critical interventions

FRAGRANT ORCHID
THE STORY OF MY EARLY LIFE

YA M A G U C H I YO S H I KO
A N D F U J I WA R A S A K U YA

Translate d, with an Intro duc tion,

by C H I A - N I N G C H A N G

Fragrant Orchid

Critical Interventions

Sheldon H. Lu, general editor

Cinema, Space, and Polylocality in a Globalizing China
Yingjin Zhang
Children of Marx and Coca-Cola: Chinese Avant-garde Art
and Independent Cinema
Xiaoping Lin
Uneven Modernity: Literature, Film, and Intellectual Discourse
in Postsocialist China
Haomin Gong
Remaking Chinese Cinema: Through the Prism of Shanghai,
Hong Kong, and Hollywood
Yiman Wang
From Fu Manchu to Kung Fu Panda: Images of China in American Film
Naomi Greene

CRITICAL INTERVENTIONS

Fragrant Orchid
The Story of
My Early Life

Yamaguchi Yoshiko
Fujiwara Sakuya
Translated, with an Introduction,
by Chia-ning Chang

University of Hawaii Press

Honolulu

Publication of this book has been assisted by a grant from the University of California
atDavis.

Critical Interventions
Sheldon H. Lu, general editor
Critical Interventions consists of innovative, cutting-edge works with a focus on Asia or
the presence of Asia in other continents and regions. Series titles explore a wide range of
issues and topics in the modern and contemporary periods, especially those dealing with
literature, cinema, art, theater, media, cultural theory, and intellectual history as well as
subjects that cross disciplinary boundaries. The series encourages scholarship that combines solid research with an imaginative approach, theoretical sophistication, and stylistic lucidity.
2015 University of Hawaii Press
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
20 19 18 17 16 15

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Yamaguchi, Yoshiko
[Ri Kran watashi no hansei. English]
Fragrant orchid : the story of my early life / Yamaguchi Yoshiko, Fujiwara Sakuya ;
translated, with an introduction, by Chia-ning Chang.
pages cm (Critical interventions)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Yamaguchi, Yoshiko. 2. ActorsJapanBiography. I. Fujiwara,
Sakuya, 1937 author. II. Chang, Chia-ning, translator. III. Title. IV. Series:
Critical interventions (Honolulu, Hawaii)
PN2928.Y276A313 2015
791.4302'8092dc23
[B]
2014024857
University of Hawaii Press books are printed on acid-free
paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and
durability of the Council on Library Resources.
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc.

Contents

NOTES ON TRANSLATION

vii

CHRONOLOGY

ix

INTRODUCTION

Yamaguchi Yoshiko in War time East Asia:

Transnational Stardom and Its Predicaments

1. My Fushun Years

|
|

15

32

4. The Tianjin Encounters

5. The Birth of Li Xianglan

6. My Xinjing Years

49
|

65

81

7. The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

8. The Nichigeki Incident

9. The Spring of My Youth

10. The Two Yoshikos

xvii

2. My Fengtian Years
3. My Beijing Years

98

113
|

131

148

11. Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

12. Glory to Eternity

15. Farewell, Li Xianglan

169

186

13. Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

14. Shanghai, 1945

204

223
|

239

Addendum: The PostLi Xianglan Years

257

vi

Contents

Postscript: Yamaguchi Yoshiko

Postscript: Fujiwara Sakuya

NOTES

287
289

293

FILMOGRAPHY
INDEX

343

345

ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR

Plates follow page 124.

359

Notes on Translation

In the introductory essay and the main body of the translation, Chinese and Japanese names and titles are translated into English and followed by their romanization in parentheses. References to Yamaguchi Yoshiko are complicated by different
readings of her Chinese stage name: Li Xianglan in Mandarin and Ri Kran in
Japanese. Additionally, Yamaguchi the autobiographer occasionally adopts a detached narrative perspective, referring to herself in the third person by her Chinese stage name. For the sake of clarity and consistency, I have used her Japanese
birth name, Yamaguchi Yoshiko, in my essay, except in situations that clearly call
for Li Xianglan, as when her name is referred to in China, in a Chinese context,
or by a Chinese person. In the main body of the translation, I have refrained from
using the Japanese reading Ri Kran in order to avoid undue confusion in the
minds of some readers.
I have included brief explanatory notes from the original text in my translation whenever I find their inclusions to be helpful to readers. In other instances,
they appear as part of my own annotations to the text. In many instances, I have
rearranged the original paragraph layout to enhance the narrative movement in
the English translation.
I have provided notes on historical and literary figures, artists, place names,
and other items when additional information offers helpful contextual or linguistic
clarification. I have generally refrained from providing notes on items mentioned
only once or in passing, and when further elaboration at the point of insertion
contributes little to the account at hand. Thus, there are no notes on such wellknown figures as Abe Kb, Tanaka Kinuyo, Song Qingling, or Li Lihua, but
additional information is given on Ruan Lingyu, Umehara Ryzabur, Tamura
Taijir, Amakasu Masahikos role in the alleged killing of sugi Sakae and It
Noe in 1923, and the controversies surrounding the death of Kawashima Yoshiko
in 1948. There are instances where annotations are provided on certain figures,
place names, and events mentioned only fleetinglyQi Baishi, the Suzhou temple

vii

viii

Notes on Translation

Hanshansi, the 1944 fi lm Chunjiang Yihen, Mei Lanfangs postwar performance

in Shanghai, Niwa Fumio, Ishii Baku, and Hijikata Yoshi, for examplewhen
additional information helps, I hope, to underscore the dramatic import embedded
in the original text.

Chronology

The chronology of Yamaguchi Yoshikos life is taken, with revisions, from sources
including Ri Kran/Yamaguchi Yoshiko ryakunenpu, in Ri Kran o ikite: Watashi
no rirekisho (Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shimbunsha, 2007), pp. 221; Ri Kran [Yamaguchi Yoshiko] ryakunenpu, in Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni yureta seishun,
Mainichi gurafu bessatsu, ed. Tanaka Kaoru, Shimizu Kiyoshi et al. (Tokyo:
Mainichi Shimbunsha, June 1991), pp. 169173, and Li Xianglan (Yamaguchi Yoshiko)
Special (1992) for the 16th Hong Kong International Film Festival, pp. 3132.
1920:
Yamaguchi Yoshiko is born in Beiyantai in the suburbs of Fengtian (present-day
Shenyang in Liaoning Province), the oldest child of Yamaguchi Fumio and Ai. Soon
after her birth, the family moved to Fushun and lived on Higashi rokuj-dori. A
student of Chinese, Yamaguchi Fumio had come to China in 1906 in the aftermath of the Russo-Japanese War. Ai was a graduate of Japan Womens University.
1923: Age 3
Yamaguchi Fumio began teaching Chinese language to employees of the South
Manchurian Railway Company (Minami Mansh Tetsud Kabushikigaisha, or
Mantetsu).
1924: Age 4
Began studying elementary Mandarin with her father.
1926: Age 6
Entered Yongan Elementary School and began learning to play the violin, piano,
and koto. Did well in music and Chinese but not in mathematics and sports.
1929: Age 9
As a fourth-grader, passed National Certification of Chinese Language (Chgokugo kokka kentei), 4th Class, while studying Chinese with adult students in her
fathers Mantetsus class.

ix

Chronology

1931: Age 11
As a sixth-grader, passed National Certification of Chinese Language, 3rd Class.
Befriended Liuba Monosova Gurinets.
1932: Age 12
Entered Fushun Girls School in April. On the night of September 1516, witnessed the attack on the Fushun coal mines by Chinese resistance forces. As a
result of suspicions of Yamaguchi Fumios collaboration with the attackers, the
family moved to Fengtian.
1933: Age 13
Passed National Certification of Chinese Language, 2nd Class. Given the name
Li Xianglan after becoming the adopted daughter of General Li Jichun, then
President of Shenyang Bank in Fengtian. Began learning classical songs from
Madame Podlesov. Performed her first recital at the Yamato Hotel. Scouted by
the Fengtian Radio Broadcasting Company to perform New Manchurian Songs.
Befriended Awaya Noriko. Liuba Gurinets and her family disappeared after their
home had been ransacked by Japanese military police.
1934: Age 14
Began studying in Beijing in May. Became the adopted daughter of Pan Yugui
and received the Chinese name Pan Shuhua. Began studying at Yijiao Girls
School. The resistance movement in Beijing accentuated her anguish over being a
Japanese girl living in China.
1936: Age 16
Continued studying at Yijiao amidst rising anti-Japanese sentiments among students and citizens. Attended an anti-Japanese student gathering and stated her
position to appear on top of Beijings city wall in the event of a Japanese attack of
the city.
1937: Age 17
Became acquainted with Army Major Yamaga Tru in Beijing and Kawashima
Yoshiko in Tianjin.
1938: Age 18
Graduated from Yijiao Girls School. Scouted by the Manchurian Film Association (Manei) as an actress and debuted in the fi lm Honeymoon Express.
1939: Age 19
Visited Japan for the first time as one of Maneis representatives to the Manchurian Exposition. First encountered Japanese racial prejudices while landing in
Shimonoseki. Starred with Hasegawa Kazuo in the hit movie Song of the White

Chronology

xi

Orchid after making three other fi lms for Manei and a joint production between
Manei and Th. Met the fi lm critic Iwasaki Akira. Amakasu Masahiko became
Director of Manei.
1940: Age 20
Starred with Hasegawa Kazuo in China Nights and Pledge in the Desert, which,
along with Song of the White Orchid, comprise the continental trilogy. When
Will You Return? Zhou Xuans 1937 hit number in China, with Watanabe Hamako and Yamaguchi as Japanese vocalists in 1939, was banned in Japan for its
allegedly injurious effects on public morals. Became acquainted with Japanese
novelists Niwa Fumio, Kume Masao, and Tamura Taijir.
1941: Age 21
Performed at Tokyos Nichigeki as a Singing Ambassadress for JapaneseManchurian Friendship and scored extraordinary success. Befriended Kodama
Eisui, a Th employee serving as her security guard. Miyako Shimbun pronounced that Yamaguchi was Japanese, but the story did not attract much attention
in the Japanese national media. Began dating Matsuoka Kenichir, the oldest son
of Foreign Minister Matsuoka Ysuke. Costarred in Suzhou Nights, a Shchikufuna Production, with Sano Shji.
1942: Age 22
Went on a two-month location shooting for the semi-documentary fi lm Yellow
River. Starred in Winter Jasmine.
1943: Age 23
Starred in My Nightingale while under surveillance by Japanese and Soviet intelligence agents during its shooting. Costarred in Glory to Eternity and gained
wide popularity in China as the singer of the fi lms theme songs, and the Candy
Peddling Song in par ticular.
1944: Age 24
Discontinued her association with Manei, moved to Shanghai, and participated
in Kawakita Nagamasas fi lm-making initiatives.
1945: Age 25
In May, performed in the Rhapsody of the Evening Primrose Concert in Shanghais
Grand Theater and was reunited with Liuba at the end of the show after a separation of eleven years. Began taking music lessons with Madame Bella Mazel. After
Japans surrender, relocated to Hongkou while under investigation and awaiting
trial as a traitor to China. Amakasu Masahiko committed suicide in Xinjiang in
August.

xii

Chronology

1946: Age 26
In mid-February, was pronounced innocent at a military court by proving her
Japa nese nationality and was ordered repatriation to Japan. Subsequent attempt
to board a repatriation ship in late February was aborted; then final approval was
granted in March. Landed in Hakata on April 1 with Kawakita Nagamasa and
found accommodation at the latters Kamakura residence. Performances at the
Imperial Theater in early October were greeted with little critical enthusiasm.
1947: Age 27
In June, played Katyusha Maslova in Tolstoys Resurrection under the direction
of Hijikata Yoshi in her first Shingeki performance. Joined Takizawa Osamu and
Uno Jkichis Popu lar Art Troupe.
1948: Age 28
Played the role of O-shiho in the Popular Art Troupes performance of Shimazaki
Tsons The Broken Commandment. Starred in The Shining Day of My Life with
Mori Masayuki, Takizawa Osamu, and Uno Jkichi. The Yamaguchi family was
repatriated to Japan from China. Kawashima Yoshiko was reportedly executed at
the grounds of the Beijing First Prison.
1950: Age 30
Yamaga Tru committed suicide in January. Escape at Dawn was released with
Yamaguchi and Ikebe Ry in the leading roles. Shot the film Scandal with costar
Mifune Toshir. Performed in recitals in Hawaii and Los Angeles. Contracted
to star in the Hollywood production of Japanese War Bride and scheduled to
perform in the Broadway musical Marco Polo. Became acquainted with the New
York sculptor Isamu Noguchi and befriended Charlie Chaplin.
1951: Age 31
Announced marriage to Noguchi in New York and the couple moved to funa
in Kamakura, where they lived in a rustic tea house built by ceramicist Kitaji
Rosanjin.
1952: Age 32
Entered into a three-year contract with Th. Costarred with Mifune Toshir in
Foghorn and Sword for Hire. Also costarred with Hasegawa Kazuo in The Ship of
Tumultuous Fortune and with Mikuni Rentar in The Woman of Shanghai.
1953: Age 33
Failed to obtain a visa to the United States to accompany her husband. Visited
Berlin, Paris, and India.

Chronology

xiii

1954: Age 34
Starred in a number of films produced in Hong Kong by Shaw Brothers. Received
visa to the United States after having been blacklisted as a Communist sympathizer.
1955: Age 35
Starred in the Twentieth Century Fox film House of Bamboo with Robert Stack.
Lived a separate life from Noguchi. Starred in The Plum in the Golden Vase, a Shaw
Brothers production.
1956: Age 36
In February, announced her divorce from Noguchi. Starred in Madame White
Snake under the direction of Toyoda Shir and in the Broadway musical Shangri-La.
Became acquainted with taka Hiroshi, a Japanese diplomat, and her future husband. After taka was transferred to Myanmar, Yamaguchi decided to give up
her career on the silver screen.
1957: Age 37
Starred in Mysterious Beauty, a Shaw Brothers fi lm.
1958: Age 38
A Night of Romantic Love, a Shaw Brothers fi lm, was released. Made her last
fi lm, Tokyo Holidays. Married taka Hiroshi in April and accompanied him to
Myanmar.
1959: Age 39
Returned to Japan and made occasional appearances on television and on radio.
1965: Age 45
Accompanied her husband to his new post in Geneva.
1968: Age 48
Returned to Japan from Geneva, and served from time to time as a TV cohost for
Nihon TV and TBS.
1969: Age 49
Beginning in April, served as a TV cohost in the Fuji Television program You at
Three oClock until March 1974.
1970: Age 50
Reported from Vietnam and Cambodia in August.
1971: Age 51
Reported from Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Lebanon, and Israel. Her increasing interest in the Palestinians was demonstrated by her interviews of Leila Khaled, then

xiv

Chronology

a member of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP) and Yasser
Arafat, Chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), and her visit
to Palestinian refugee camps.
1972: Age 52
On September 29, wept upon watching live on TV the signing of the Joint
Sino-Japanese Communiqu by Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei, Premier Zhou
Enlai, Foreign Minister hira Masayoshi, and Minister for Foreign Affairs Ji
Pengfei.
1973: Age 53
Successfully interviewed Shigenobu Fusako, a leader of the Japanese Red Army
in August. Received a prize for individual excellence at the Television Awards
ceremony for the year.
1974: Age 54
In July, successfully elected to the Diets Upper House and became a member of
the Tanaka Kakuei faction and of the Foreign Affairs Committee.
1975: Age 55
In July, visited Beijing as a member of the Liberal Democratic Partys North Korean
delegation.
1977: Age 57
Served as Vice Minister of Political Affairs at the Agency for the Environment.
1978: Age 58
Visited China on environmental issues. Revisited Maneis old headquarters (then
the Changchun Studio) and her old friends.
1979: Age 59
Visited North Korea as a member of the Liberal Democratic Partys North Korean
delegation. Her husband taka Hiroshi became Japa nese Ambassador to the
Republic of Fiji.
1980: Age 60
Re-elected for another term as an Upper House Diet member. Became a member
of the Diets Japanese-Palestinian Friendship Alliance.
1985: Age 65
Served as Head of the Japanese-Algerian Association, Head of the JapaneseMyanmar Association, Vice Chair of the Foreign Affairs Investigative Unit of the
Liberal Democratic Party, Chair of the Okinawa Revitalization Committee, and
Chair of the Special Committee for the Aged Population.

