Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Ravaging of Keirin’s Eight Provinces

It was July 1590 when So Yoshitoshi of Tsushima forcibly persuaded a reluctant Korean envoy and brought him over.
At that time, Hideyoshi was on his eastern campaign to Kanto and Oshu, and their meeting at Jurakudai took place on November 7th.
In the report submitted by this envoy upon returning home, it was noted that Hideyoshi’s appearance was short and unimpressive, his complexion swarthy, and his gaze piercing enough to transfix a person.
Even to Korean eyes, he appeared monkey-like.
It was also recorded: “After the banquet, Hideyoshi emerged carrying a child and listened to our nation’s music.
The child urinated on his garments.
Hideyoshi laughed, summoned a female attendant to take charge of the child, and changed his robes on the spot.
He comported himself as though no one else were present.”
This child was Tsurumatsu, whom Yodo-dono had borne during the eastern campaign.
Though still an infant, it must have been a parent’s wish to let a beloved son hear foreign music.
Such audacity was not confined to ceremonial occasions.
The state letter addressed to Korea declared: “We shall forthwith cross into Ming, supplant its customs throughout four hundred provinces with those of our court, and extend the imperial capital’s governance across ten thousand generations—all this lies within our resolve.”
It commanded Korea to properly fulfill its role as guide.

The Korean court, so alarmed they did not know what to do, for better or worse informed the Ming government of Japan’s invasion.
Hideyoshi waited for a response from Korea, but none came.

On Tenshō 19, August 23 [1591], he finally announced to the nation the invasion of Tang—that is, the dispatch of troops to Ming China.

While hastening the preparation of weapons and ships, he had Kuroda Nagamasa, Konishi Yukinaga, and Kato Kiyomasa construct a castle in Nagoya, Hizen Province’s Matsuura District, and further ordered Matsuura Shigenobu to build one at Ikikazemoto (present-day Katsumoto). Matsuura District was a site associated with Empress Jingū’s ancient campaign against Korea, and its deep inner bay provided convenient anchorage for the fleet.

When Hideyoshi was appointed commander of the Chūgoku campaign during Nobunaga’s lifetime, he had declared, "I don’t need Chūgoku or the like."
"Once Japan is unified, we shall conquer Joseon and Ming and claim that land," he had declared.

This was a statement characteristic of Hideyoshi—grandiose declarations made to evade Nobunaga’s suspicions—but whether he gradually came to believe his own rhetoric over time or had harbored such ambitions since youth remained unclear.

In the first month of Bunroku 1 (1592), Taikō Hideyoshi ordered the naval and land units and determined their departure dates and sequence.
The First Division consisted of Konishi Yukinaga, Lord of Settsu, and Matsuura Hōin Shigenobu with 13,000 troops; the Second Division, Kato Kiyomasa, Chief of the Bureau of Accounts, with 22,000 troops; the Third Division, Kuroda Nagamasa, Lord of Kai, with 11,000 troops; and from the Fourth to the Twentieth Divisions, a total combined army of 280,000.
However, in reality, approximately 150,000 troops actually landed in Korea and participated in combat.
By late April when Hideyoshi arrived at his headquarters in Nagoya, Yukinaga and Kiyomasa had already successively made amphibious landings at Busan under enemy fire and advanced to occupy several fortresses.
The story that Yukinaga and Kiyomasa competed to be first ashore, with Kato prevailing, remains legendary.
The rear units from the Third Division onward also landed successively at daily intervals.
The three vanguard armies each divided their routes into three and advanced toward Hanseong; though skirmishes occurred sporadically, their momentum resembled marching through unoccupied territory.

As for the Korean military's response to this development, when news of Japanese mobilization arrived, they appointed Shin Ritsu and Li Yi to oversee border defense. Shin Ritsu inspected the two provinces of Gyeonggi and Hwanghae while Li Yi surveyed Chungcheong and Jeolla, though their efforts extended no further than weapon inspections. Shin Ritsu in particular showed utter disregard for the Japanese threat; his violent arrogance manifested in needless executions to assert authority—so much so that local officials reportedly feared him more than ministers and treated him accordingly. Li Yi had stationed himself near Sangju when Konishi Yukinaga's vanguard began closing in on the area. Korean scouts reported this to General Li Yi, but he dismissed their warnings. Instead, he executed them as purveyors of panic. Amidst this turmoil, suspicious figures moved through the woods before their camp. Though many suspected these might be Japanese advance scouts, none dared voice their concerns, fearing summary execution for causing alarm. Eventually Li Yi himself grew suspicious and dispatched a mounted scout—only for gunfire to immediately ring out, felling both rider and horse before his head was taken as a trophy. This confirmed the Japanese presence. When Li Yi ordered arrows loosed, they fell short of their mark. His entire army instantly routed in defeat. Abandoning his horse and stripping off his clothes, Li Yi fled naked with disheveled hair to Kaikei where he procured writing materials to dispatch a messenger reporting the defeat—an account preserved in Korean records and thus likely factual. This occurred on April 24th; by the 27th, Shin Ritsu too met defeat at Chungju. Contrary to his initial bravado, Shin Ritsu grew terrified upon hearing of Japan's unbroken victories and abandoned Chungju to head south, disappearing while crossing treacherous Choryeong Pass. With their commander gone, camp disorder became inevitable. Yet when Japanese forces failed to materialize by next day as scouts had warned, the Koreans reemerged from hiding emboldened—only to execute those same scouts for allegedly spreading falsehoods. Such was their self-serving rationale.

