DEATH IS ETERNAL #424

2,000 words

The last DEATH IS ETERNAL didn’t bring changes... actually, it brought; after all, it was published at 6 pm PT instead of 5 pm PT. But that’s not the kind of change I’m talking about. That was not even a change; it was more like a hiccup. Anyway, the last newsletter was different, but this one will bring a change. And the change is: no WRITING section. Why? Because I don’t have anything to say. I tried to find something to write an essay about it but failed. Last week, I thought I didn’t have anything, but I ended up finding something. This week, though...

Contents

1. HEIAN: A CITY REBORN

2. Bye!

3. Life (from October 21 to November 3, 2024)

4. Reviews #343 and #344: GREEN LANTERN: WAR JOURNAL by Phillip Kennedy Johnson, Montos, Adriano Lucas, and others and THE BOY WONDER by Juni Ba, Chris O’Halloran, Aditya Bidikar, and others

5. The end

1. HEIAN: A CITY REBORN

Photo by Sorasak on Unsplash

In the year 793 AD, the winds of change swept through the lands of Japan, carrying with them the whispers of a new beginning. The great Emperor Kammu stood before his retainers in the Imperial Hall, his eyes gleaming with determination. The Capital, Nagaoka-kyō, was not to be the eternal seat of power after all. It had been only nine years since the empire shifter from the ancient Heijō-kyō, and now, another move loomed on the horizon.

Kammu’s voice resonated through the chamber as he spoke of Kadono, a place nestled between two rivers, far to the northeast of Nagaoka-kyō. “Kandono has beautiful mountains and rivers, as well as good transport links by sea and land, making it convenient for people to assemble from all four corners of the country,” he declared, quoting the ancient wisdom recorded in the Nihon Kiryaku,

The retainers exchanged glances, their faces a blend of curiosity and unease. The capital of Nagaoka-kyō had faced trials—natural disasters had wreaked havoc on its people, and the assassination of the trusted advisor, Fujiwara no Tanetsugu, still lingered in the collective memory. The emperor’s words about Kadono stirred hopes for a fresh start, but the wounds of the past were not easily forgotten.

Among the crowd stood Fujiwara no Yoshikuni, a young bureaucrat and distant relative of Tanetsugu. He had watched with quiet sorrow as his cousin’s ambition was cut short. Yoshikuni was not yet prominent in court, but he held an undeniable understanding of the delicate balance between politics and the emperor’s grand vision.

After the assembly, Yoshikuni left the palace grounds, his mind preoccupied with the emperor’s decision. The streets of Nagaoka-kyō, once brimming with optimism, now bore the marks of unrest. Merchants, commoners, and aristocrats alike whispered about the constant relocations, their lives uprooted by Imperial Decree. The rumours were fuelled by fear—what disasters awaited them in Kadono? What plots might unfold among the nobles?

Yoshikuni walked through the bustling marketplace, where the scent of dried fish and incense mixed in the autumn air. He stopped before a vendor, an older man whose wrinkled hands meticulously sorted his wares,

“Good day, noble sir,” the vendor greeted, bowing low. “Can I interest you in some fine silks? They were brought just this week from the southern provinces.”

Yoshikuni smiled faintly. “Not today. I’m curious, though—what do the people say of the emperor’s decision?”

The vendor’s smile faded, and his eyes flickered with caution. “There is much talk, my lord. Some believe the emperor is wise to move us from this cursed place, but others... well, they fear Kadono may hold even darker omens.”

Yoshikuni nodded, sensing the unspoken worries of the people. He thanked the vendor and continued walking, his thoughts clouded with the uncertainties surrounding the future.

That evening, Yoshikuni found himself at a small gathering of courtiers and scholars. The conversation naturally turned to the relocation, and as the wine flowed, so did the speculations.

“It’s the temples,” one man said, his voice low as if the very walls had ears. “The emperor is moving the capital to distance himself from the influence of the Buddhist clergy. Nagaoka-kyō failed because of their interference. Kadono will be free if such entanglements.”

“Perhaps,” another mused, “but Kadono is far from Yamato, the heart of the aristocracy. The emperor wishes to weaken the old families who supported his rivals.”

Yoshikuni listened intently. There was truth in both claims. The temples of Nara had long wielded considerable power, and Emperor Kammu’s efforts to curb their influence were no secret. Yet, the political machinations ran deeper than mere religious control. The struggle between the Tenji and Temmu factions had left scars on the Imperial line, and Kammu’s desire to break free from old alliances was as much a personal crusade as it was a political strategy.

As the night wore on, Yoshikuni excused himself, leaving the lively debate behind. He wandered the quiet streets of the capital, his mind returning to the emperor’s vision. Kadono... a place surrounded by mountains, rivers flowing like veins through the land. It was said that Kammu had gazed upon it from the Shōgun Tsuka, and, at that moment, he had seen the future of the empire.

Yoshikuni paused at the banks of the river, staring into the dark waters that mirrored the sky. He could see the potential in the emperor’s plan. A new city, free from the shadows of the past, could indeed flourish. But would the people follow? Would the nobles relinquish their grip on power so quickly?

The answer, Yoshikuni knew, was uncertain.

In the days that followed, preparations for the move accelerated. Engineers and labourers were dispatched to Kadono, where construction on the new capital began in earnest. The palace was to be built first, a towering structure that would stand at the end of the grand boulevard, Suzaku-oji, visible from every corner of the city. Emperor Kammu’s authority would be cemented in stone and wood, a reminder of his divine mandate.

As Yoshikuni watched the city take shape, he marvelled at the scale of the endeavour. Canals were dug to control the rivers, preventing the floods that had plagued Nagaoka-kyō. Ports were established to facilitate the flow of goods, and the emperor’s careful planning seemed to anticipate every challenge.

By the autumn of 794 AD, the capital of Heian-kyō was ready to receive its first citizens. Emperor Kammu arrived in a grand procession, his robes billowing in the breeze. As he stood before the assembled crowd, he proclaimed, “I, hereby, name this city Heian-kyō,” signalling the dawn of a new era.

Yoshikuni stood among the spectators, his heart swelling with pride and apprehension. The city of peace and tranquillity had been born, but only time would reveal whether it could live up to its name.

The end

2. Bye!

Here’s where we say our farewell to the free subscribers. If you want to read the rest of DEATH IS ETERNAL, consider becoming a paying subscriber. If you already are a paying subscriber, first of all, thank you very, very much! And second, I’ll see you on the other side of the paywall.