Chronology

xv

1986: Age 66
Re-elected for a third term to the Diets Upper House. taka Hiroshi became
Japanese Ambassador to Myanmar.
1987: Age 67
In July, published her autobiography Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei (coauthored
with Fujiwara Sakuya).
1988: Age 68
In February, for the first time in forty years, met Pujie, brother of the former
Emperor of Manchuria, Puyi. Isamu Noguchi died in New York at the age of
eighty-four.
1989: Age 69
On December 1st and 2nd, Fuji Television televised the five-hour program
Goodbye Ri Kran (Sayonara Ri Kran), with Sawaguchi Yasuko in the leading role.
1990: Age 70
As Executive Director of the Diets Alliance against Apartheid, invited Nelson
Mandela to visit Japan. With the Prime Minister, made proposals for addressing
environmental issues.
1991: Age 71
Accepted an invitation to visit China. The theater troupe Four Seasons (Shiki)
began putting on the show Ri Kran: A Musical under the direction of Asari Keita
with the debuting actress Nomura Ryko in the leading role. The show continued
intermittently in various locations in Japan until 2006 and was performed in
China and Singapore in 1992 and 1997, respectively. Joined the Liberal Democratic Partys Investigative Team for the Middle East.
1992: Age 72
Withdrew from political activities. Ri Kran: A Musical was performed in China
in Beijing, Changchun, Shenyang, and Dalian. Revisited Beijing after an interval
of fift y-eight years since her days at a girls school in 1934.
1998: Age 78
Reunited with Liuba in Yekaterinburg, Russia, after an interval of fi ft y-three
years.
1999: Age 79
Liuba died at age seventy-nine.

xvi

Chronology

2001: Age 81
taka Hiroshi died at age seventy-three.
2014: Age 94
Died of heart failure at her Tokyo residence on September 7. A private funeral
service was held among close family members.

Introduction
Yamaguchi Yoshiko in Wartime East Asia:
Transnational Stardom and Its Predicaments

It is at once intriguing and sobering to observe that the extraordinary wartime

career of the Japanese singer and actress Yamaguchi Yoshiko (19202014), popularly known by her Chinese stage name, Li Xianglan, or Ri Kran in Japanese,1 has
generated as much heartfelt admiration as enduring controversies in East Asia
during and long after the war years. Her contemporary Chinese and Japanese
audiences could surely recall the exotic mystique she radiated in her stylish qipao
as she performed signature songs such as When Will You Return? (Heri jun
zai lai), The Suzhou Serenade (Sosh yakyoku), and The Evening Primrose
(Yelaixiang).2 For many, her popular post-1939 films, her spectacular stage performances in Tokyo and Shanghai, and her multilingual song recordingsindeed,
perhaps even a mere mention of her namemight evoke deep-seated memories
about a particularly turbulent era in recent history. Postwar Japanese fi lmgoers,
especially those expatriated from China, might variously be moved with nostalgia for the continent by the idyllic scenes of Suzhous famous landmarks, willowlined waterways, and old stone bridges in China Nights (Shina no yoru, 1940), an
effect accentuated no doubt by Hattori Ryichis elegiac music score.3 Chinese
audiences, on the other hand, might be more likely to recall from the same film
bitter memories of unprecedented national humiliation and extraordinary personal
suffering under the boots of Japanese militarism. Meanwhile, former Japanese pioneer farmers, for instance, might associate images of the brightest star from Japanoccupied Manchuria with northeastern Chinas panoramic topographywith the
black-earth-covered banks of the Songhua River or the relentlessly terraced coalmining hillsides surrounding towns such as Fushun where Yamaguchi spent her
childhood years. Other Japa nese from former Manchukuosoldiers, railroad
employees, government bureaucrats, and their familiesmight fondly remember from fi lms such as Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, 1942) the modern cityscapes
of Fengtian, Harbin, or Xinjing,4 whether seen with their own eyes or through
Japanese war time newsreels. For old-time urbanites from the Greater Yangtze
delta, the name Li Xianglan could very well rejuvenate reminiscences of the

xvii

xviii

Introduction

bygone days with the modern beat of jazz and rumba, the dance halls, and the
glitzy theaters associated with old Shanghai chic or, for others, colonial-era
superciliousness or shameful Western decadence. And surely, not a few residents of the metropolis, past and present, could recall familiar reverberations
of her most cherished wartime song, The Evening Primrose, performed ever so
hauntingly on the erhu.
Assorted wartime advertisements and interviews, along with postwar reports
and gossip columns in the print media, did their share in embellishing, mystifying, and ultimately commodifying Yamaguchis admittedly colorful life story, so
much so that her name has attained quasi-legendary status in the popular imagination. It is certainly true that, along with such singing talents as Zhou Xuan, Bai
Guang, Yao Li, Zhang Lu, and Wu Yingyin, Li Xianglan was one of the most celebrated female vocalists in China in the waning years of the war; many of her
devotees would insist that her popularity continued well into the 1960s and 1970s,
if not even later. Her enduring celebrity across East Asia can be seen in her rehabilitated postwar career as a vocalist and actress in the 1950s, her public appearances as a TV personality from 1969 to 1974, her place in the media spotlight
until as late as the 1990s, and, significantly, her extended career in Japanese politics from the mid-1970s to the early 1990s. The redistribution of her signature
numbers by Japans Columbia Music Entertainment and Victor Entertainment
even after the turn of the twentieth century and the availability of her recordings
in many major urban areas in China and Japan today also testify to her continuing appeal.5 The Hong Kong fi lm critic Wong Ain-ling once described the actress
as a part of her own childhood recollections,6 a sentiment likely to be shared by
many born within a decade or so after 1945. Meanwhile, the younger generation in
Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, and even mainland China would likely remember Li Xianglan from a beloved song affectionately dedicated to her memory in
1990 by the popu lar Hong Kong singer-songwriter Jacky Cheung (or Cheung
Hok-yau).7 From another part of the world, Ian Burumas 2008 fictional work The
China Lover, inspired by Yamaguchis career, represents a more recent interest
emerging in the United States.
Yet barely obscured behind the splendor of her transnational stardom and
her many accomplishments lurk more disquieting historical memories about
her role within the tempestuous war time zeitgeist. Rightly or wrongly, many still
recall her career as having been shadowed by nebulous associations to international intrigues and allegations of complicity with Japans megalomaniac expansionist ideology. Others continue to be bewildered by wanton speculations about
her ethnic origin, by her associations with shady war time figures such as Yamaga
Tru, Kawashima Yoshiko, and Yoshioka Yasunao, and by her rumored but un-

Introduction

xix

proven intelligence involvements for the Japanese authorities, notably the Kwantung Army, Japans dreaded garrison force in Manchuria. Some might still recall
her house arrest on alleged treason charges by the Kuomintang after Japans surrender, as well as bogus but well-advertised reports about her execution in Shanghai shortly afterward. More than a decade after the turn of this century, when her
contemporary celebrities such as Bai Guang, Chen Yunchang, and Wang Danfeng
in China and Kogure Michiyo, Awaya Noriko, and Watanabe Hamako in Japan
have all largely faded from public memory, Li/Yamaguchi still seems to retain a
peculiar allure to audiences in China, Japan, Hong Kong, and Southeast Asia.
This enduring fascination with Yamaguchi long after 1945 surely has to do
with the publics continuing curiosity about her dramatic life story, with whatever unresolved biographical mysteries still remain, and with the political cloud
that has lingered over her career. From the late 1930s and into the 1950s, the contesting dynamics between her ethno-nationalist sentiments as a Japanese woman
and, for lack of a better term, her encompassing East Asian transnationality has
also provided a lasting leitmotif to feed the inquisitiveness of a large international
market. The result has been a dazzling display of special television programs,
musicals, documentary reports, interviews, fictional and nonfictional accounts,
and, inevitably, a volume of Japanese manga, all devoted to giving a glimpse of
her extraordinary life.8 Such a colorful collage of public and media attention has
both revealed and perpetuated a tendency to reconstruct her vicissitudes as those
befitting a tragic heroine, an orphaned child straddled across the great divides of
her fatherland and motherland, a woman whose life and career had been thrown
into the storms and waves of the Second Sino-Japanese War. The self-doubts, internal trauma, unutterable anguish, and personal struggles during the early years
of her life can therefore only be properly appreciated by contextualizing her experiences within the broad canvas of war time political and cultural history.

Signiers and Identities

Any reference to the most celebrated actress associated with the Manchurian
Film Association (Mansh Eiga Kykai or Manei) and broadly with Japans post1939 national policy fi lms (kokusaku eiga) must first contend with the question
of how best to name her. For most Chinese audiences on both sides of the Taiwan Straits, she is best known as Li Xianglan, the stage name she adopted as
early as 1938 at the age of eighteen. Following the local dialect, Cantonese speakers in Guangdong Province and Hong Kong, along with a large contingent of
the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia, would more likely recognize her as Lei

xx

Introduction

Heung-lan, not only from her war time films, but also from her popular songs,
the Shaw Brothers movies she had made from the mid- to late 1950s, and most
assuredly from the aforementioned contribution from Jacky Cheung.
On the other hand, her Chinese stage name in whatever dialectal rendition
conjures up practically nothing to her Japanese audience, who can recognize her
only by the Japanese rendering of her Chinese name, Ri Kran, which in turn
registers close to nothing to most Chinese ears. Meanwhile, even if her more
well-informed Chinese fans knew her birth name, rendered Shankou Shuzi in
Mandarin and Sanhau Sukdzi in Cantonese, they would not have realized that
the Japanese name Yamaguchi Yoshiko in fact refers to one and the same person.9 To be sure, this particular kind of linguistic disassociation and the resultant
cognitive confusion among the Chinese and the Japanese have long been unfortunate sources of frustrating miscommunication. Yamaguchis case takes on a peculiarly ironic significance in view of her exceptional popularity and reputation
across the two countries in their modern history. The reciprocal unintelligibility
perhaps unrecognizability is a better wordof the most common and essential
signifiers for her among her two primary East Asian audiences is itself an unintended, if nevertheless fitting, metaphor for the extraordinary predicament
embedded in her transnational celebrity.
To complicate matters, there are other naming options. Her given name at
birth in Beiyantai in the suburbs of old Fengtian (present-day Shenyang) was, as
noted, Yamaguchi Yoshiko. She was given the name Li Xianglan at the age of thirteen when she became the adopted daughter of General Li Jichun, then President
of Fengtians Shenyang Bank. Her other given Chinese name as a young schoolgirl in Beijing was Pan Shuhua, before she transformed herself into a Manchurian
song singer on the radio and later a dazzling star on the silver screen. Shirley Yamaguchi was her stage name in the 1950s during her brief Hollywood and Broadway
careers, when she reinvented herself, with the collusion of the local media, as
the Judy Garland of Japan. Her official name during her extended tenure (1974
1992) as Japans Upper House Diet member was taka Yoshiko, following her
1958 marriage to taka Hiroshi, a career diplomat. Having served as an honorary
advisor to Japans Chaplin Society since 2006 and in a host of other official positions, she was variously referred to in the postwar Japanese media, depending on
the occasion, as Yamaguchi Yoshiko, taka Yoshiko, or Ri Kran. The name she
herself used as the coauthor of her autobiography, Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei
(Tokyo: Shinchsha, 1987) was, to be sure, her Japanese birth name, even though
the name of the autobiographical subject itself is identified by her Chinese stage
name rendered in Japanese reading.10
Such a confounding montage of names and the diverse identities they signify
extend beyond mere circumstantial correlations to personal history, national

Introduction

xxi

boundaries, and dialectal variations. Rather, they are symbolic of the many simultaneously contradictory and complementary forces that together shaped her
professional career, public image, and private life. Shelley Stephensons otherwise
apt observation that Yamaguchis persona represented a blurring of [all her prewar names], a traveling through the various identities even as she traveled through
Asia in her mission for the Japanese11 inadvertently underplays the role of agency
in the crafting of Yamaguchis various wartime postures. It is worth remembering
that the essential screenplay of her war time careerincluding the deliberate
blurring of her nameswas largely conceived, written, and executed by foreign
agencies largely beyond her control. During the war years, she was, to be sure, an
intricate mosaic of personas and denominations, and any internal cohesiveness
that might have existed among the disparate parts to form the foundation for an
authentic selfhood was achieved not by any amalgamation of her contesting
identities, but by the perseverance of her own character. While the political exploitation of her names might prove to have been expedient for the advancement
of Japans colonial agenda and her own professional career, Yamaguchi throughout
the war years remained largely separate entities to different parties.
First, to her war time fans in Tokyo, Fukuoka, Shanghai, Beijing, and the
overseas Chinese communities, she was a multi-talented entertainer and a sweetvoiced soprano who enthralled her audiences with her beauty, screen presence,
and mesmerizing songs, many of which are still cherished today. To mainstream
Japanese fi lm studios such as Th and the political strategists of colonialism in
Tokyo, Xinjing, and later in occupied China, her fluid mobility within East Asia,
thanks in large measure to her bilingual and physical attributes, held exceptional
promise to advance the rhetoric of Sino-Japanese solidarity and the political
myth of Greater East Asia Co-prosperity.12 To the General Staff of the Kwantung
Army and Japans formidable network of intelligence operatives running the
propaganda machines in China, she came to represent a meticulously handcrafted
cultural construct programmed to help materialize the subordination, or at least
the acquiescence, of those living under Japanese military or de facto control. Others
saw her exotic Manchurian upbringing as a powerful promotional tool to help
romanticize Chinas vast northeastern territories for Japans struggling masses
and to further encourage its pioneering initiatives into that area. Still others saw
her as a charismatic spokeswoman for both validating and glamorizing the tenuous notion of free-willed, pro-Japanese constituencies within China and the rest
of Asia, supposedly aspiring voluntarily for Japanese domination.
The results of such strategic maneuverings turned out to be at best mixed.
Manei and its other major collaborators in Japan such as Th and Shchiku
scrupulously colluded to conceal her true identity from the prying eyes of the
public as they attempted, implicitly or explicitly, to reinvent her public image in