They fought against the Japanese forces that soon appeared but were swiftly defeated, and Shin Ritsu threw himself into the Namhangang River and drowned.
This battlefield was called Danggeumdae—a place with many rice paddies that made galloping horses impractical.
South of this battlefield lay an old castle called Koba-san one ri away.
With overlapping mountain gorges and a river flowing through them, it was a stronghold where one defender could hold off ten thousand.
The Japanese forces had sent scouts expecting Korean troops to be entrenched there but were astonished to find not a single soldier guarding it.
When they crossed over in disbelief, they found a camp laid out amidst the rice paddies.
Later when Ming general Li Rusong pursued the Japanese forces through this area, he reportedly lamented Shin Ritsu’s incompetence.
When news reached Hanseong that their two trusted generals had been effortlessly defeated, chaos engulfed the capital from top to bottom.
The court assembled its ministers for deliberation, where someone proposed: “What the enemy army relies upon are their sharp swords and long spears.
If we forge full-body armor from thick iron and send brave warriors wearing it to charge into their ranks,” they argued, “the enemy will find no opening to strike—victory will surely follow.”
They attempted crafting such armor but found it too heavy for anyone to move.
Another suggested building tall platforms along the Han River to ambush attackers from above.
A quick-witted official retorted: “Then would matchlock bullets also fail to reach us?” The proposal was thus abandoned.
Ultimately they dispatched Prince Imhae to Hamgyeong Province and Prince Sunhwa to Gangwon Province to rally loyalist troops while King Yi So—accompanied by Crown Prince Gwanghae, dozens of royal consorts and court ladies, and over a hundred officials including Yi Sanhae and Ryuu Seiryu—was escorted into distant exile.
At two o’clock in the morning on April 29th, they departed through the West Gate amid soldiers’ and civilians’ wails.

The two armies of Konishi Yukinaga and Katō Kiyomasa, after meeting at Chungju, once again divided their paths and advanced; on the evening of May 2nd, Kiyomasa entered Hanseong through the South Gate, and Yukinaga through the East Gate.
When Kiyomasa reached the Han River near Hanseong, the river stretched three to four chō wide, but with no bridge, they could not cross.
When he looked across the opposite bank, there were many ships moored, but there was no guarantee that an enemy ambush force wasn’t present.
Kiyomasa gazed for a while, then barked, “Where seagulls float unperturbed marks abandoned posts! Have some stout swimmer fetch those vessels!”
The retainer Sone Magoroku stepped forward into the icy current and rowed back one ship, whereupon they commandeered vessels in succession until the entire army had crossed.
Kiyomasa then pressed through Kaesŏng, traversed the peninsula’s waist to reach the western coast, crushed defenses at Haetingchang, and drove relentlessly northward to Hoeryŏng by the Tumen River.
There he captured the two royal princes Imhae-gun and Sunhwa-gun.
Still unsated, he turned his spears against the Uriankhai tribesmen.
The Uriankhai—dwellers of what Koreans now call Jiandao—were feared as northern devils for their savage valor, branded “wild men” or “barbarians” in Joseon records.
Thus Kiyomasa pierced Korea’s northern frontier, yet during this northward march along coastal wastes, he one day spied what he swore was Mount Fuji’s snow-capped cone across the Eastern Sea’s expanse—or so legends claim—dismounting in full armor to offer prayers toward that impossible silhouette.
This fanciful tableau survives in antique battle chronicles and woodblock prints.
But truer than any artist’s fancy was the melancholy gripping commanders whose armies lay stranded hundreds of ri from home.
Of Kiyomasa’s exploits, his tiger hunts ring most legendary—though tales of cross-bladed spears shattered by fanged jaws belong to tavern yarns.
Nor was he alone; Shimazu Yoshihiro and Kuroda Nagamasa too stalked striped beasts through Korean thickets.
Some accounts tell of blades finally prevailing, but no scroll preserves proof of Kiyomasa dueling tigers with his signature weapon.
A single veritable record endures: one great cat felled by his matchlock’s fire.

Meanwhile, Konishi Yukinaga also crossed the Taedong River in mid-July and occupied Pyongyang.

