed more than its share of lives.
The journey hit a major speed bump when the delegation stopped in the kingdom of Baekje to resupply.
While they were there, they began hearing the latest news from the mainland. What they learned completely shattered their understanding of the political situation they were about to enter.
The Eastern Turkic Khaganate had fallen. Its supreme leader was reportedly being held in the Tang imperial court, while tribes across the steppe had begun submitting to the Tang Emperor and addressing him as the Heavenly Qaghan.
The empire they had expected to visit was no longer the Tang they had imagined when they first left Japan.
Inugami listened to the reports in growing disbelief before turning toward Monk Honichi with an expression that was almost accusatory.
"I thought you said this new Tang dynasty was much weaker than the old Sui Empire?"
Honichi looked just as bewildered. He rubbed his bald head repeatedly as he tried to make sense of the information. The political landscape he remembered from before his departure no longer seemed to exist.
"This makes no sense," the monk muttered. "Before I left, the Crown Prince was a man named Li Jiancheng. So who exactly is this Li Shimin sitting on the throne now?"
Neither man knew what had happened at Xuanwu Gate, and they certainly did not know the details of the bloody struggle that had brought Li Shimin to power. All they knew was that the Tang court had undergone a dramatic change, and that the new emperor had somehow managed to accomplish something the Sui rulers had never been able to achieve.
They had originally planned to arrive as representatives of a distant kingdom hoping to impress the new Tang court. After hearing what had happened across the mainland, however, that plan suddenly seemed dangerously arrogant.
Honichi and Inugami eventually reached the same conclusion. Whatever happened next, they could not afford to offend the Tang court. Their delegation would have to abandon any trace of arrogance and behave with the utmost humility from the moment they arrived.
Honichi had too much riding on the mission to take any chances. He wanted to use the prestige of the Tang Empire to strengthen the influence of Buddhism back in Japan, and a successful diplomatic relationship with the new dynasty could give the monks far more influence at court.
Inugami carried an equally heavy burden. He had spent years persuading the Japanese Emperor and his officials to approve and finance the expedition. If the delegation returned home after insulting the Tang court, his political career would probably never recover.
So instead of continuing toward China immediately, they decided to remain in Baekje while they prepared themselves properly.
They stayed there for six long months.
Their first priority was the official state correspondence. The letters they had brought from Japan had been written under the assumption that they were approaching a powerful but still relatively young dynasty. After hearing what had happened to the Eastern Turkic Khaganate, those carefully chosen words suddenly seemed far too confident.
They sent a fast ship back to Japan with an urgent request for the royal court to rewrite the documents, softening the language and replacing anything that might be interpreted as arrogance with expressions of respect and submission.
Their second priority was the delegation itself.
For months, the envoys drilled themselves on mainland etiquette. They practiced how to bow, how deeply to bow, when they were permitted to speak, how they should address officials, where they should stand, and what they were expected to do when appearing before the Emperor.
Every detail mattered. They could not afford to arrive at the Tang court after such a long journey only to ruin the entire mission because someone used the wrong form of address.
By the time the six months were over, the delegation had rewritten its diplomatic letters, memorized the proper etiquette, and thoroughly lowered its expectations.
They had originally sailed west hoping to impress the Tang Empire.
Now they simply hoped to avoid embarrassing themselves in front of it.
They finally set sail in the fourth year of the Zhenguan era, reaching the gates of Chang'an in the early months of the fifth year.
Sadly, that six month crash course in manners evaporated the moment they stepped through the gate.
The officer led them into the city. The instant Inugami saw the interior streets of Chang'an, his petty complaints vanished. He forgot about the officer's rank. He forgot his own name.
Honichi was a terrible judge of national strength. The Tang dynasty was not weaker than the Sui. It was a terrifying, monstrous upgrade.
A hurricane of different languages battered Inugami's ears. A rainbow of vibrant silks blinded his eyes. Every street corner offered a new, impossible marvel.
The entire delegation swiveled their heads frantically, wanting to memorize every brick and catalog every smell. A collective sigh swept through their ranks. If given the choice, they would gladly surrender everything they owned just to live in this paradise forever.
The Deputy Official was unfazed by their awe. He saw this reaction every day. He led the way with a deeply bored expression, casually tossing out basic facts about the city layout.
Honichi translated, and every casual sentence triggered a fresh wave of gasping from the Japanese diplomats.
Back in Japan, these envoys were top tier aristocrats. They were the absolute elite of their society. They knew their own history. They knew their entire government structure was a direct copy of the old Sui dynasty.
Even the clothes on their backs were rigid imitations of outdated Sui fashion.
Suddenly, they understood why the locals at the gate found them so funny. They looked like people wearing cheap, hundred year old costumes. Walking time capsules of a dead empire.
Walking through the broad avenues triggered a severe psychological complex. They were the cheap copies staring at the original masterpiece. The gap in wealth and power made them feel like insignificant insects.
But oddly enough, the majesty of the Tang empire also sparked a bizarre sense of pride. They puffed out their chests. Look at this magnificent beast! This is the culture we emulate! We learn from the best!
This strange cocktail of crushing inferiority and borrowed pride carried them through the next few days. They rested in the guest house, prepared their gifts, and awaited the ultimate test.
Several days later, they were summoned to the royal palace.
Inugami pressed his forehead firmly against the cold tiles of the throne room. The stone was polished to a mirror shine. The hall was huge, with towering wooden pillars that seemed to hold up the sky itself. The acoustics were perfect.
A voice rolled down from the elevated dais. It sounded like thunder rolling across an empty valley, carrying a chillingly casual tone of amusement.
"Tell me," the Emperor said. "Does the ruler of your nation still insist on calling himself the Heavenly Sovereign?"
Inugami remained frozen on the floor. The implications of that question hit him like a physical blow.
Decades ago, Prince Shotoku had sent a letter to the Sui Emperor beginning with a greeting from the Emperor of the Rising Sun to the Emperor of the Setting Sun. The Sui Emperor had been furious. There was only one Son of Heaven. Only one Emperor.
Now, the Tang Emperor, the man who conquered the invincible Turks, was bringing it up again.
It was not a question. It was a low, terrifying threat.
The hush in the throne room felt heavier than a mountain. Inugami could not breathe. He could actually feel the blood draining from his face, leaving him cold and hollow.