xxii

Introduction

synchrony with Japans continental goals. It was true that the Singing Ambassadress from Manchuria created for the advancement of Sino-Japanese friendship did succeed in further galvanizing popular Japanese interest in the continent; no other event provided better evidence for such a feat than the extraordinary
success of her Nichigeki performances in February 1941. On the other hand, as
we shall see, the Chinese audiences of Li Xianglans wartime films, beginning with
Song of the White Orchid (Byakuran no uta, 1939) and more so with China Nights,
were far from being easily persuaded by their political puffery about Japans imperial enterprise and its alleged benevolence toward a beleaguered China. As for
Yamaguchi herselfwhile unable or unwilling to express open insubordination
against her Japanese political handlers during the war years, she unequivocally
reveals in her postwar reminiscences the deep anguish she felt over her assigned
role as an instrument of Japanese propaganda. On a number of occasions, she
explicitly expressed her sense of guilt and remorse and, indeed, her fervent desire,
albeit unfulfilled before 1945, to reveal her true national identity to the Chinese
public. Her defiance began to take on a more radical tone as the war approached
its waning phases, as we shall see later.
Meanwhile, for many war time Chinese moviegoers, the question of whether
Li Xianglan was in fact Japanese, a rumored product of mixed Chinese-Japanese
parentage, an enigmatic pan-Asian of some kind, or even a vaguely suspicious
Japanese spy, was subordinate to private yearnings for the sweet fantasies her
performances inspired. Even though her well-publicized Chinese identity was
not above suspicion within certain circles in Japan and China toward the end of
the war, there is anecdotal evidence to suggest that at least some of her Chinese
admirers simply wanted to believe that she was Chinese and, as advertized, the
glamorous star Manchuria and Beijing had jointly nurtured.13 This was especially
true after 1943, when Lis songs gained more popularity and her performance in
Glory to Eternity (Wanshi liufeng; Japanese title Bansei ryh) marked her new
celebrity status within Chinas filmmaking heartland. Produced by the prominent
filmmaker Zhang Shankun and released in Shanghai in May 1943 in centennial
celebration of Commissioner Lin Zexus historic anti-opium crusades, Glory to
Eternity also gave Li the opportunity to stage two additional songs, which immediately turned into popu lar hits in China.14 After years of unremitting warfare
and colossal human sacrifices and physical devastation, Chinese national sentiments eagerly embraced Lis cinematic role as a feisty patriot and anti-opium
songstress. After suffering from unspeakable national humiliation for so long,
it was, to be sure, a much-awaited moment for the celebration of national pride.15
Equally important, the fi lm about the horrors and humiliation mid-nineteenth
century European imperialism had infl icted on China easily invited allegorical
readings of the countrys current national tragedy under the yoke of another bru-

Introduction

xxiii

tal imperialist power. Whether the foreign dev ils came from Victorian England
a century earlier, carry ing shiploads of opium and gunpowder, or currently from
imperial Japan, carrying samurai swords and machine guns, was naturally a question one must leave to the spectators power of association at the time. Ultimately,
however, such a distinction was probably not all that critical in the realm of the
public imagination or national political consciousness, as one set of horrific images reconstructed on screen came inescapably to be superimposed on the other,
unfolding in their ghastly forms from recent historical memory and reaching
into practically every dimension of everyday life.
Apart from whatever explicit or implicit political messages Glory to Eternity
might have conveyed, however, the performance of a distinguished Chinese cast
and the fi lms theme songs fed strong public cravings for entertainment. Not unlike war time European audiences gathering around their favorite radio programs in London, attending ballet performances in Paris, or listening to symphonic orchestras in Berlin, the Chinese audiences in Shanghai, Beijing, and Hong
Kong were equally coveting diversions that could allow them momentary selfabandonment and fleeting emotional relief.16 At a time when even an international metropolis like Shanghai had only a small handful of Western fi lms left for
public viewing after the end of 1937, Li Xianglans fi lms and stage performances
offered some of the few other precious outlets for a sizable and demanding audience.17 To be sure, the war directly motivated this escapist impulse. Lifes incessant hardships experienced outside the cinema also made such hypnotizing
pleasures seem irresistible. Perhaps most compelling was the fi lms capacity to
vicariously satisfy a longing for a return to some semblance of lifes normalcy
before the Japanese invasion. For better or worse, Li Xianglans performances
were extraordinarily well suited to bestowing such moments of tenuous bliss.
Helplessly torn between her attachment to Japan and her affections for
Chinaher fatherland and motherland in her own wordsYamaguchi was
never given the political luxury to reveal her true sentiments to her international
audiences throughout the war years. Whatever degree of freedom she could exercise with the public media was tempered by her own manipulation of a politically
compromising language even on less-guarded occasions. Ironically, her assumed
Chinese identity afforded her a degree of authority while making less than laudatory remarks about Japanese fi lmmaking in China. In an October 1944 interview,
for example, she expressed dissatisfaction with many of her film scripts, including
the one for China Nights, but acknowledged that there was little she could do
other than to comply with the wishes of her Japanese directors. This was followed,
remarkably, by a bold confession that she was really ashamed about the kind of
continental films she had made. Accordingly, the Japanese directors familiarity
with Chinas manners and customs did not go beyond meager understanding of

xxiv

Introduction

the countrys national character and sentiments. At one point in the same interview, she even promised that she would defi nitely not make any more of
such continental fi lms before expressing her apology to us the Chinese people
(my emphasis).18
This was not the first time that she had stated comparable sentiments. In a
Beijing press conference in the aftermath of the screening of Glory to Eternity in
1943, she was asked whether she had abandoned her national pride by appearing
in such fi lms as Song of the White Orchid and China Nights. Acknowledging that
she had taken such misguided actions out of ignorance, she expressed regret,
asked for forgiveness, and promised not to make the same mistake again.19 In
expressing such sentiments in public in unambiguous terms then, and again the
following year in 1944, she probably went as far as she could without getting herself into serious trouble with the Japanese authorities. That no reported warnings, reprimands, or more serious actions against her materialized in the days
and months ahead suggests that her unparalleled pan-Asian acclaim at the time
might have given her a measure of precarious protection. It would have been
spectacularly counterproductive for Japanese propaganda if the much-touted
star of Greater East Asia and the Japanese Empire itself should become embroiled
in an ugly disagreement over such important policy matters. Her formal dissociation from Manei very soon after she had made her statement in 1944 might
also have given her some degree of insulation from personal attacks and political
repercussions.20 One can only imagine the consequences that would have awaited
her had she chosen to venture one step farther, take on a more politically uncompromising tone, or proceed to repeat her defiant comments to the Chinese or
Japanese media. Yamaguchi was a much more seasoned and politically weathered twenty-four-year-old in 1944 than the impressionable Manchurian girl who
in her early teens sang Manchurian songs on the radio and at the age of eighteen started making puerile Manei comedies such as The Honeymoon Express
(Miyue kuaiche; Japa nese rendering, Mitsugetsu kaisha). As her autobiography
suggests, she must also have been aware of the imminent danger to the life of her
close mentor Kawakita Nagamasa whose par ticular camaraderie with Shanghais
Chinese fi lmmaking community had already seriously tested the patience of
the Japa nese military and Maneis top personnel.21 All things considered, it is
not difficult to imagine her considerable resolve and personal courage despite the deceiving informality with which her 1944 interview was being conducted. Granted, of course, she was not telling the whole truth when it came to her
own nationality.
Yet open defiance was scarcely an option since she had been put on the pedestal as the star of Greater East Asia. Indeed, throughout her Manei career and
her years working with Japanese studios, she was continuously held in precarious

Introduction

xxv

limbo, largely spiritually imprisoned and culturally isolated, while dutifully following her orders as a puppet within a puppet state. Even though in her life as an
entertainer, she was allowed little more than a mannequin-like existence, there
were apparently times when she was not beyond suspicion from her own Japanese puppet handlers. Her autobiography reveals not only that she was under
surveillance by at least one Soviet spy while making My Nightingale (Watashi no
uguisu, 1943) in the Manchurian city of Harbin, but that she was also the target
of intelligence agents from Japans Kwantung Army itself.22 Her extraordinary
popularity won her free interaction with neither the Chinese nor the Japanese
fans who genuinely adored her. Hers, instead, was a regimented life characterized by considerable personal loneliness and cultural maladjustment in Japan.23
Perhaps even more hurtful to her sense of self was her victimization from blatant discrimination in her own native country, where she was seen as a Chinese
woman, the lasting effects of which are suggested by her repeated evocations of
such traumatic experiences in her postwar reminiscences.24
The irony of Yamaguchi as a casualty of racial bigotry in Japan was profoundly
tragicomic, as she had incessantly been packaged by her meticulous Manei and
Th/Shchiku publicists as the brightest transnational star celebrating the
laudable goal of Japanese-Manchurian friendship. Yet despite all such maneuverings, the political realities dominating her career ultimately made it impossible for her to anchor her art and considerable talents within the nurturing embrace of a single authentic national culture. Whether performing on the Nichigeki
stage in February 1941 or at Shanghais Grand Theater in May 1945, every movement she made was meticulously choreographed and programmed at every turn.
On the one hand, while at the top of her form in the early 1940s, she was surely as
celebrated and popular a performer as Chinas Chen Yunchang and Japans Hara
Setsuko.25 On the other, however, Yamaguchi herself must have realized, perhaps
more than anybody else, that neither her good Chinese nor Japanese friends had
the same formidableand literally unutterableburden to carry.26

Manei and Yamaguchis Earlier Career

Yamaguchi appeared in some twenty wartime fi lms, including those made outside Northeast China, with locations in Beijing, Shanghai, Suzhou, Tokyo, Kaifeng in Henan Province, Taiwan, and Korea.27 She was the brightest Japanese star
to blossom transnationally after 1938, first in Manchuria, followed shortly afterward in Japan, and subsequently in Beijing and Shanghai. Her rapid rise to fame
was to a considerable degree attributable to Maneis patronage under the administration of its second director, Amakasu Masahiko. Until her formal dissociation

xxvi

Introduction

from the company in November 1944, her exclusive affi liation with Manei was,
for better or for worse, one of the defining features of her war time career.28
Partly inspired by the powerful state-run fi lmmaking apparatus in Nazi
Germany, the Soviet Union, and Italy, Manei was created in Xinjing in August
1937 with the backing of the Kwantung Army and Manchukuos police forces.29
The fact that the contribution of its capital investment of five-million yen was
evenly split between Manchukuo and the South Manchurian Railway (Minami
Mansh Tetsud, or Mantetsu)30 suggests that the missions of the new film association were deemed as necessary for the perpetration of Japans imperial enterprise as those of its other more visible instruments of sociopolitical control. In
time, Manei became an intriguing amalgamation of local fi lm crews and trainees, Chinese directors and assistant directors, scriptwriters and actors, Korean
and Taiwanese employees, along with top-echelon Japanese filmmakers, technicians, and administrators from diverse professional and political backgrounds.31
Yamaguchi herself expressed considerable bemusement that a Japa nese ultranationalist like Shigeki Kyhei, President of Maneis Tokyo office, should work
together with such a refined left-wing intellectual type as the important film critic
Iwasaki Akira.32
In addition, a sizeable number of Manei employeesa hundred and ninetytwo, or over ten percent of its total workforce as of November 1944, to be exact
were described euphemistically as irregulars ( futeishoku), having affi liations
only with the Tokyo branch office. Their functions remain a mystery, though
speculations that they might have been agents associated with Amakasus intelligence apparatus did arise.33 Even within the ranks of Xinjings Manchukuo establishment, the relationship between the police agencies and Maneis personnel was
apparently not beyond mutual suspicion. Recent research has shown that, in
1942, over twenty Manei employeesincluding film directors, scriptwriters, and
actorswere routinely tailed by agents from Manchurias Higher Police with instances of arrests, detentions, and even one death while in imprisonment.34 As we
have seen, even Yamaguchi herself was a one-time target of Japanese intelligence
agents in Harbin. Naturally, such an extraordinary assortment of strange bedfellows
made Manchukuos most conspicuous national policy organ an ideologically
ambiguous, structurally clumsy, hierarchically racially divided, but nonetheless
fascinating product of wartime Japans cultural and political imagination.
Within Manchukuos administrative structure, the supervising agency for
Manei was the General Affairs Office of the Council for Manchukuo State Affairs (Manshkoku Kokumuin), but behind-the-scenes control was clearly in the
hands of the Kwantung Army. Its Chief of General Staff Major-General Itagaki
Seishir presided over the Deliberative Committee (Shingi-iinkai) whose members included two other officials from the Kwantung Armys General Staff and

Introduction

xxvii

prominent leaders from the military and the Higher Police. Other prominent
individuals involved in the Manei establishment included Kamikichi Seiichi,
Kishi Nobusuke, and Furumi Tadayuki, all high-ranking members within various
echelons of the Manchukuo administration.35 Headed after November 1939 by
Amakasu, a former military police captain and Kishi Nobusukes protg popularly known for his allegedthough more recently disputedmurder of the anarchist sugi Sakae and his wife It Noe in the aftermath of the 1932 Great Kant
Earthquake,36 Manei was specifically charged to create Chinese-language national policy films through cooperation with local filmmakers, actors, and staff.
The Manei charter described its mission as follows:
The Manchurian Motion Picture Association is a national company of Manchukuo. It is founded on ethical principles for the mutual advancement of
Japan and Manchukuo; in discharging our duties in the true spirit of East
Asian peace, to bear the great responsibility of the spiritual building of Manchukuo in times of peace. To inform the people of Japan and the various regions of China of the true circumstances of Manchukuo and gain their full
understanding, and furthermore, to present material of a high cultural standard from Manchukuo. In times of emergency, these responsibilities will be
enlarged. That is, we will become one with Japan, and use fi lm in the ideological and propaganda wars both inside and outside the country.37