Thus, around the end of that year, the disposition of the Japanese forces centered on Hanseong was approximately as follows.
In Hanseong were approximately 20,000 troops under Commander-in-Chief Ukita Hideie and the Three Magistrates—Masuda Nagamori, Ishida Mitsunari, and Ōtani Yoshitsugu. In Pyongyang were 18,000 troops under Vanguard Konishi Yukinaga, Sō Yoshitoshi, and Matsuura Shigenobu. In Uhyon were 4,000 troops under Tachibana Muneshige, Takahashi Tsunemasu, Chikushi Hiromon, and others.
In Kaesong were Kobayakawa Takakage, Kikkawa Hiroie, and Mōri Motoyasu commanding a force of 20,000.
At all other occupied locations, the respective commanders had strictly maintained their defenses.

On Yukinaga's Defeat at Pyongyang

The Korean government had promptly reported news of the Japanese military’s attack to Emperor Shenzong of Ming—the dynasty’s thirteenth ruler—as previously recounted.
The Ming court initially dismissed this urgent report, but intelligence soon began arriving from regions like Ryukyu and Fujian.
Eventually, the Korean king retreated all the way to Uiju.
Envoys pleading for rescue arrived in Beijing in an unbroken stream.
The Korean king’s flight had been so swift that a Ming envoy suspected him of colluding with the Japanese vanguard—until seeing the monarch’s haggard face dispelled such doubts.
Thereupon, the Ming court commanded Zu Chengxun—a deputy general from Liaoyang—to march south to Uiju with three thousand troops. These combined with two thousand Korean soldiers under General Shi Ru to assault Pyongyang on July sixteenth.
Konishi Yukinaga, So Yoshitoshi, Matsuura Shigenobu, Kuroda Nagamasa, and others defending Pyongyang intercepted and crushed them.
It was during this clash that Kuroda Nagamasa’s subordinate Goto Matabei Mototsugu rode forth—his golden battle standard adorned with twin irises fluttering in the dawn wind—brandishing a massive spear from horseback.

Now, the Korean general Shi Ru died in this battle, and Zu Chengxun returned to Liaoyang with the remaining troops. However, he falsely reported to the Ming court that while our forces were fighting valiantly, a unit of Korean soldiers had surrendered to the enemy, forcing them to withdraw without achieving victory.
The imperial court had its ministers convene a council.
Someone suggested: "We should gather the southern naval forces and strike at Japan’s weak point."
Another said: "Deploy troops at the border with Korea and do not allow the enemy to advance even a single step."
Another said: “It would be better to make peace.”
Discussions were varied, but no decision was reached.
However, Korea was strategically vital land that could not be abandoned for self-defense.
If there was someone who could now recover Korea, they conducted a recruitment offering a reward of 10,000 silver taels and bestowing an earldom.
The reward was not bad, but it seemed no one had confidence, for there were no takers.
This time, they widely solicited opinion papers.
Among these, those that passed the preliminary selection were Cheng Pengqi’s strategy of having the navy attack Japan and Shen Weijing’s plan to repel them through diplomatic persuasion.
The former was not implemented, but there was no doubt that the proposal to strike Japan with a navy was an excellent strategy.
At that time in the Korea Strait as well, the Japanese navy was repeatedly defeated by Korean naval forces and was struggling considerably.
If an excellent and powerful fleet had seized command of the Korea Strait at that time, the Japanese expeditionary forces might have been cut off from their rear and suffered a crushing defeat.
Just as it remains uncertain how the Russo-Japanese conflict in Manchuria might have unfolded had the Baltic Fleet not been annihilated in the Sea of Japan.
For Korea and Ming, regrettably, this naval deployment proposal was never realized.

Shen Weijing’s proposal was immediately adopted, and he was appointed as brigade-general. This man had originally been a rogue who drifted to Beijing, but among his acquaintances was one who had once been captured by Wokou pirates and lived long years in Japan. Having absorbed details of Japan from this friend over time, Weijing now saw his chance to rise and stepped forward to take on the role of diplomatic envoy. At August’s end, he met Konishi Yukinaga at the foot of Mount Konpuku north of Pyongyang Castle.

Yukinaga had agreed to meet with the Ming envoy because he had grown reluctant to press the Japanese expedition further—indeed, he had resolved to seek peace at the first favorable tide. The arrival of Shen Weijing would have been most welcome to him. Thereupon Yukinaga demanded that Ming dispatch an official peace delegation within fifty days.

Weijing accepted these terms, erecting boundary markers on the northern mountainside to forbid crossovers by either army before departing. A ceasefire took hold. Upon returning to Beijing, Weijing reported Yukinaga’s willingness to negotiate peace.

Yet Ming authorities had already named Li Rusong commander-in-chief and were massing relief forces in Liaodong—they now refused to entertain Weijing’s proposal. Not only did they ignore him, but Li Rusong flew into such rage that he nearly ordered Weijing’s execution until a staff officer intervened, proposing instead to use Weijing in deceiving Yukinaga into complacency.