From 1938 to 1945, the company alone and in collaboration with other major
Japanese studios produced some of the most well-known fi lms in war time China,
with Li Xianglan as its most visible and charismatic spokeswoman.38 With one
hundred employees at its establishment in September 1937, nine hundred in December 1940, and close to twice that number in November 1944, Manei produced
108 entertainment and 189 education fi lms, 307 rolls of newsreels, as well as
other productions in the Chinese language and childrens programs. Despite its
powerful national backing and all the modern resources at its disposalits 1939
studio, for example, was said to be equipped with cutting-edge technology of the
timeonly sixteen percent of Maneis total output could strictly be described as
reflecting Japans national policy.39 It is also worth remembering that after
Japans surrender and the transition of Manei into Dongbei Film Company
(Dongbei Dianying Gongsi) in October 1945, some seventy-five Japa nese Manei
personnelincluding directors, fi lm editors, administrators, and cameramen
decided to remain in China and served pivotal roles in the subsequent reconstruction of the postwar Chinese cinema until the early 1950s.40
During the late 1930s and early 1940s, Yamaguchi was compelled to conceal
her Japanese identity by allowing herself to be reinvented as a Manchurian-born

xxviii

Introduction

Chinese woman with the purpose of legitimizing Japans colonizing enterprise

and promoting its imperialist mission. A fluid combination of political imperatives and marketing needs convinced Manei and other studio executives that
repackaging Yamaguchi Yoshiko as Li Xianglan was in the best interests of all
parties concerned. Apart from publicity initiatives in both China and Japan, this
was also accomplished through disseminating bogus proclamations, such as the
one describing her as the beloved daughter of the mayor of Fengtian.41 In all
likelihood, it is impossible to offer a precise quantitative analysis on how successfully the secret was kept at the time, but it is reasonable to speculate, based on
Yamaguchis own reckonings and other evidence, that an overwhelming majority
of her Japanese and Chinese fans believed that she was Chinese.42 That said, her
true identity as the oldest daughter of a Kyushu couple from Fengtians neighboring town of Fushun, or minimally as a Japanese girl born in China, was far from
being a watertight secret. Indeed, Yamaguchi herself confessed that some of her
fellow Manei colleagues had long suspected that she was either Japanese, or to
follow the more popu lar belief, a product of mixed Chinese and Japa nese parentage. In 1944, even some of her close Chinese coactors from Glory to Eternity
were beginning to entertain varying degrees of skepticism over her Chinese
identity, just as Yamaguchi herself suspected they would.43 Reports on her background from the Shanghai fi lm media in 19431944 sometimes served only to
complicate and further mystify her national origin. In at least one publication
in November 1944, Li Xianglans original name was identified as Yamaguchi
Yoshiko with a temporary address in Tokyo and an inexplicably unidentified
native place.44
Questions likewise had been raised in the Japanese media much earlier. Yamaguchi herself reported in her autobiography that the nationally circulated
Tokyo paper Asahi Shimbum threatened to expose her Japanese nationality following her performance at the citys Nichigeki Theater as early as February 1941; this
development, if indeed true, was indicative that her careful disguise was at least
suspect in certain circles of the main Japanese media at that time. In a rare interview with Tokyos Miyako Shimbun (the present-day Tokyo Shimbun) soon after
the same Nichigeki appearance, Yamaguchi in effect acknowledged that she was
trueborn Japanese, even though the potentially explosive story was not followed
up by other more influential and nationally circulated papers.45 So long as the
vague suspicions about Yamaguchis true ethnic origin did not erupt into a national scandal or an international firestorm, the enhanced murkiness of Yamaguchis identity served only to accentuate her personal mystique and her legend
as a transnational star.46
The fateful decision to cover up her true nationality throughout the war years
almost caused her to lose her life and brought her lasting notoriety as a traitor to

Introduction

xxix

the Chinese people, a fiercely-hated hanjian, based on the assumption that she
had all along been gloriously Chinese by birth. Under house arrest in Shanghai
after Japans surrender, she very narrowly managed to escape treason charges and
possible execution by the Kuomintang through a dramatic eleventh-hour revelation of her true nationality by producing a well-concealed copy of her Japanese
family register.47

Postwar Career
After her repatriation to Japan, Yamaguchi proceeded to rehabilitate her career by
appearing as a singer and stage actor.48 Soon afterwards, she returned to the movie
screen and starred in a number of high-profi le fi lms, including Taniguchi Senkichis Escape at Dawn (Akatsuki no dass, 1950),49 Yoshimura Kzaburs The
Shining Day of My Life (Waga shgai no kagayakeru hi, 1948), and Kurosawa
Akiras Scandal (Shbun, 1950), appearing alongside such male leads as Ikebe Ry,
Mori Masayuki, Mifune Toshir, and Shimura Takashi, respectively. Meanwhile, just the fact of having Li Xianglan in the main cast of Japanese fi lms and
other productions meant that they would enjoy a popu lar reception in many
parts of Southeast Asiaso much so that a noted fi lm historian has observed
that the emerging Japanese movie boom in Hong Kong and the rest of Asia in the
1950s could be taken as an extension of Li Xianglans popularity from the 1930s
and 1940s.50
From 1951 to 1955, Yamaguchi proceeded to reinvent herself as an international celebrity of a different sort, driven this time by a new sense of adventure
in the United States. With rising professional aspirations, her own considerable
talents, and assistance from Kawakita Nagamasas overseas connections, she appeared as Shirley Yamaguchi in a number of Hollywood fi lms and Broadway
musicals, starring opposite Don Taylor, William Holden, Robert Stack, Robert
Ryan, and Cameron Mitchell.51 Inspired by Elia Kazans Actors Studio and dith
Piafs performances in New York, she developed an ambition to make a name for
herself, this time in the greatest venues of the world. Friendships with Charlie
Chaplin, Yul Brynner, James Dean, and others variously enlivened her experiences in the foreign land, while her association with alleged Japanese left-wing
artists such as Ishigaki Eitar might have partly explained suspicions against her
as a Communist sympathizer and her place on the U.S. State Departments persona non grata list in 1953. Earlier in 1951, at the age of 31, she had married the
distinguished Japanese-American sculptor and landscape architect Isamu Noguchi; the union lasted for only five years before the couple divorced in 1956.52 From
1954 to 1958, she was recruited by Hong Kongs Shaw Brothers to star in a series

xxx

Introduction

of commercially successful fi lms, including The Plum in the Golden Vase53 (Jin
Ping Mei, 1955), Mysterious Beauty (Shenmi meiren, 1957), and A Night of Romantic Love (Yiye fengliu, 1957). In the process, she also managed to jumpstart her
remarkable singing career, thanks in no small measure to the lasting popularity
of some of the theme songs from her Hong Kong films, such as Three Years
(Sannian).54 At the same time, it is worth noting that even as late as 1957, her
national identity still remainedor was intentionally allowed to remaina tantalizing mystery in a city as savvy and cosmopolitan as Hong Kong.55
Many important private and professional developments followed. Her second
marriage in 1958 to taka Hiroshi, then a young diplomat and later Japans
Ambassador Plenipotentiary to Myanmar, effectively brought an end to her career
on the silver screen. From 1969 to 1974, she staged a successful comeback by hosting a popular show for Tokyos Fuji Television called You at Three oClock
(Sanji no anata), for which she famously travelled to Saigon and Cambodia in
1970 as a reporter in the midst of the Vietnam War. In 1971, she was in the Middle
East reporting on the local conflict, and her 1973 interviews with the former
Japanese Red Army activist Shigenobu Fusako and Chairman Yasser Arafat of
the Palestine Liberation Organization generated quite a stir in Japan, as well as
considerable admiration in some circles.56 She went on to serve, with earlier support from none other than Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei, as a three-term representative in the Upper House of the Japanese Diet.57 While affi liated with the
countrys conservative Liberal-Democratic Party, she was noted for her nonpartisan tendencies and her generally progressive stance on international issues
in her various capacities as Vice Chair of her partys Diplomatic Investigation
Society, Executive Director of the Asia-Africa Study Group, Executive Director
of the Diet Members Alliance against Apartheid, and Executive Director the
Japan-Palestinian Friendship Alliance.58
After her tenure in the Diet ended in 1992, she became involved with the
Asian Womens Fund (Josei no Tame no Ajia Heiwa Kokumin Kikin, or Ajia
Josei Kikin for short), which was founded in July 1995 to assist aging former comfort women in Asia through fund-raising campaigns.59 Meanwhile, she continued to speak out, with characteristic sternness of purpose in multiple interviews
and public forums, on the follies of Japanese imperialism and Japans role in Asia
during the war years.60 In a newspaper article published as late as August 2005, for
example, she expressed empathy with the Chinese people for their anti-Japanese
sentiments on the occasion of former Prime Minister Koizumi Junichirs visit
to Yasukuni Shrine. She proceeded to dismiss the claim about the inevitability of
Japans modern wars since 18941895events sometimes legitimized in terms of
their purported goal of the liberation of Asiaas a rationalization after the fact.61

Introduction

xxxi

In a February 2007 interview, she described Japans sense of national superiority

over the Chinese as awfully frightening while attributing Japans continental
aggression to its desire to secure food and natural resources from there.62 While
publicly expressing shame, guilt, and remorse as she contemplated her wartime
role as a theatrical instrument in the ser vice of Manchukuo, it is also undeniable
that Yamaguchi had, at the same time, been a convenient pawn and an accomplice in the ser vice of Japans imperialist ideology. Regardless of the degree of her
self-awareness and misgivings over her political role, her involvement in Japans
war time enterprise was both significant and undeniable.63 The circumstances
that compelled her to come to terms with her role as an international star and her
engagement with Japans imperialist enterprise, as well as her implicit acts of
resistance against the realities of her political predicament, were then the substance of her wartime story with Manei and other Japanese film studios.

Re-imaginings of Manchuria: Construction

of a New Political Aesthetic
The most far-reaching political development following Japans invasion of Manchuria in September 1931 was the proclamation in the following February of the
puppet state of Manchukuo in anticipation of more ambitious continental adventures to come. Through such direct and indirect instruments of state control
as the powerful Kwantung Army and the South Manchuria Railway, Japan managed with considerable political success to consolidate its expanding sphere of
influence in Chinas northeast. At the same time, to perpetuate Japans social and
economic domination of the area as a part of its growing territorial ambitions,
Japanese empire-building initiatives created a large colonial community through
waves of massive immigration. Popu lar imagination in Japan often juxtaposed
the vast expanse of Manchurias hinterland, its agricultural richness, and its
other abundant physical resources against the idealistic if also nebulously defi ned
image of a new haven (shintenchi), a land eagerly awaiting Japa nese patronage
and exploration. From 1932 to 1945, some three hundred thousand Japa nese
peasants arrived to seek new opportunities and a new way of life in what many
considered a promised land.64 In addition to those agrarian settlers, other Japanese came from diverse social backgrounds: government bureaucrats, professional
soldiers, employees of Mantetsu and other Japanese companies, speculators, continental adventurers, technicians, and entrepreneurs, as well as teachers and intellectuals from a broad spectrum of ideological persuasions. Yamaguchis father
Fumio, for example, a native of Saga Prefecture, was a Chinese language instructor

xxxii

Introduction

for the Japanese Mantetsu staff before suspicions of his association with the Chinese resistance led to his separation from the company and the familys subsequent move from Fushun to Fengtian and later to Beijing.
Beyond the formal political, economic, and social infrastructure of Japans
colonial occupation, Manchukuos history cannot be fully appreciated without
considering the intricate interlayerings of ideological posturing, cultural manipulation, and aesthetic re-imagination of the land by a diverse assortment of human
and political agencies. Some of such endeavors manifested themselves in early
Shwa literary production on the colonial experience by expatriate writers and
those at the home front, as well as in a fairly active critical discourse on Mongolia
and Manchuria in the context of contemporary history and the Pacific War. Not
only was Manchuria intended to serve as a future launching pad for Japans southward encroachment into the Chinese heartland; in time it also came to be imbued
with a symbolic significance as a paradigmatic representation of Japans future
mission and destiny on the Asian continent.
The tendency of envisioning Chinas expansive northeastern territories as
a cultural landscape and social space away from the constraints and weariness
of everyday life experienced in Japans homelandas a setting alien yet romantic, mystical yet somehow imbued with redemptive powersfound its way into
Japa nese literary imagination in the late 1930s. In Sakaguchi Angos ambitious
autobiographical novel Snowstorm (Fubuki monogatari, 1938), for example, the
juxtaposition of Manchuria against Japan as two distinct and yet interconnected
topographies is accomplished with studied nonchalance by the novels reference
to the opening of a new sea route from Niigata to Manchukuo in the 1930s. The
journey began from Japanese harbor towns such as Tsuruga, Maizuru, and Niigata
on the Japan Sea coast to northern Korean ports before the traveler took the final
leg of the trip by train to the Manchukuo capital, making it the shortest route
from Japans Hokuriku region. Bidding farewell to her former lover and metaphorically Japan itself, the heroine Furukawa Sumie confesses her restlessness in
her native home of Niigata, while vague yearnings to venture into the northern
wilderness of China has turned the Manchukuo capital of Xinjing into something of the heroines spiritual sanctuary.65 Fantasies surrounding an abstraction
of Manchuria, if not its physical or aesthetic realities, sometimes manifested
themselves in intellectual discourse of the territory as a romantic setting for an
alternative worldview to be exploited, manipulated, and consumed in the interest
of the expanding Japanese empire. Manchuria was not far from his mind when
the influential early Shwa cultural critic Yasuda Yojr spoke of a national imperative to actualize the yet unaccomplished dream of modern civilization. This, he
suggested, was to be done through synthesizing what he defined as the outstanding attributes of the spirit of Meiji with a new form of creativity. The erection of a

Introduction

xxxiii

new Japanese bridge, using his most well-known and visually tantalizing wartime
metaphor, was indispensable for Japans new national literature (kokumin bungaku)
to reach world-class status.66 Even though for Yasuda the creation of Manchukuo
constituted an expression of a new bold ideal of civilization and its world view,67
Manchurias indigenous cultural and aesthetic symbols could not be allowed to
prevail once Japan had firmly established its military and political dominance
over the territory. Alan Tansman describes how, for Yasuda, The clearing of that
actual space in the expanding empire was fi rst prepared for by the clearing of
imaginative space. The real bridges of Manchuria, the regions actual culture,
needed to be replaced by bridges of the imaginationJapanese bridges.68
Meanwhile, the memories and lessons brought forth by Yasudas travels
inChina from May to June 1938, reaching as far as Mongolia, consisted not of
images about the horrid realities of war and destruction, the sufferings and resistance of a foreign people, or the physical exploitation of the land by Japanese agrarian settlers; rather, they were framed in terms of the significance of war in world
history and the universality [sekai-teki] of the Japanese spirit. It was the unfolding of a magnificent era for a romantic Japan (roman-teki Nippon). Now that
Japan is experiencing for the first time a new romantic century, he wrote, it will
leap forward by clearing away all thoughts of pessimism. Even if it should use
conquest and invasion as its means, they only accentuate the righteousness and
beauty of the act.69
Translated into the arena of realpolitik, the visual reimagining and aesthetic
structuring of a new Japanese colonial romanticism became in effect Maneis
primary mission in Manchukuos capital from 1939 to the end of the Pacific War.
It is perhaps no exaggeration to say that Amakasus company was to become one
of the most important cultural agencies to help fashion and perpetuate Yasudas
visionary Japanese bridges (Nihon no hashi), or what the fi lm critic Tsumura
Hideo was later to prescribe as the imperative philosophy of war fi lms.70 Nonetheless, not all the fi lms Manei made with its collaborating studios, including a
number of elaborate productions, saw the light of day through public screenings
in either war time China or Japan. For example, the ambitious 1944 musical My
Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu, directed by Shimazu Yasujir) starring Yamaguchi and based on Osaragi Jirs story of the vicissitudes of exiled Russian aristocrats and opera singers in Harbin after the Bolshevik Revolution, was not released in Manchuria or in Japan.71 At fi rst glance, the fi lms political subtext
celebrating mutual cooperation and racial harmony between the Japanese and
Russian residents in Manchuria might well serve useful propaganda purposes.
The fi lm critic Sat Tadao offers a plausible political explanation for its lukewarm
official reception by pointing to Maneis censorship worries about a film in which
most of the songs performed were sung in Russian, an enemys language.72 Yet

xxxiv

Introduction

the fact that a state-sponsored studio like Manei had even bothered to make the
film at all suggests that Japans national policy goals had become so thoroughly
corrupted by the waning phases of the war that a new creative spirit was allowed
to creep into Maneis fi lmmaking undertakings to fill their increasingly hollow
rhetoric. Though My Nightingale was never publicly screened during the war
years, it was, through a twist of luck, a Manei feature fi lm now being preserved
in Japan after its discovery in 1984 under the title The Songstress of Fate (Unmei
no utahime).73