When fifty days passed without Ming envoys arriving and suspicions grew among Yukinaga’s ranks, Weijing—now complicit in the ruse—returned to announce that peace delegates would soon come. Unaware of their deception, Yukinaga and his men waited eagerly even as Li Rusong’s forty-three thousand troops pressed against the Yalu River mustering at Yizhou.

The army divided into three formations they termed Left Flank, Center Flank and Right Flank: Yang Yuan commanded the Left with Li Rumei and Zha Dashou under him; Li Rubai led the Center; Zhang Shijue headed the Right alongside Zu Chengxun. Each formation exceeded eleven thousand men—nearly all cavalry.

On New Year’s Day of Bunroku 2 (Wanli 21 in the Ming calendar), this three-flank grand army deployed south of Anju.
At that time, Ryuu Seiryu, who had been struggling tirelessly as a minister of Korea’s emergency cabinet, came and held a meeting in the camp.
Seiryu opened a map of Pyongyang and indicated the terrain, but Li Rusong declared, “The Japanese dogs rely on nothing but their matchlock guns.”
“If we deploy artillery, what could they possibly do?” he proclaimed, as if already cradling victory in his heart.
He calmly wrote the following poem on a fan and showed it to Seiryu.

Leading troops by starlight to the river’s edge,
To proclaim Korea’s unrest remains unquelled.
The enlightened lord awaits daily reports of victory banners;
This humble servant ponders by night, observing his wine cup.
Spring arrives—killing intent, heart still bold;
Now departing—their ominous aura chills bones cold.
Amidst laughter, I dare say this transcends mere strategy;
In dreams, I often recall mounting my warhorse’s saddle.

Li Rusong advanced further, first commanding his vanguard officer to inform Konishi Yukinaga’s camp: “Shen Weijing has returned once more. You ought to receive him properly.”

Yukinaga and his men rejoiced, dispatching over twenty retainers including Takeuchi Kichibei from their own forces and Oura Magoroku from Yoshitoshi’s contingent. The Ming army welcomed them with a banquet, but halfway through the feast, ambushers sprang forth—capturing Kichibei and slaughtering his attendants. Magoroku and two others hacked through the enemy ranks, barely escaping back to Pyongyang. Only then did Yukinaga’s faction realize Ming had deceived them—but the revelation came too late.

On the fifth day of the first month, the Right Flank Commander Zhang Shijue with thirteen thousand troops attacked the Botandai and Chilsongmun areas north of Pyongyang Castle; the Left Flank Commander Yang Yuan with eleven thousand troops attacked the Futsūmon area west of the castle; and the Center Flank Commander Li Rubai and Korean general Li Yi with eighteen thousand troops attacked the Gankyūmun area south of the castle.
To the east lay the Taedong River, making this a complete encirclement attack.
The Japanese forces entrenched in Pyongyang, numbering eleven thousand, repeatedly attempted night raids but failed to achieve success.
On the seventh day at eight o'clock in the morning, Li Rusong ordered a general attack.
The sounds of explosions from the Ming army's Great General Cannons, Folangji cannons, Thunderclap Cannons, Mother-and-Son Cannons, and fire arrows relentlessly bombarded the castle gates, while flames and smoke filled the city within.
The Japanese forces, relying on the walls, rained down matchlock gunfire upon the charging Ming army.
Many Ming soldiers perished, but undeterred, they clambered over corpses to scale the walls.
The Japanese forces wielded swords and spears in their desperate defense, but being outnumbered, withdrew to the inner castle.
Li Rusong and Yang Yuan entered the outer castle through Futsūmon; Li Rubai through Gankyūmun; and Zhang Shijue through Chilsongmun.
At this time, Konishi Yukinaga's retainer Kōsai Suemura and Shigenobu's retainer Matsuura Genjirō's combined forces had been holding firm at Botandai; however, as escape became impossible for Genjirō, he committed seppuku and perished.
That night, Yukinaga met with his generals to deliberate their course of action; however, with their provisions store already burned and no reinforcements coming from Hōsan, they resolved that retreating once to Keijō to regroup was their only viable option. Secretly exiting the castle, they crossed the ice of the Taedong River and fled toward the capital.
Being a retreat in the midst of severe cold, the scene was utterly disastrous.
When Ōtomo Yoshimune of Hōsan heard that Pyongyang was surrounded, he was shocked and fled to Keijō one step ahead of Yukinaga.
When Taikō Hideyoshi heard of this, deeming Yoshimune to have disgraced Japan's military prestige, he confiscated Yoshimune's domain.

Until their defeat at Pyongyang, they had maintained a proactive stance; but hereafter, though achieving victories in various engagements, signs of a full retreat began to manifest on the broader strategic front. However, amidst this period, the bloody battle at Byeokjegwan, serving as a rearguard action, left the Ming army pale with terror.