Propaganda and Resistance in China Nights (1940)

In 1933, at the young age of thirteen, Yamaguchi was recruited to sing New Manchurian Songs on Fengtian radio and continued the same work as she pursued
her studies in the following years in Beijing. Though distraught over fervent antiJapanese agitations carried on by the local student body, and torn as she was between mixed allegiance to both China and Japan, the specter of international
politics did not play a dominant part in her life until after 1939. Meanwhile, her
near-native affinity for Chinese language, customs, and culture, coupled with her
professional voice training, set the stage for this talented and attractive Japanese
girl to blossom into budding stardom with Manei in 1938 and then rise to spectacular international acclaim. From her film debut in The Honeymoon Express, she
quickly consolidated her reputation by playing leading roles in a series of productions commonly identified as national policy films. Her so-called continental
trilogy (tairiku sanbusaku)Song of the White Orchid (Byakuran no uta, 1939),
China Nights (Shina no yoru, 1940) and Pledge in the Desert (Nessa no chikai, 1940)
were soon followed by Suzhou Nights (Sosh no yoru, 1941), Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, 1942), and Glory to Eternity (1943). The shared story line for many of
those filmswith the notable exception of the last twoconsists of a melodramatic love affair between a young Chinese woman and a Japanese male, the latter
role famously played by such celebrated nimaime matinee idols as Hasegawa
Kazuo and Sano Shji.74 The film that most prominently brought her early popularity and most significantly marked her transformation from a wide-eyed novice
into a dazzling transnational phenomenon was without doubt China Nights.75
Despite a saccharine romance at its core, further sugarcoated with alluring
songs and melodies over nostalgic shots of Suzhous idyllic scenery,76 the Japanese
makers of China Nights scarcely bothered to camouflage the sharply demarcated
power hierarchy and apparent ethnic differences in occupied Shanghai. With the
main exceptions of Zhang Guilan (played by Yamaguchi) and her former housemaid, virtually all the other Chinese appearing in China Nights are presented as

Introduction

xxxv

little more than trivial specimens floating in a sea of humanity, or else as superficial political caricatures with no individual personality traits or other defining
human dimensions to speak of. Yet once they allow themselves the audacity to
display anti-Japanese behavior, their facial expressions quickly darken with menacing maliciousness.77 In marked contrast, virtually all the Japanese characters,
both genders included, are unequivocal paragons of goodness; they are variously
portrayed as compassionate, charitable, good-natured, open-minded, selflessly
brave, and well-mannered to a fault. Even the cane-yielding Japanese ruffian about
to be physically violent with defenseless Guilan at the beginning of the fi lm
promptly receives a good moral thrashing from the high-minded Hase Tetsuo, a
young Japanese merchant seaman played by the dashing Hasegawa Kazuo:
Hey! You better calm down! You, too, are Japanese, arent you? Just look at
how all the Chinese around here are looking at you! If you hit the woman,
not knowing what is going on, theyll certainly lose their good impressions of
the Japanese. . . . Wont you restrain yourself? Look, you certainly know what
kind of times these are, dont you? The Chinese will judge the Japanese by
what they see from us in Shanghai. I think weve got an urgent obligation to
exercise greater prudence in how we behave.

Even though Hase is convinced that Guilanreferred to throughout the film

as Keiran according to Japanese rendering, thereby pointedly marginalizing her
Chinese identityis imbued with a spirit of resistance against the Japanese (knichishugi),78 Hase gallantly pronounces before his friends that, as Japa nese, he is
determined to take on the responsibility to combat her misguided beliefs. Far
from developing any belligerent arrogance against or undue hostility toward the
vulnerable girl, he demonstrates extraordinary patience and understanding by
declaring that there must be reasons and circumstances behind such seemingly
unfathomable anti-Japanese sentiments. Any acts of discourtesy or violence emanating from the Japanese, if they are allowed to manifest themselves at all, are
directed only toward the supposedly deserving Chinese, whether it is the case of
Hase famously slapping the unappreciative Guilan across the face, or the exhibition of his disgust at the apparently disagreeable snacks peddled by a Chinese
street vendor. Toshiko (played by Hattori Tomiko), the young Japanese woman
expected to be the suitable match for Hase, is an angelic exemplar of understanding
and forgiveness even when Hase and her rival, Guilan, end up married.79 Hases
two close Japanese sailor buddies are clearly less refined in speech and attire but
still noble in spirit and reasonably courageous in action when engaging sinisterlooking Chinese operatives.80 Presumably, this barefaced we-versus-them stereotyping was not a particularly effective strategy if China Nights embedded agenda

xxxvi

Introduction

was to promote Sino-Japanese friendship and to win over intransigent hearts and
anti-Japanese minds on the continent. It is worth noting that Guilan ends up being
the one and only person the Japa nese succeed in converting to a pro-Japanese
position, if only as a corollary of her marriage to Hase. China Nights, then, becomes
as much a clumsy attempt at fabricating international goodwill through an implausibly staged transnational romance as a self-indulgent glorification of Japans
colonizing venture in China.81
Not untypical of Japanese propaganda fi lms of the time, China Nights narrative meanders between embroidered melodrama and absurdist theater. Soon
after her rescue by Hase and his saintly Japanese cohorts from a vagabonds life
on the streets, the previously Mandarin-speaking Shanghai maiden Guilan all of
a sudden proceeds to talk in absolutely impeccable Japanese.82 If her astonishing
linguistic talents could be summoned to explain this stunning feat, nothing could
elucidate her uncles singularly puzzling linguistic peculiarities. The Chinese resistance leader is perfectly effortless in interrogating Hase with flowing, non-accented
Japa nese, but can verbalize only virtually indecipherable Chinese words when
speaking alone with Guilan. Likewise, Guilans former housemaid, quintessentially
Chinese in manners and attire, can barely manage to speak her supposed mother
tongue as she inquires about the tragic fate of her old master and mistress.83
Furthermore, the juxtaposition of the main characters against Shanghais
war-torn cityscape in a number of scenes produces images so outlandishly jarring that, for the local Shanghai audience, good-humored bemusement was perhaps the only possible reaction. With his perfectly tailored seamans uniform,
immaculately pressed double-breasted jacket, fashionable fedora, and stylishly
pomaded wavy hair, the supremely self-possessed Hase on occasions conjures up
the image of a peacock surveying his newly colonized turf in an exotic territory.
Supposedly portraying the exemplary gentleman from the benevolent empire of
Japan and not a blown-up caricature, the hero succeeds in cutting a most peculiarly incongruous figure against the average Shanghai citizens under a harsh
foreign occupation.84 Perhaps that was exactly imperial Japans self-image in less
guarded moments during its moment of military ascendency vis--vis its conquered peoples in East Asia, but the barely camouflaged manifestation of national superiority translates into very bad propaganda and makes a mockery of
its war time rhetoric of pan-Asian harmony and co-prosperity. Meanwhile, in her
profound grief over her dead father and still-missing mother, both victims of the
wars brutality, poor Guilan is seen in the best of forms as she totters around her
severely war-devastated neighborhood in her fashionable high heels and an expensive overcoat over her elegant qipao. Even though the audience would have
realized by that juncture that China Nights is configured as a contemporary Japa-

Introduction

xxxvii

nese fairy tale with a Chinese setting, still the degree of willing suspension of
disbelief required of it approaches perverse proportions.
Perhaps the most revealing assessment of Japans war time role in China, regardless of how purposefully or inadvertently the various fi lm strategists at Th
might have envisioned it, is delivered by Hase immediately after he famously
slaps Guilan and sends her falling to the ground. What he has to say is a most
remarkable statement:
Keiran, at last, I hit you. I lost [my battle]. This is my punishment [batsu] for
having believed too much in my own power. I was a laughable narcissist [boku
wa kokkei-na unuboreya datta]. Please forgive me. Now leave and go wherever
you please.

This is a stunning reversal of the role played so far by Hase, the noble-minded
Japanese romantic with an unwavering will to present the best face of Japan before
the subjugated Chinese, the man who has keenly taken upon himself the formidable task of transforming Guilans intransigent anti-Japanese prejudices. Now we
find his pitiable transmutation into a despairing anti-hero, incapacitated by serious
internal doubts and consumed by an ego-deflating realization about the limitations of his ability. The once-dominating colonizing male now assumes a humble
posture of defeat, the romantic now in an embarrassing retreat. It is at this point
that Guilan, supposedly in deep traumatic shock mixed with romantic awakening,
comes to recognize the heros true affections and rushes to Hases side in appreciative tears, holding onto his leg and pleading with him to let her stay. She reinforces
her unmistakable posture of subservience by crying out how happy she is after
having been slapped by her abuser, and by repeatedly begging for his forgiveness.
This particular sequence, arguably one of the most unforgettable images from
wartime Japanese fi lms about China, is often highlighted as the colonizers ultimate triumph at winning the heart of the colonized, the hero finally getting the
girl. Tanikawa Takeshi, for example, has described Yamaguchis role as a visual
symbol embodying the rhetoric that Japanese continental advances (tairiku shinshutsu) would channel happiness to the people of China.85 Comparing the first
phase of China Nights to The Taming of the Shrew, Peter B. High likewise describes
director Fushimizu Osamus film as one that works the rich metaphorical possibilities afforded by the commonplace image of China as a disreputable woman
in need of redemption.86
Against conventional wisdom, controversies have arisen over whether China
Nights, sometimes compared to a Hollywood-style musical spiced with sweet romance and action scenes, can indeed be stigmatized as a blatant national policy

xxxviii

Introduction

fi lm. To be sure, Kimura Chiio, the scriptwriter for Song of the White Orchid
screened just a year before, had stated in the fi lm journal Kinema Junp as early
as July 1940 that China Nights quasi-propaganda style was employed merely as a
means to circumvent Japanese censorship.87 More recently, in 2003, the historian
Furukawa Takahisa has challenged the same orthodoxy by suggesting that the
fi lm should more properly be categorized as a typical entertainment fi lm. Additionally, it has been noted that the international romance at its core and China
Nights shallow entertainment value had in fact been repeatedly disparaged
by various parties in Japan, including the Home Ministry itself, as well as such
notable film critics as Tsumura Hideo.88
While the wisdom of Furukawas binary categorization of entertainment
versus national policy fi lms has in turn been questioned by other scholars of
Japanese war time cinema,89 the critical discourse over a more precise interpretation of China Nights deserves attention from other often neglected analytical perspectives. First, the exact dynamic leading to Guilans dramatic change of heart
has benefitted from several intriguing diagnostic angles. It can be argued that it
is precisely Hases open admission of personal vulnerability and failure, rather
than his violent action toward her, that succeeds in converting the adamant
Guilan, leads to her dissolving in uncontrollable tears, and results in her total
submission to her conquerors self-effacing charms.90 Others, however, contend
that Hases humble confession might not have been what it innocently purported
to bethat is, a moment of serious self-reflection that delivers a rare glimpse into
his internal thoughtsbut rather is a clever strategic move on the part of Japanese imperialist propaganda. The trick is to take a premeditated step backward,
as the argument goes, only to aim at more effectively accomplishing the greater
goal of converting the hearts of the still-recalcitrant locals.91
There were enough dramatic representations of male-to-female violence as a
formulaic spark igniting their ensuing romance in prewar Japanese popular entertainment that Yamaguchi herself was apparently convinced that the human dynamic in China Nights was following the same time-honored recipe, even though
the abused party was Chinese and not Japanese.92 In her postwar reminiscences,
she clearly understood the cultural and political effects of this par ticular episode
on her Chinese audiences, as shown in the following quotation:
The physical pain is not the only reason why I remember this scene shot some
forty years ago. This episode remains unforgettable to this day because it later
became a matter of contention during my hanjian trial. Additionally, the
scene indicated how differently the Japanese and the Chinese customarily
looked at such interactions. In prewar Japan, a man striking a woman could
also be seen as expressing his love for her. On stage as well as in fi lms, the

Introduction

xxxix

abused woman, impressed by the perpetrators strong masculinity and grateful for his sentiments, would frequently come to cherish renewed feelings of
love for the man. Yet this representation was something peculiar to Japanese
sensibilities. . . . In Chinese eyes, the idea of a woman falling for a man after
he had abused her constituted humiliation twice over. Moreover, the Chinese
audience saw this scene in the context of what was then happening in SinoJapanese relations between the victim and the aggressor. Far from being
moved by the expression of love in the way the Japanese were, the Chinese
were goaded into greater hatred for the Japanese by their action which further
inflamed the resistance. Hence the effect of the fi lm was exactly the opposite
of its intended propagandist goal.93

That such representations of Sino-Japanese romance failed to fi nish what

they set out to accomplish in China was not lost on a number of Japanese critics
of the time. The fi lm commentator Hazumi Tsuneo, for example, suggested that
Japanese films about China should henceforth respect Chinese culture, customs,
and language and went so far as to propose that Li Xianglan publicly revert to
her original Japanese name and appear as a Chinese-speaking Japanese actress.
Instead of concentrating attention on international romance, he proposed that
future fi lms sing praises of Sino-Japanese cooperation and expose the damages
inflicted on China by the presence of the British and U.S. concessions.94
The idea that Hases confession represents a shrewd Machiavellian ploy on
his part is theoretically provocative but contextually difficult to sustain. Neither
the tenor of the narrative with its emphasis on the unmitigated nobility of Japans
action on the continent nor Hases character traits as revealed until that critical
juncture sufficiently prepare the audience for such a drastic change in his personality. Furthermore, never again in the film does Hase exhibit the same unscrupulous cunning in his dealings with Guilan, or indeed with any other character or characters, including the hated members of the Chinese resistance. Even
granting that Yamaguchis national policy films as a whole are not particularly
known for their adherence to structural integrity or narrative verisimilitude, it
still seems remarkably incongruous for such an undeviatingly compassionate
and principled specimen of the Japanese Empire to then and only then manifest
his true self as a calculating and insidious schemer.
What makes the incorporation of Hases intimate confession so interpretatively tantalizing in this unabashed propaganda film is its very redundancy within
the overall narrative structure. One could hardly imagine what possible political
purpose such a soul-searching admission of personal failure might serve the imperialist agenda of the Japanese Empire. Even if that entire episode had been eliminated, the fi lm would scarcely have deviated from its essential plotline, nor would

xl

Introduction

its removal have changed the fundamental trajectory of its ideological gospel.
Indeed, the expulsion of the entire sequence would have given greater affi rmative
recognition and structural consistency to Hases romantic heroism by erasing any
debilitating doubts over his strength of character and sternness of purpose. There
is, in other words, no par ticu lar dramaturgic exigency or ideological imperative
to underscore Hases internal despair and to create a cloud of skepticism over his
sense of nationalist resolveunless the intent lies elsewhere.
It is here that the interpolation of Hases internal monologue in China Nights
may benefit from a new analytical interrogation by focusing on the work of its
screenwriter Oguni Hideo (19041996). I propose that one possible strategy is
to see Hases statement as a carefully camouflaged critique of Japans narcissistic
wartime role in East Asia, as well as of its inflated political rhetoric and pathetic
sense of self-importance. The dangerous exercise was cleverly insulated from the
censors and political repercussions through a dramatic disguise in the style of a
confession from none other than the cinematic emblem of Japanese wartime righteousness. Ogunis earlier background and his future career, to the extent that we
know them, do in some ways oblige us to ponder what actually might have transpired in this intriguing episode.
As a young man, Oguni participated in the bold New Village Movement
(atarashiki mura), an ambitious socialist-inspired communal living project promoted and organized by the leading White Birch school (Shirakaba-ha) novelist
Mushanokji Saneatsu beginning in 1918.95 There is no evidence to ascertain
whether the young mans action was inspired by Tolstoys humanistic tenets or a
sanguine belief in the fullest possible actualization of the human potential, both
marked tendencies shared by many White Birch writers.96 Moreover, Ogunis involvement in the utopian project in rural Kyushu by itself was insufficient to
demonstrate what his political orientation was around 1940; nor can his earlier
activity suggest what his par ticular reception of Japans imperialist ideology was
at the time. What we do know is that war time filmmakers, including Yamamoto
Satsuo, Imai Tadashi, and Kamei Fumio, were routinely compelled to assist Japans
national efforts or, as Yamamoto himself wrote, face the specter of imprisonment
and torture.97 While reported instances of such harsh punishment of wartime
film artists were exceedingly rare, one needs only to be reminded of the arrest and
imprisonment of the fi lm critic Iwasaki Akira in 1940, the detention of Kamei
Fumio in 1941, and the subsequent loss of the latters directors license to realize
that Yamamotos fears were not merely delusional.
Even though one might never truly learn about Ogunis wartime experiences
or his precise reception of Japanese aggression in China, his distinguished postwar contributions do offer us tantalizing clues. Many of his celebrated postwar
screenplays, written over several decades in collaboration with Kurosawa Akira,

Introduction

xli

Hashimoto Shinobu, and Kikushima Ryz, often strongly suggest the lasting
impact of Russian-inspired humanism and more so of the teams extraordinary
imaginative powers and narrative sophistication.98 All circumstantial factors considered, it is perhaps not too farfetched to imagine Ogunis internal conflict while
working as a wartime scriptwriter, whether his anxiety might have been the result
of overt political pressure or self-imposed torment during a period of particularly
stringent censorship control.99 The dilemma he likely faced, between exercising
his creative autonomy and his fears about possible political repercussions, could
well have been a compelling dynamic that helped deliver the script for China
Nights. Ogunis contemporary Kimura Chiios observation that China Nights might
only be simulated propaganda appears to corroborate this imagined scenario.
Yamamoto Satsuos postwar autobiography reminds us how freedom of expression for the filmmaker after the outbreak of the Pacific War meant just whatever
little freedom he could exercise in hoodwinking the Japanese military (seizei ika
ni sukoshi demo gun no me o gomakasu ka).100 Perhaps Oguni, too, was practicing
this delicate art as his only possible form of wartime resistance. Under his pen,
Hase Tetsuo remains the quintessential courier for the expanding Japanese Empire,
though not always in the way Japans imperialist ideology intended him to be.
Yamaguchis other wartime films suggest a mosaic of reactions to the demands
Japans imperialist ideology made on the fi lm industry. In Song of the White
Orchid, for example, the Chinese heroine played by Yamaguchi joins a group of
anti-Japanese Communist forces before she finally succumbs to her former love,
Matsumura Yasukichi, a Japanese Mantetsu engineer played by Hasegawa Kazuo.
Upon seeing her in military uniform, the Japanese hero cannot help asking in
utter astonishment, How dare you present such a sight as this? You, a woman
with such a deep appreciation for us Japanese!101 Sat Tadao has given a catchy
name for films of this sort, calling them rashamen movies, a derogatory term
originally employed to refer to Japanese women who allowed themselves to be
degraded by becoming mistresses to Westerners.102 It seems to be a kind of universal archetype, Sat writes. When the conqueror wishes to enlist the cooperation of the conquered, he creates a love story with the male as conqueror and
the female as the conquered.103 It has been pointed out by fi lm scholars such as
Freda Freiberg that the ideological motivation behind this genre of interracial
and transnational romance was to sugarcoat the brutality of Japanese aggression
in China with a love story and a self-fulfi lling national fantasy.104 In the same
vein, the fi lm scholar Yiman Wang argues that [t]he political agenda of expansionism and assimilationism was packaged in the form of depoliticized, sentimentalized romance which, combined with Lis musical interludes, won her panEast Asia appeal.105 Speaking on Song of the White Orchid, Sat Tadao offers the
following view on the Japanese perspective on China:

xlii

Introduction

Japan was represented by the role played by Hasegawa, and China by that of
Li Xianglan. If China had trusted and depended on Japan in the same way,
Japan would surely reward her with love. That was the fi lms message expressed through a romance. To the Chinese, that was simply an idiotic and
deceitful idea taken by Japan unilaterally to subject China to humiliation.
For the Japanese living within Japan with no knowledge about the reality of
Japanese invasion of China, it was a sweet fantasy that indulged their nave
self-conceit. Japanese movie fans were intoxicated by this fantasy. That was
why the fi lm became a hit. They saw Li Xianglan as a pitiable, pure-hearted
Chinese maiden who truly fell for a Japanese male. Since Japan was the object
of such adoration by the Chinese, a logic was thus formed that Japan was not
an aggressor in China but merely its mentor.106

Such self-complacent representations of Sino-Japanese wartime relationship

characteristically manifest but backfire on themselves in the continental trilogy
(19391940). During the screening in Beijing and other northern Chinese cities
of Pledge in the Desert, a roundtable was organized among Chinese men of letters
to discuss its reception. Greeting it with a round of criticisms, one Chinese reviewer looked upon the transnational romance as highly artificial when seen
from the context of the players student-teacher relationship. Accordingly, ordinary Chinese viewers were likely to form a very negative impression of the Japanese as terrible egoists and utterly unfeeling men. Moreover, Japa nese fi lmmakers of China Nights and Pledge in the Desert were said to have done no research
whatsoever on Chinese sentiments and customs; dwellings in both Beijing and in
the rural areas are presented with the same undistinguishable style, while the
Japanese actor playing a Communist Eighth Route Army soldier appears even to
have his hair permed.107

Propaganda Repackaged: Winter Jasmine (1942)

Produced in the transitional period between the continental trilogy and Glory
to Eternity (1943), Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, 1942) appears at first sight to be a
marked generic departure from the trite melodramatic concoctions delivered in
Yamaguchis earlier films.108 Set in the northeastern cities of Fengtian and Harbin, the story describes a series of bumbling but endearing adventures of a Japanese company employee named Murakawa Takeo as he attempts to adapt to the
new cultural environment in the Manchurian wonderland that he now calls home.
Yamaguchi appears as Bai Li, a most conveniently bilingual Chinese maiden
who works in the same company headed by Murakawas uncle.

Introduction

xliii

Despite his fine reputation as the best graduate from a university in Tokyo,
Murakawa at first sight does not seem to exemplify either the masculine or nationalistic ideals of a belligerent state epitomized by the earlier roles of Hasegawa
Kazuo or Sano Shji. Apparently, this new expatriate to Manchuria cares only
about petty, mundane affairs that have little to do with the all-important advancement of the empires interests: how much his monthly pay would be, whether it
would allow him the occasional luxury of sake and tobacco, and where he can
find adequate accommodation in town. In addition, the male lead played by the
Shchiku-funa actor Konoe Toshiaki hardly reminds one of the handsome
heartthrobs who had earlier appeared in Yamaguchis films as her love interest.
Instead, Murakawa is a stocky, bespectacled, lackluster, and socially awkward
white-collar worker who is also physically clumsy in demeanor; he is perhaps the
most embarrassingly bad ice skater amongst his companys colleagues. Yet his undeviating goal is total immersion in Manchurian life, even to the point of declining an offer of comfortable lodging from the directors daughter, Yae (played by
Kogure Michiyo), in favor of a rental unit from a local Chinese family.
The Japanese company director is an enthusiast of Chinese calligraphy and a
good friend and former classmate of Bai Lis father, a former student in Japan. One
time, comparing unnamed Manchurian paintings from unidentified artists of a
thousand years ago, which he sees in a local museum, with the late Momoyama
and early Edo works of Honami Ketsu and Tawaraya Statsu five hundred years
ago,109 the director is so struck by their close similarities in design and color
execution that he proclaims to Mr. Bai that all those artworks must have originated from the same source. He proceeds to declare that from a broad historical
perspective, Manchurian and Japanese art represent one common East Asian
(Ty) aesthetic, thereby audaciously entangling two disparate artistic traditions
into a common heritage. Slavishly but not surprisingly, Mr. Bai agrees with the
formers views by characterizing the observations of his Japanese friend and his
daughters boss as insightful.
In contrast to Yamaguchis earlier fi lms with more explicitly-articulated nationalist themes and undertones, the high-minded Japanese male and vulnerable
Chinese maiden archetype undergoes a transformation here with a soft-power
projection of sorts. In one scene, however, the director Sasaki K foregoes whatever inhibitions he might have had earlier by having a Japanese company executive proclaim, quite surprisingly to the face of the newly-arrived Murakawa, that
the ultimate fate of Japan rests with the consolidation of power in the north
apparently a reference to Manchuriarather than with the southward advance
(nanshin suru tame ni wa kita o katamerubeki). Bai Li and Yae are brought forth
as cultural or perhaps even national symbols, both trying, in varying ways, to
attract the attention of Murakawa, the awkward, unattractive, but nonetheless

xliv

Introduction

colonial male to be reckoned with. Both women are on the companys ice-skating
team, and the fact that they are rivals of sorts is accentuated by the insinuation
among some company colleagues that Bai Li should replace Yae on the team because the former is a better skater.
To be sure, there are instances in the film where the grand ideal of JapaneseManchurian amity takes clear precedence over the private wishes of a Japanese
woman represented by Yae. Yet unlike some of the more transparent national
policy films, Winter Jasmine does not concern itself directly with the redemption
of intransigent anti-Japanese sentiments, with the rhetoric of co-prosperity for
Greater East Asia, or with the exploits of white imperialists in Asia before the altruistic intervention of the Japanese. Neither does it deliver scenes of open military
conflict to demonstrate the superiority of Japans military discipline or the nobility
of its fighting men. Even the overt political reference to the relative importance of
strengthening Japanese control in Manchuriaan artlessly abrupt intrusion into
the narrativespeaks only of a tactical priority rather than singing praises of
Japans continental enterprise itself. What it does attempt to accomplish is to underscore the interracial harmony, transnational goodwill, and genuine accommodation of the Japanese colonizers in their interactions with Manchurias colonized
people. The company directors warm embrace of Manchurian aesthetics and Murakawas single-minded attempt to immerse himself in Manchurian society and
culture clearly illustrate the point. There is no fundamental subversion or rethinking of the power relationship between the colonizing and colonized hierarchies
relative to what had been presented in the continental trilogy, but the old relationship is repackaged according to a new style of paternalistic imagination.
Winter Jasmine properly belongs to a genre sometimes referred to as tairiku
mono or continental fi lms, productions that were typically set in colonized
Manchuria or in areas under Japanese control in China. Sat Tadao points out
that despite the appearance of certain anti-Japanese elements in such films, they
are merely duped (mayowasareru) by the Kuomintang or Communist propaganda to the point of misapprehending Japans real intentions about the new order
in East Asia.110 In the case of Winter Jasmine, however, even such benign antiJapanese elements have been rendered immaterial as the very notion has been
preempted by the alleged aesthetic bond between Manchurian and Japanese art.
The underlying message is clear: spiritual brothers whose forefathers drank from
the same cultural wellspring cannot and must not be enemies.

Li Xianglans Guniang as Paradigm of Foreignness

As representations of Japans wartime self-image, political postures, and professed transnational goals, the continental trilogy and its successors throughout

Introduction

xlv

the war years were not just meant for the enlightenment of colonized peoples in
East Asia; no less importantly, they were crafted for Japans domestic consumption
as well. Rapid expansion of the Asian war theater after 1937 and the accompanying need to re-enunciate and refurbish the legitimacy of alleged Sino-Japanese
solidarity and the pan-Asianist agenda of Japans war efforts made it imperative
that a strategy of massive public outreach be developed both abroad and at home.
On Japanese soil, one cultural product emerging from this cinematic onslaught
was the increasing public receptiveness to Chinese or continentally flavored
melodies, spurred earlier on by such songs as China Nights, When Will You
Return? and The Suzhou Serenade performed by Yamaguchi and Watanabe
Hamako. For instance, thanks to Watanabes earlier recording, When Will You
Return? swept over Japan in 1939 while The Suzhou Serenade reached the
height of its popularity during and shortly after Yamaguchis per formance in
Tokyos Nichigeki Theater in early 1941.111
At the same time, it is important to note that Yamaguchis cinematic roles
did not merely represent young, vulnerable Chinese women subserviently awaiting Japanese salvation before irresistibly falling for the single-minded and morally upright Japanese colonial male; her maidenly portraits did not simply fill the
role of the docile sheep in Sat Tadaos rashamen analogy. In time, her screen
persona in effect took on a more autonomous aura and compelling presence not
only to her viewers but also to her romantic male counterpart. This was accomplished partly by vigorously marketing Li Xianglan in Japan as a beauty of exotic
charm through the publicity channels of Manei, Th, and Shchiku. In this
connection, Isolde Standish draws our attention to what she calls a discourse of
inter-Asian Orientalism by underscoring the fact that Yamaguchis body was
invested with a sexualized image of what the colonies represented to the Japanese at the time of their attempt at continental expansion.112 The fi lm critic Shimizu Akira explains that Li Xianglan, through her attractive Chinese style, her
captivating singing voice and her fluency in Japa nese, embodied an idealized
image of China that appealed to Japanese people.113
Along with the carefully repackaged image of Li Xianglan as an enticingly
exotic Manchurian guniang,114 the promotion of her unique femininity and sex
appeal became an altogether necessary part of the overall strategy. There is a
particularly revealing episode in her autobiography in which she describes how,
during the filming of Song of the White Orchid, her coactor Hasegawa Kazuo
endeavored to tutor her in the delicate acting of seduction:
The special lecture Hasegawa gave me on acting had to do with the art of
iroke. . . . 115 As might be expected of a former onnagata,116 the way his eyes,
body, and hands moved and gestured to produce the desired effect was far
more feminine than what I could accomplish. Watching him perform was

xlvi

Introduction

sufficient to bring a flush to my face. Your eyes must only be half-open and
your head tilts just a little to the side. Look at a person out of the corner of
your eyes and then slowly move your line of vision downwards. I must say
that such instructions didnt do me much good, as I was both amused and
embarrassed.117