The Bloody Battle of Byeokjegwan

When news that Pyongyang had fallen reached Keijō, Ukita Hideie consulted with the three magistrates and dispatched Ankokuji Ekei to Kaesong to persuade Kobayakawa Takakage to retreat to Keijō.
Kobayakawa declared, “The reason we have built numerous castles and defended them like a string of pearls is precisely for situations such as today’s.”
“Since this place holds strategic advantage,” he declared, “this old warrior shall gladly meet battle here and settle supremacy with the Ming army.”
“Since crossing the sea, this old warrior has made it his true intent day and night to leave his corpse exposed on the battlefield.”
“This old warrior has never once thought of returning alive to Japan.”
“Even if this old warrior were to die here in battle, it would bring no shame upon Japan,” he declared resolutely, refusing to retreat.

Ōtani Yoshitsugu, Assistant Director of the Ministry of Justice and one of the three magistrates, hurried from Hanseong to persuade Takakage.
“We are all well aware of your martial prowess,” he declared with bureaucratic precision honed through years of administrative warfare, “but this time we intend to gather our main forces in Hanseong for a decisive battle.”
“Moreover,” he continued, fingers brushing the hilt of his ceremonial dagger in unconscious rhythm with his words, “should the ice of the Imjin River between Kaesong and Hanseong melt with spring’s arrival, your maneuvers would become impossible.” This strategic calculus finally compelled the forces from surrounding castles to withdraw toward the capital like iron filings drawn to a lodestone.
Though all gathered troops entered the city walls, Kobayakawa Takakage and Tachibana Muneshige’s armies alone remained outside—deploying beyond the West Great Gate with Yeongeunmun as their vigilant vanguard.
When castle generals advised bringing troops inside, Takakage answered with a sneer that carried across the frozen drill grounds: “The Ming host marching south will inevitably besiege this fortress.”
“Were our entire army to cower within these walls,” his voice cracked like winter timber under strain, “how would you propose to secure supply routes?”
“None here wish to relive Pyongyang’s disaster.” The silence following this pronouncement hung heavier than snow-laden pines.
Kobayakawa’s stratagems left the commanders speechless—not through volume, but through tactical inevitability as inexorable as thawing river ice.

Now in Kaesong, which Kobayakawa and his forces had withdrawn from, Li Rusong and his men had already entered in their stead and were devising strategies to capture Hanseong.
Qian Shizhen advocated a cautious approach and insisted on deploying surprise troops to exploit the chaos.
Zha Dashou argued for capitalizing on their victory to strike decisively.
First seeking to ascertain enemy movements, Zha Dashou set out on reconnaissance with a detachment; near Paju they encountered a Japanese scout unit.
With their small numbers proving no match, the Japanese scouts were swiftly scattered beneath Zha Dashou's cavalry hooves, leaving over sixty dead.
Elated by this success, Zha Dashou reported his victory to Li Rusong.
At this time intelligence had arrived indicating Japan's elite forces had been nearly exhausted at Pyongyang while only weak troops remained in Hanseong—soldiers not worth fearing. Thus Li Rusong immediately left some troops in Kaesong and personally led twenty thousand men forth with Li Ning and Zu Chengxun as vanguard.
As Ōtani Yoshitsugu had foreseen, the Imjin River's ice had half-melted; Ryu Seiryu ingeniously bridged it using kudzu vines, enabling the great army to enter Paju without delay.

In Hanseong’s Japanese forces, as the Ming army’s arrival had now become certain, there were various debates over who should be appointed as the vanguard commander.
Kobayakawa stepped forward and declared that none other than Tachibana Sakon-shōgen Muneshige was suited for this great task.
"When this old warrior’s father Motonari defeated Ōtomo Shuri no Daibu Yoshishige’s thirty thousand cavalry seven times at Tatara Beach in Kyushu with forty thousand horsemen," he recounted, his voice carrying the weight of ancestral legacy, "Muneshige’s father, the Governor of Hōki, fought with a mere two or three thousand cavalry and ultimately led Ōtomo to victory."
Since Kobayakawa recommended that Muneshige—being the son of that commander—and his entire faction all had distinguished records, asserting that Muneshige’s three thousand would equal ten thousand men, the generals found this reasonable and appointed him as the vanguard.
The young Muneshige, having proven his mettle amidst the assembly of seasoned commanders, returned to his camp and summoned his followers, resolving to fight a desperate battle where survival was one in ten.
The first unit consisted of this Muneshige along with his younger brother Takahashi Naomasa and three thousand troops.
The second unit comprised eight thousand troops under Kobayakawa; the third unit included Kobayakawa Hidekane, Mōri Motoyasu, Chikushi Hiromon, and others with five thousand; while the fourth unit consisted of Kikkawa Hiroie’s four thousand troops.
The commander-in-chief of the total force of twenty thousand was Kobayakawa Takakage.
Ukita Hideie—alongside the three magistrates, Kuroda Nagamasa, and others—also deployed their forces in orderly formation.

Ono Izumi, a general under vanguard commander Muneshige, proposed having a general join him to form the vanguard and crush the enemy’s scout unit.
If the scouts fled, the main force behind them would be thrown into disarray.
Since Ono Izumi had advised exploiting this weakness, Muneshige assigned Tachibana Sanzaemon as his deputy and positioned them as the forward reserve.
Due to tactics like Ikenobe Ryūemon’s advances, Japanese forces often engaged in small-group skirmishes.
Yet the Ming army waged war through coordinated unit actions.
To counter this, scattered skirmish tactics would prove inadequate.
Thus, Muneshige designated Tokiji Den'emon for the central reserve and himself for the rear reserve.
All preparations were now complete.
That evening, Kuroda Nagamasa arrived at Muneshige’s camp wearing his signature water buffalo horn helmet and announced he would command one flank.
Muneshige’s troops reportedly grew emboldened upon seeing Nagamasa’s valiant figure.
Both Muneshige and Nagamasa were twenty-five—truly exemplars of military commanders in their prime.

At 2:00 a.m. on January 26th, Muneshige’s army dispatched scouts under Tokiji Tajima and Morishima Bitchū—two samurai each commanding several dozen matchlock soldiers. At this hour, Li Rusong of Paju had likewise commenced his advance toward Hanseong with the Ming army. The Ming forces had not only deployed their own scouts but concealed ambush troops throughout nearby hills and distant fields. Tokiji and Morishima’s unit detected these hidden forces; firing matchlocks from scattered positions to simulate greater numbers before charging—a tactic that scattered the ambushers in disarray. Upon receiving this report, Muneshige immediately ordered his main force forward. That dawn brought bitter winds howling across the camp. Muneshige reportedly prepared porridge to share with his men, then warmed sake in iron cauldrons to fortify their spirits before battle.

As Ono Izumi of the vanguard prepared to depart, it was Tokiji Den'emon, commander of the middle reserve, who came rushing in.
Den'emon requested that Izumi yield the vanguard position.
Izumi was both shocked and enraged, and would not permit it by military law.
Den'emon clung to Izumi’s armored sleeve, believing today’s battle would decide the fate between Japan and Goryeo.
“I shall charge ahead and die in battle.
If we charge in with a death-defying assault, the enemy formation will surely be thrown into disarray.
At that time, everyone shall charge in and seize glory.
By Hachiman Daibosatsu, I do not request to lead the vanguard to establish my own military merit.”
With these words, he shed tears.
Moved, Izumi finally exchanged the vanguard and middle reserve forces.

Amid thick fog that obscured visibility, Ming vanguard commander Zha Dashou led two thousand cavalry south past Huiyin Ridge—but Tokiji’s five hundred troops encountered them around seven o’clock as dawn broke.
In Mirokuin’s fields, sounds of galloping men and horses erupted instantly—gunfire crackling like roasting beans, swords and halberds clashing—shaking heaven and earth.
Amano Gen’emon charged forward with some thirty horsemen, but found no gap to penetrate the Ming army’s dense formation.
As he prepared to retreat, Tokiji Den’emon—announcing himself as “Uchida Tadahe”—spurred his horse forward and broke through with his spear, cutting down five or six riders.
Though his foes likely didn’t comprehend his name, he seemed to declare it out of habit.
Seeing their commander’s desperate resolve, Den’emon’s men followed suit and charged.
Outnumbered fourfold, Den’emon’s unit soon found itself surrounded at the center.
Gathering his troops, Den’emon commanded: “Lure them close! Then carve a path through their rear and withdraw to the middle reserve!”
“They’ll surely pursue then.”
“Once we join our reserve ranks, wheel about and break through straight!”
“This way we’ll rout them cleanly!” he roared while fighting—until at last, grievously wounded, he fell.
Events unfolded precisely as he’d foretold.
The unit suffered over a hundred casualties.
When Ono Izumi’s middle reserve took up the fight, they showed no sign of breaking.
Just as peril loomed anew, Muneshige’s two thousand troops raised a thunderous war cry and surged forth.
Even these formidable Ming forces retreated slightly—Muneshige secured eight hundred men at the rear while ordering pursuit—but fresh Ming reinforcements arrived now, complicating matters.
Ikenobe Ryūemon’s forces alone counted over two hundred dead and wounded.
Then came Kobayakawa Takakage’s vanguard—Muneshige regrouped his men briefly at Komaruyama before yielding the front to six thousand fresh troops under Takakage’s commanders: Awaya Shirobee Kageo and Inoue Gorohee Kagesada.
Contemporary accounts describe the Ming advance thus:

“The enemy forces, their numbers dark in appearance, were deployed calmly, their momentum extraordinarily formidable.”
“As they drew near, they adjusted their rhythm, beat war drums, fired large artillery to raise black smoke, and charged forward.”