Here the lesson offered by the authoritative onnagata on the Japanese art of iroke
was not merely distasteful when measured against Yamaguchis well-cultivated
Chinese sensibilities; it typically exemplifies the cultural hegemony of the foreign
over indigenous norms in the practice of colonizing ideology, invariably privileging the perpetrators in their moment of ascendancy. To be sure, this pattern of
cultural manipulation was consistent with the formal structuring of power. In
reality, however, there was often a degree of boundary-crossing fluidity between
the involved parties; strictly-defined hierarchies of power often failed to contain
or determine spontaneous movements of taste and sensibility produced by the
prevailing human dynamic.
Popular Japanese imagination in the late 1930s and early 1940s was quick to
identify Li Xianglans exceptional appeal within the cultural parameters surrounding her assumed continental ethnicity. The subservience and vulnerabilities of
her roles aside, she epitomized an alluring foreign body too physically attractive
to be summarily shunned and too internally value-vested to be easily dismissed.
Because her affections for the dominating Japanese male had come to be seen as a
prerequisite for the latters full self-actualizationthis was undoubtedly the lesson
the audience would draw from Hases experience in China Nightsthe deceivingly
submissive Chinese maiden in time became an indispensable self-affirming trophy
to be actively sought after rather than rejected with imperial disdain. In a connected discussion, Ikeda Shinobu has argued that Japans male-dominated imperialism saw the otherness in Li dressed in Chinese attirein his words Shinafuku
no onnaas a juxtaposition of dual objects of desire, of China on the one hand
and the female object on the other;118 the two had become inseparable. But now the
trajectory of power and control was no longer flowing in just one direction but
traversing with indeterminate volatility between the male and the female.
This new cultural imagination of the foreign female body epitomized by Li
Xianglan soon turned the Chinese maiden into a powerful object of desire without whom the colonizing males ever-present need for dominance and, indeed,
his manhood itself, could scarcely be physically acted upon, sentimentally ratified, and psychologically fulfilled, and thereby be fully imagined. It is from this
perspective that Lis Chinese guniang, then, represents a fascinating departure
and arguably a new paradigm shiftfrom the more traditional formulations
ofcolonized bodies from East Asia in modern Japa nese cultural and literary

Introduction

xlvii

imagination. A contrast with other examples of how the foreign body had been
conceived and articulated in prewar Japan helps to illustrate the point.
For example, Peter Duus underscores Japanese presentations in travel accounts
and guidebooks of the Koreans whom they had colonized as a quasi-subhuman
race, even beastly in their habits. Diet member and Hiroshima newspaper editor
Arakawa Gor had this to say about the Koreans he saw in the aftermath of the
Russo-Japanese War:
If you look closely [at the Koreans], they appear to be a bit vacant, their mouths
open and their eyes dull. . . . In the lines of their mouths and faces you can
discern a certain looseness, and when it comes to sanitation or sickness they
are loose in the extreme. Indeed, to put it in the worst terms, one could even
say that they are closer to beasts than to human beings.119

From the beginning of the twentieth century, Japanese cultural imagination

was not particularly known for its encompassing accommodation of elements
deemed either too foreign or heterogeneous to the nations increasingly collectivized cultural or social values. Continued discrimination and social prejudices
against the Asian other Chinese, Korean, and Taiwanese includedhave been
well-documented in contemporary reports, reminiscences, and a variety of other
writings. Even the metaphorically diseased body of the untouchable caste, most
notably personified in Meiji literary imagination by the eta village teacher Ushimatsu in Shimazaki Tsons naturalist novel Broken Commandment (Hakai,
1906), for example, was pitilessly denied communal embrace within the realm of
a newly imperialized Japan. Ostracized by his ethno-racial compatriots in late
Meiji society, Ushimatsu ends up as an exile in a foreign landin this instance
the United Statesthereby effectively reduced to a colonized object conveniently
amputated from his supposedly sanitized homeland.120
Just as the more immediate pre-1937 representations of China by as diverse
a group of writers and playwrights as Kuroshima Denji, Hirabayashi Taiko,
Maedak Hiroichir, Murayama Tomoyoshi, and Yokomitsu Riichi cannot be
easily packaged into any neatly defined category, the very complex subject of Japanese literary writing on China in the immediate post-1937 period likewise defies
easy generalizations. Depictions of war weariness and ghastly acts of barbarism
by the Japa nese military in Ishikawa Tatsuzs story Soldiers Alive (Ikiteiru
heitai, 1938) contrast with Hayashi Fusaos agitated proclamation in his The
Shanghai Front (Shanhai sensen, 1937) that pacifists of any kind have no choice
but to rise and fight with weapons in hand. The Japanese expatriates are fighting!
And fight they will!121 Yet among the dispatches from many literary figures sent
to the Chinese front by their publishers, journals, or the government, it is not

xlviii

Introduction

difficult to detect an ominous pattern of cultural and aesthetic marginalization

when it came to their portraits of China. In many instances, this was carried
through an undertone ranging from condescending indifference and offhanded
dismissal to outright contempt. Often, a nativist chauvinism affected travelers reports on Chinas cultural conditions and social customs whose immediate foreignness and incomprehensibility to Japanese sensibilities served only to accentuate
the latters impatience and displeasure toward them.
Tendencies of this kind revealingly appear in the travelogues of the cultural
and literary critic Kobayashi Hideo, who first visited China from February to
April 1938 as a special correspondent for the literary journal Bungei Shunj and
then as a private traveler from October to December in the same year. With typical aloofness and emotional disengagement characteristic of a befuddled sightseer from a hegemonic power traversing an unfamiliar and subjugated land, Kobayashi commented on a diversity of scenes and people ranging from the monks
and the West Lake in Hangzhou and the gardens and temples of Suzhou to humble sugarcane juice vendors and dirty children on war-torn streets.122 Predictably
or curiously, depending on ones perspective, he showed no par ticu lar eagerness
to explore the horrendous conditions of war-ravaged Nanjing after its recent fall
into Japanese hands, saying that he didnt think there was anything he wanted to
see.123 Not even the extraordinary scale of human suffering following Japanese
atrocities was enough to motivate the interest or curiosity of this Japanese traveler who had just a few months earlier written a most striking essay On War
(Sens ni tsuite, November 1937), ruminating, among other things, about the
relative significance of war and literature.124
As a whole, Kobayashis travelogues produce no truly engaging Chinese portraits; the author himself confessed, apparently with few misgivings, to his difficulty in identifying and thereby authenticating what to him was the elusive Chinese
character. Apparently, as most of his wartime writings on China reveal, the Chinese
living their days under Japanese occupationmen, women, and childrenwere all
too distant, too alien, and too blurred as cultural or aesthetic objects to deserve
his genuine empathy or even close attention.
On the other hand, among the Russians he saw along Harbins main business
thoroughfare, the faces of the beggar, the barmaid, and the hotel bellhop all reminded him of familiar figures he had read about in Russian literature. He might
have been able to encounter Prince Myshkins face on the streets of Manchuria,
he wrote, but finding Ah Qs face in the streets of Beijing posed a more difficult
challenge.125 When attempting to come to terms with this unanticipated and
apparently somewhat irksome cognitive hurdle, Kobayashi ended up putting the
blame squarely on Chinas inadequacy, or more precisely, on what he considered

Introduction

xlix

Chinas total absence of a modern literature to bestow new expressions on its

ethnic character.126 Even Lu Xuns contributions in this regard were dismissed
offhandedly as apparently circumscribed, as they did not quite qualify for what
Kobayashi had in mind.127 Kobayashis Manchurian impressions might have produced intimate echoes with his engagements with Dostoevsky or Chekhov, but
many established Chinese men of letters who could have enlightened him about
a thing or two on the subject were apparently beyond Kobayashis immediate referential range or concern.128 It is, then, hardly surprising that Kobayashis encounter with the faces of tens of thousands of Chinese war refugees inspired little
more than a retrogressive rumination that he could hardly understand those
nameless individuals, equipped as he was with nothing more than fragments from
The Book of Songs (Shijing) as his frame of reference to the country.129 In another
most telling episode, Kobayashi surveyed from his second-floor room the more
intimate habits of some Chinese he saw in Nanjing. Characteristically, he failed
to identify, contextualize, or make sense of the broader cultural or human significance beyond the perplexing immediacy of his experience:
Even the way they wiped themselves [after defecation] was the reverse of ours.
Such a custom was bound to produce a certain psychological inclination but
it was not clear just what kind of inclination.130

Kobayashis striking dissociation of sensibility from that country in 1938

ominously furnished the pertinent cultural context to situate Hase Tetsuos China
experiences in China Nights in 1940 on the silver screen. On the other hand, Japanese popu lar imagination of Li Xianglan, widely assumed to be an emblem of
quintessential Chineseness no less than the citizens of Nanjing, Hangzhou, Suzhou,
or Harbin, represented a dramatic departure from images of blandness, filth,
chaos, vulgarity, and inscrutability that Kobayashi had recorded just a few years
earlier in occupied China. Instead, the remarkable phenomenon of Li Xianglan
was internally conceptualized, aesthetically embellished, culturally sterilized, and
politically repackaged in Japan for the benefit of the empires own domestic consumption no less than its utilitarian functions in Japans colonized territories.
The invention and subsequent idealization and commodification of this particular
foreign body, simultaneously extolled for its romantic appeal, feminine charms,
and political subservience, was largely a product of political and aesthetic mediation through the prism of myth formation. In the process, self-revered reassurances
being made of the validity of Japans national role and the legitimacy of its expansionist ideology also served to massage and romanticize the countrys own
national ego.

Introduction

Hand in hand with these tendencies came, as we have seen, Japans active
mythologizing of Manchuria as a land of rich and unexplored opportunities, an
exciting shintenchi to realize dreams crushed by the harsh realities of life in Japan
itself. The film critic Shimizu Akira has pointed out that To the Japanese youths
at the time, the idea of advancing into the Asian continent held a mesmeric allure
similar to the prospect of living in Europe or the United States for the young
people today. Li Xianglan was the queen in their dreams with visions of a colorful rainbow connecting Japan and the continent, he continued. The fact that
she was Japanese was nothing short of a historical irony.131 Li Xianglan, like the
idea but not the reality of Manchuria, was symbolically transformed into a cultural
site where fantasies were concocted and perpetuated through an ideologically
driven cultural imagination. Commenting on Japanese colonies as a mythic place
for the Japanese imagination, and Japanese power, to roam, Alan Tansman quotes
Yasuda Yojrs ruminations on Manchuria and Mongolia:
Japan is now at the threshold of an unprecedented and magnificent era. . . .
Our young people, in Manchuria and Mongolia, are forging a new spirit, a
new reality, a new logic, a new sensibility through a form never before formed,
and they are living that magnificent conception in daily life, amidst chaos and
confusion. We already feel in our hearts the stirrings of a new resolution and
system, and a new myth.132

When political expediencies driving Japans imperialist enterprise helped

channel the mythologizing energies from this new cultural imagination into the
realm of visual media, the conditions were ripe for the emergence of Yamaguchis
wartime films, from the continental trilogy to Winter Jasmine. The mythos was
expressed, for example, through Suzhou Nights in a scene in a Shanghai orphanage where the selfless act of a young Japanese doctor saves the life of a drowning
child. Should the recipients of Japans goodwill remain stubbornly resistant to its
benevolence and generosity, then other strategies and other myths were formulated to underscore the patriarchic munificenceand the sternness of purpose
of the colonizing master. And here is where, in China Nights, the physical violence
toward an unappreciative colonized subject becomes a necessary part of the overall meta-narrative. Others such as Winter Jasmine offered themselves to buttress
the empty political rhetoric of cooperation and harmony among the five races
(gozoku kywa)133 and the representation of colonized Manchuria as a land of
happiness under benevolent rule (d rakudo). Japans war time propaganda
fi lms examined in this essay, crude public instruments in the ser vice of equally
crude political slogans, come to us as cautionary tales about a recklessly bellicose
nation and its more frantic supporters whose egos, at once jingoistic and combative

Introduction

li

but also fragile and delusional, eagerly coveted the physical subservience, cuddling
reassurance, and indulging affirmations from what only simulated characters
like Guilan in China Nights or Mr. Bai in Winter Jasmine could deliver. In the end,
the war time cinematic roles of Yamaguchi Yoshiko/Li Xianglan were central
to the unfolding of this black political farce, absurdist theater, and ultimately, sad
human drama.

CHAPTER 1

My Fushun Years

My memories of the Chinese continent begin with Fushun.

Known for its extensive open-pit operations, Fushun was a coal-mining town
run by the South Manchurian Railway Company. The image that floats before my
eyes is one of steep green precipices in the distance spiraling downward into the
valley depths like tiers of gyrating stairways. And then there were the dark, glossy
layers of coal, the procession of freight trains, the sound of their whistles reverberating into the distance, the wobbly haze of factory smoke rising into the distant sky, and the red sun descending into the expanse of the mountain valley.
I was born on February 12, 1920, the ninth year of Taish, in North Yantai in
the suburbs of present-day Shenyang (formerly Fengtian), the capital city of Liaoning Province in Northeast China, or Manchuria as the region was previously
known. As my whole family moved to Fushun soon after I was born, the town
became the backdrop for practically all my memories as a young girl.
The Manchurian sun setting into the sorghum fields is a famous sight, but
for me the sun in Fushuns western sky beautifully complemented the grand view
of the open mines as the fading rays brought an extra tinge of red to the knotweed
blossoms along the road to the coal mines. I was then living in the center of town
on Sixth Street, while the mining area was in Fushuns southern suburbs. As
elementary school students, we could go there only during excursions that were
part of our school curriculum. Passing through the town center on our way to
Yong An Elementary School on South Main Street with my good friends, Toshiko
and Midori, and going back the same way, were big parts of my everyday routine.
Going straight east on East Seventh Street, we walked beneath the poplar trees
that lined the chessboard-like streets from the corner of East Sanbanch to Fushun Shrine. Even today, the name of Fushun evokes not so much of the scene of
chimney-filled coal mines as vivid memories of rows of green poplars rising into
a sky so blue that it hurts the eyes.
The town of Fushun itself was witnessing vibrant economic growth, reflecting
Japans national policy of promoting development of the areas natural resources.