It is written.
It was formidable.
Also,

“The size of their horses was outrageously large, I must say.”
“The men were also outrageously large, I must say.”
“The Kamigata-shū (the Japanese forces) were also outrageously astonished, I must say.”
Therefore, the Japanese forces too had no choice but to fight to the death.
The two vanguard commanders of Kobayakawa—Awaya and Inoue—consulted on whether to combine their forces into one unit to confront the enemy.
When Kobayakawa’s retainer Sase Kanbei Masakatsu admonished that such a course was ill-advised, Shirobee positioned his forces to the left and Gorohee to the right to face the enemy, exchanging fire with large and small artillery—but Shirobee’s subordinate Sankichi Tarōzaemon Mototaka, the flag bearer, was struck by a bullet and fell.
When the other flag bearers saw this and panicked, the Ming army observed the commotion, raised a war cry, and pressed their attack.
As three thousand Japanese troops wavered in disarray, Shirobee spurred his horse up a slope to the left and issued commands.
Awaya Kamon, Masuda Shichinai, Murakami Hachirōzaemon, Ishihara Tarōzaemon, Torigoe Gorōbyōe, Kōchi Tarōzaemon, and thirty-four other warriors each took up their spears and held their ground.
When Inoue Gorōbyōe began descending from the high ground to reinforce them upon seeing this dire struggle, Sase Kanbei once more restrained his horse’s reins and declared, “I implore you to wait a moment—Awaya’s forces will collapse.”
Sure enough, Shirobee’s forces crumbled and retreated as the Ming army surged forward like a raging tide.
Kanbei observed this and said, “The time is right; gather them now!”
Inoue’s forces thundered down from above just as the Ming army attempted to ascend the slope, scattering them instantly while Awaya’s troops wheeled about to counterattack.
It was around ten o’clock when Kobayakawa Takakage—having positioned his headquarters atop Mangnyeokhyun and observed the unfolding battle formations from horseback—deemed the moment ripe and ordered a full-scale advance across his entire army.
Kobayakawa Hidekane, Mōri Motoyasu, and Tsukushi Hirokado swung their five thousand troops rightward to strike the Ming left flank while Tachibana Muneshige’s three thousand soldiers lying in wait at Komaruyama swept left to assail their right flank.
Kobayakawa himself followed behind Inoue and Awaya’s forces.
As they pursued the enemy toward Goyang, Ming general Yang Yuan arrived leading fresh reinforcements.
Li Rusong took heart from this development as his generals—Li Rubai, Li Rumei, Li Ning—each drew their swords and joined the fray.

However, due to the battlefield being filled with numerous rice paddies and narrow terrain, the Ming army—with its abundance of cavalry—could not freely maneuver their horses and also struggled to deploy dense formations.
As the Japanese forces continued their attacks from three sides, the Ming army gradually began to show signs of defeat.
Li Rusong had initially fallen from his horse and injured his forehead when crossing Huiyin Ridge, but now amid the chaotic melee, he fell from his horse once more.
Inoue Gorōbyōe saw this and immediately spurred his horse, attempting to thrust his spear at Rusong.
Ming general Li Yousheng spurred his horse forward to block this and finally managed to have him retreat by mounting another horse, but Yousheng himself was struck by a bullet and died in battle.
As for one like Li Rumei, it is said he personally shot and killed a golden-armored Japanese; he engaged a Japanese unit commander and defeated him.
The Ming army fought valiantly in this manner, but as a cold rain arrived, their movements grew increasingly sluggish. In contrast, the Japanese forces rained crossfire from the high ground on both flanks, until finally they could hold out no longer.
The fierce battle reached its climax around noon, but soon the Ming army began a full retreat, and the Japanese forces pursued them as far as Huiyin Ridge.
However, deeming a prolonged pursuit unnecessary, Tachibana’s vanguard Ono Izumi reined in his horse and restrained the Japanese forces, while Kobayakawa also ordered a ceasefire.
The Japanese forces returned to Hanseong in triumph that evening, having reportedly taken over six thousand heads of the Ming-Korean allied forces.
This was the Battle of Byeokjegwan.

Having suffered a crushing defeat, Li Rusong retreated to Kaesong and sent a memorial to the Ming court, in which he stated:

"The enemy troops stationed in the capital number over two hundred thousand; with our forces outmatched in numbers and your servant gravely ill, I humbly request that another be appointed to assume this command."
Even now, this remains true—when circumstances turn adverse, they use illness as pretext to resign.

Ryu Seiryu, a loyal Korean subject, saw this and declared, “The figure of two hundred thousand is a lie.” To this, Li Rusong retorted, “Since it was your own countrymen who reported it, the truth is no concern of mine.”
At that time, there was someone who reported the shortage of provisions, but Li Rusong, deeming it Seiryu’s responsibility, furiously ordered him to kneel before the court and sought to punish him under military law.
To think that such an insult could be inflicted upon a state minister—it was truly excessive.
Seiryu endured this minor slight before greater concerns and offered a formal apology, but when he reflected on how state affairs had finally come to this, it is said he could not help but shed tears.

When Li Rusong finally heard rumors that Kato Kiyomasa was preparing to attack Pyongyang from Hamgyeong Province, he seized this as a convenient pretext. Rejecting even Ryu Seiryu’s desperate pleas, he withdrew from Kaesong to Pyongyang and made no further attempts to advance southward.

After the Battle of Byeokjegwan came the battle for the capture of Jinju Castle.
In the earlier phase of the Japanese invasions of Korea—that is, during the Bunroku Campaign—these two were the largest battles.
After the defeat at Byeokjegwan, the Ming’s morale completely waned, and soon peace negotiations arose.
The Japanese forces had grown considerably weakened from prolonged combat, so Hideyoshi ordered the main force to return home for the time being.
Although the peace negotiations had taken various twists and turns, the Ming envoy’s delivery of a state letter declaring, “We hereby confer upon you the title of King of Japan,” enraged Hideyoshi, causing the talks to collapse entirely and leading to another Japanese invasion of Korea.
This was the Keichō Campaign, and Kato Kiyomasa’s siege of Ulsan occurred during this time.

The principal architects of the Battle of Byeokjegwan were, as previously noted, Kobayakawa Takakage and Tachibana Muneshige. Yet at this time, the Japanese forces in Hanseong had exhausted their provisions, and though the Three Magistrates and generals knew retreat was unavoidable, they spouted bravado with empty words.

Though the military council was divided, Kobayakawa Takakage had claimed illness and refrained from attending deliberations. But once he judged the moment when provisions were nearly exhausted, he appeared at the council and declared, “Even if the Japanese forces starve to death in this capital, it will do no good for Japan’s future. Retreat is the proper course.” Thus, all generals concurred with Kobayakawa’s proposal.

At that moment, Kobayakawa further declared, “However, to think that we should withdraw from this capital without good reason is folly.”

“If we retreat without a fight upon learning that the Ming forces are advancing in great numbers, it will be tantamount to fleeing.”

“We must fight one decisive battle here; retreating without doing so is unthinkable.”

“If we engage them with our entire army here, their main force will find retreat difficult.”

“This old warrior shall handle tomorrow’s battle—during that time, you must withdraw the troops. We must fight one decisive battle,” he declared. Taking charge of the rearguard action, he achieved a great victory—this was the Battle of Byeokjegwan.

It is said that Takakage’s valiant appearance at this time was like that of Marishiten.

It was Muneshige who agreed with Takakage, and together they fought valiantly.
Kato Kiyomasa, stationed in Anbyon, heard of the Japanese army's great victory in Hanseong and declared, "The vanguard must surely be Tachibana"—and indeed it was.

From the circumstances of this battle could be seen the disunity within the Japanese forces—only Takakage and Muneshige’s armies stationed in Hanseong truly fought with indomitable spirit for Japan’s sake.

One day, as Hideyoshi was discussing matters of Korea with his senior councilors, Kuroda Yoshitaka declared loudly from behind a partition—intending for Hideyoshi to hear—“Had you sent either Ieyasu or Toshiie last year when dispatching the large army to Korea—or if not them, this humble one who understands the ways of war—the military administration would have been orderly without delays, the Koreans reassured and submitting to Japan, and the subjugation of Ming would have been easily achieved.”
“However, as Kato and Konishi were young commanders who relied solely on reckless courage, their governance became inconsistent. The Korean people, distrusting Japan’s laws and decrees, fled into the mountains and forests without any sense of security, leaving the three provinces of Korea a wasteland barren of crops.”
“How could we ever invade Ming if we must transport provisions all the way from Japan?”
It is said that Hideyoshi, hearing this through the partition, thought it reasonable—a remark that truly pinpointed the fundamental cause behind the failure of the Japanese invasions of Korea.

Afterword

The works referenced in the creation of this narrative are as follows.

*Amano Gen’emon Obogaki*

As it is alternatively known as *Tachibana Chōsenki*, this work was written by his subordinate Gen’emon concerning Tachibana Muneshige’s military exploits.

*Yoshino Jingoroemon Obogaki*

*Chōbīroku*

Ryu Seiryu, a loyal subject of Korea, chronicled how the Eight Provinces were ravaged and fashioned this account as a warning for posterity.

*Seikan Yōryaku*

Authored by Kawaguchi Chōju, Director of the Mito Shōkōkan, [*Seikan Yōryaku*] references Hideyoshi’s chronicles, the Sō clan’s family records, the Mōri clan’s archives, *Kuroda Kiryaku*, *Kiyomasa-ki*, and other commanders’ personal histories, while also drawing from Korea’s *Chōbīroku* and Ming’s *Ming Shi*—concise yet authoritative.

*Horimoto Chōsen Seibatsu-ki*

Others

*Nihon Senshi Chōsen Eki*

*Kinsei Nihon Kokuminshi Chōsen Eki Tō*