Chapter 1

At the same time, the coal-mining town was living in fear of attacks from antiJapanese bandits. But for a young girl like me, Fushun was just a quiet community of rolling hills where the enchanting poplar trees coexisted in perfect
harmony with the distant view of mountain valleys and their open mines. And
then there were my good friends, my loving parents, and my dear brother and
sisters. . . . At least that was what this peaceful town was like before the outbreak
of the Manchurian Incident.
I lived in Fushun until I was twelve. Until the age of eighteen, when I visited
Tokyo on a short trip in the fall, I knew nothing about my Japanese homeland. I
was what you might call a dyed-in-the-wool Manchurian girl. We in the Japanese
community spoke only Japa nese in our daily lives. But years later, I was also
an actress using the Chinese stage name Li Xianglan, speaking Chinese, singing
Chinese songs, and in the process turning myself more or less into a woman of
indecipherable nationality. In the prewar years, this nave young girl, swept by
the currents of her time, thought she could live her life loving two countriesher
native land and the land of her birthbut in reality those two countries were facing off against each other in a war. It was only much later that I could acutely
experience a sadness comparable to what a person of dual nationality might feel.
During my Fushun years, I was just a very ordinary girl who knew nothing about
the world.
I was my parents first child. My father, Yamaguchi Fumio, was born in Saga
Prefecture in 1889, the twenty-second year of Meiji. My grandfather Hiroshi was
a Sinologist of samurai origin. My father studied Chinese under the influence of
my grandfather, and, in 1906, the year after the Russo-Japanese War ended, he
traveled to the Chinese continent, as he had long been yearning to do. After studying in Beijing, he received an acquaintances recommendation to work for the South
Manchurian Railway Company (Minami-Mansh Tetsud Kabushiki Gaisha, or
Mantetsu), first at its Yantai Coal Mining Office and later at the Fushun mines.
As he was proficient in Chinese and knowledgeable about Chinese customs and
the peoples way of thinking, he became an instructor of Chinese and Chinese affairs to Mantetsus employees and apparently worked also as a consultant for Fushun County.
All the basic education I received in preparing me to speak standard Chinese
that is, Mandarincame from my father. Like the contingents of young Japanese
men who crossed the sea to China at the time, Father was something of a nationalist in temperament, but twice as enthusiastic as the others about studying the
Chinese language. He also had many Chinese friends and acquaintances. Before
entering Mantetsu, he had studied at the Association of Common Learning
(Tongxue Hui), a Beijing school specializing in teaching Chinese. Among his
friends during those days were some pro-Japanese Chinese figures such as Li Ji-

My Fushun Years

chun and Pan Yugui, both prominent in financial and political circles. Following
a Chinese custom practiced among close friends, they exchanged brotherhood vows
with my father. Accordingly, I became as a matter of decorum their adoptive daughter and was given Chinese names such as Li Xianglan and Pan Shuhua.
My mother, like my father, was from Kyushu, hailing from Fukuoka Prefecture. Her father, Ishibashi Kinjir, operated a shipping agency whose business
fell on hard times with the development of the railroad ser vice. After first moving to Gyeongseong (present-day Seoul) in Korea, the family settled in China under the auspices of her uncle, the owner of a retail outlet of polished rice in Fushun. It was there that my father, Fumio, and my mother, Ai, five years his junior,
met and got married. Judging from superficial appearance, I had no idea whether
their marriage was the result of a private romance or a family arrangement, as
people from the Meiji generation never talked about such matters.
My father studied classical Chinese books and the Chinese language in Japan
before his Tongxue Hui days. From the viewpoint of Japans educational system,
he was a self-educated man. My mother, on the other hand, was a graduate of
Tokyos Japan Womens University and what you might call an intellectual type.
She was strict about her childrens education, and when it came to matters of manners and etiquette, she was particularly demanding. Since I was not good at mathematics, I was made to study with a student who took up lodging at Fushuns branch
of the Higashi Honganji.1 Yet Mother also had a childlike side to her. Far from
scolding the children for playing in the dirt in the garden, she would join us and
cover herself with mud as she dashed about with total mischievousness.
At school, my favorite subjects were Japanese language and music, but I did
poorly in mathematics and gymnastics no matter how hard I tried. I did best in
music. My parents had high if vague expectations of me as their eldest child and
were quite enthusiastic about my education, though I was not asked to learn things
like the tea ceremony, flower arrangement, cooking, and needlework like girls back
in my homeland. Instead, I was made to take violin, piano, and koto lessons. After
returning home from school, our inseparable band of three girls would always
have our playing time; I also had to go for music lessons every other day, and at
night I had to attend Fathers Chinese classquite a frantic schedule for just a little child. I was fond of singing, and it appeared that I was also a passable performer.
There were times when I was chosen to represent my class of the year by singing
solo at school plays and concerts.
Father seemed to have expected that his scrupulous Chinese instruction would
enable me in the future to apply that knowledge in a profession related to SinoJapanese relations. As he himself had the dubious title of Consultant to Mantetsu
and to Fushun County, he apparently hoped that I would distinguish myself by
becoming a politician or a journalist after working as a politicians secretary or

Chapter 1

interpreter. When I was in kindergarten, he would sit me in front of a desk during his free time and give me private lessons on Chinese pronunciation. When
I became an elementary school student, he made me attend his evening Chinese
class at the Mantetsu Research Center. I sat in the last row of the classroom and
was treated just like a regular student among other adults.
As we all know, geographically, historically, and ethnically, the Chinese continent is a huge land mass with numerous spoken languages, even though they are
all called Chinese for short. It is often said that even in Japan, people speaking
the Aomori and Kagoshima dialects cannot understand each other, but there is no
comparison with Chinese dialects, which are, simply put, not so much regional
tongues as independent foreign languages. The ways people speak are as varied as
the countrys geographical regions, thus rendering communication difficult. The
speech used around the capital of Beijing, though only one among many dialects,
was therefore made into a standard language applicable throughout the country.
That was the language Father taught me.
In prewar Japan, baptized as it was by European thought in the Meiji period,
education in such Western languages as English, German, and French was given
much attention, while it was extremely rare for Chinese to be included in the regular school language curriculum. For this reason, it was common for aspiring
students like my father to begin studying classical Chinese and Chinese poetry
in Chinese schools in Japan before going to places like Beijings Tongxue Hui or
Shanghais Academy of East Asian Common Culture (Dongya Tongwen Shuyuan).
A Chinese language text widely used by such students was the Kyshhen, a most
highly regarded work compiled by Miyajima Daihachi and the only Chinese language series in Japan during the prewar years. Miyajima learned Chinese along
with men like Kawashima Naniwa (well known as the foster father of Kawashima
Yoshiko) and Futabatei Shimei in foreign language institutions during the early
Meiji period. Reacting against the governments lack of attention to Chinese, Miyajima staunchly chose to remain outside the arena of political power and remained
in the Academy of Good Neighbors (Zenrin Gakuin) as an erudite scholar of Chinese studies.2
Father also learned Chinese through the Kyshhen and proceeded to further
his studies in China itself. There, he used the textbook while serving as a lecturer in
Mandarin, the dialect traditionally used in Beijings official circles, to Fushuns
Mantetsu employees. As one of his students, I studied the same textbook from the
elementary to the advanced levels. In those days, it was mandatory for Japanese
Mantetsu employees to study Mandarin to facilitate their communication with
the Chinese. Based on a standardized national qualifying examination, the certification had five levels ranging from elementary to advanced: Four, Three, Two,
One, and Special. As Mantetsu allowed only those who passed the examination

My Fushun Years

to become regular employees with a salary commensurate with the level of their
proficiency, all Fathers students studied with undeviating concentration.
Father taught Chinese at night after the days work had ended. Every evening,
a large number of Japanese employees would pack the lecture hall at the Mantetsu
Study Center. I attended the elementary class when I was in my beginning years
at elementary school, and I passed Level Four when I was in the fourth grade;
during my middle school years I took the intermediate level and passed Level
Three in the sixth grade. Thus, a bob-haired Tiny Totthat was the nickname
Father gave mewas the only child, and the only female at that, who attended his
classes. Father would meticulously teach pronunciation one word at a time and
do demonstrations of sample readings while explaining the meaning and usage of
expressions before asking the whole class to repeat. After that, each student would
practice the drill. When his adult students were done, he would ask, Yoshiko,
why dont you pronounce this word. All right, now what does it mean? When I
offered my answer, he would nod with apparent satisfaction.
I have no intention here to give a lecture on Chinese, a language that I almost
no longer use. But the pronunciation of Chinese, and Mandarin in particular, is
very complicated and difficult. Take for instance the case of aspirates. The number
seven is pronounced qi, but when spoken without aspiration, the pronunciation
might lead one to take the word to mean chicken. Father taught such distinctions with an easy-to-understand method. In practicing aspirated qi, he would
say, Students! Take out your facial tissues, but not to blow your nose! Fold them
into thin, longish strips and apply saliva to one end to make them hang down from
the tip of your nose. Thats it! You got it! Now, say qi! One, two, three, qi, qi, qi.
The sight of all those full-grown adults chirping qi in unison with thin strips of
tissues hanging from their noses might strike others as ludicrous, but Fathers students, myself included, could not have been more serious.
Apart from receiving Fathers special Chinese drills, I was a very ordinary girl.
Since my first year at elementary school, I was in the same class with two other girls,
Yanase Toshiko, from a nearby family that ran a hospital, and Ogawa Midori,
whose family next door operated a restaurant. We did everything together, including our violin and piano lessons. We all had to have the same things, too. We
had the same dresses made at the same Western dress shop, which we would wear
on the same day; we carried the same school backpacks and wore the same shoes.
We had our hair trimmed at the same barber shop every month around the same
time and ended up with the same hairstyle. Come to think of it, we had the same
ribbons. If, by some mistake, one of us should violate our agreement, it would
turn into a huge life crisis in our miniature society.
That is to say, the years of my childhood were mundane and peaceful. At the
time, however, war clouds were already gathering around the world of grown-ups.

Chapter 1

In September of 1931, when I was in sixth grade, mortar fire was heard near Fushun. It signaled the outbreak of the Manchurian Incident and the beginning of
the fifteen-year war between China and Japan.
The September 18th incident was triggered by a railroad explosion at the hands
of the Japanese military at Liutiao Lake (then called Liutiaogou or Liutiao Ditch),
only fift y kilometers west of Fushun in the Fengtian suburbs. From then on, my
destiny would come under the sway of the tides of the times. And yet, our childrens world remained as carefree as before, and I have no recollections whatsoever
about this particular incident. But another incident that occurred on a summer
night in 1932, the following year, was forever burned into my memory. Even to this
day, it sometimes reappears in my dreams.
Shaken awake in the middle of the night, I got up from my bed rubbing my
sleepy eyes and found Mother looking on, ashen-faced, and Father all dressed and
about to leave home. Even though it was the dead of night, there were noises outside; cars came and went, and people were shouting. Mother said, Something terrible might have happened! Now get up and get dressed. No matter what happens,
dont leave my side!
I was then twelve years old and a first-year student at Fushun Girls School. I
had four brothers and sisters, all very small. Yoshiko, you are the big sister. Take
good care of them. With those words, Father left in a hurry. I had no idea what I
was supposed to do. What had happened? I asked Mother but did not get any clear
answer. A messenger came and asked Father to go to the Mantetsu office was all
she said, with no further elaboration.
Like a mother bird protecting her fledglings, Mother put her arms around
my brothers and sisters, bundling them together. She looked as if she hadnt had
any sleep at all. After a while, she quietly pointed her finger and drew my attention to the window. Cautiously, I sneaked up to the window sill, trying not to make
any noise, and opened the rain shutter a small crack to peep out, only to find that
the night sky had turned bright red.
The roofs of the buildings, along with the poplar trees lining the curb, emerged
before my eyes like a dark silhouette, their background engulfed in a ferocious sea
of red, with tongues of flames blazing wildly into the distant night sky. I realized it
was a fire, but I couldnt utter the word. Uncontrollable shivers ran through my
body though it was summertime.
Even as a child, I realized that the source of the fire was the open-pit coal mines,
and yet I knew that it was no accident. Had the fire been a mere accident, Mother
wouldnt have turned so utterly pale, considering that we were quite far away from
the scene. On top of that, the town, all lit up, was thrown into confused commotion.
As Mother and the children huddled together in the night, the fire gradually
died out, its lingering flames dissolving in the first hints of morning light. Noth-

My Fushun Years

ing had happened to us, and as dawn came, we went back to bed. Before long my
brothers and sisters were soundly slumbering. Only I couldnt sleep. When I stood
again by the window and looked outside, the sky glowed white. I rested my chin
on the window sill and recalled the horror of the fire that had blackened the summer night sky just a few moments ago. As the rays of morning sun pierced the air,
the strong reddish-brown color of Fushans soil grew increasingly distinct. Next
door to our house stood the Association of Industry, a commerce and trade organization, with its courtyard extending all the way to the area below our familys
windows. This was where Toshiko, Midori, and I would relax in the cool of the
evening in our yukata after our evening bath.
That morning, as we opened the windows at home, a large group of men walked
into the courtyard while talking loudly among themselves. They were members
of the military police and other Japanese in plain clothes. Walking in front of them
was a middle-aged Chinese man, his eyes blindfolded and his hands tied behind
his back. He walked with staggering steps, poked along by the military police holding the end of the rope. Judging by his clothes, I got the feeling that the Chinese
was a head coolie, a member of the lower working class.
The group of men tied the head coolie to a huge pine tree in the middle of the
courtyard and removed his blindfold. The Chinese mans face was looking in my
direction. Timidly, I watched this unusual spectacle from my window, and I couldnt
help feeling that the eyes of the bound man were looking at me. Gradually, many
more men, Chinese and Japanese, gathered around the scene.
With gun in hand, an MP began to interrogate the man. He was shouting,
but I couldnt catch exactly what he was saying. Clenching his teeth and turning
away his ashen face, the Chinese coolie made no attempt to utter even a single
word. The MP yelled still louder for a while, but again he got no reply. Even as the
MPs voice grew increasingly violent, the Chinese man averted his eyes and did
not respond.
Just then, before I knew it, the MP flipped his weapon with his hand and hit
the Chinese mans forehead as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle. At that
moment I instinctively closed my eyes, and the hitting was already over; yet the
image of the rifle drawing a big arc in the air had already burned into my mind.
The next moment, I saw blood gushing from the mans forehead and streaming
onto his chest as he slumped over. Collapsing while still tied to the pine tree, he
did not move after that. The single blow apparently killed him.
The hush that had fallen upon the crowd now gave way to a renewed state of
commotion, and a human circle was again formed around the pine tree. Then, as
the noisy crowd dispersed in all directions, what was left standing in the courtyard
was only the solitary pine tree. It was as though the mans body had been carried
off by the wave of people around him. The familiar sight of the square reappeared,

Chapter 1

with the rays of the sun falling low on the front of the Industry Association
building, accentuating the stark whiteness of its walls.
Stunned by what had happened, I thought that what I witnessed must have
been a nightmare. Nobody could tell me that everything I saw before me was any
different from the usual peaceful morning scene. I dashed out of my house and
into the courtyard as fast as I could, despite Mothers shouting for me to stop. The
earth at the base of the pine tree was covered with a pool of blood. When Mother,
chasing after me, embraced me tightly in her arms, I began to cry aloud for the
first time.
I wrote at the beginning that an unforgettable memory from my childhood
was of the green foliage of the poplar trees, but that image of Fushun streets lasted
only as long as I was in elementary school. After I entered a secondary girls school,
unremitting incidents involving bandit attacks around the suburbs of the coal
mines led to a travel ban beyond the city limits for nonessential business. On the
grounds that the Japanese army in Fushun was shorthanded, officials, bureaucrats,
and retired military personnel formed squadrons for civic defense, and police units
were also organized in various sections of town. In 1932, at the age of twelve, a
time when I was starting to comprehend things about the world, the color of Fushuns poplar-lined streets was changing from green to red, the red of gunfire,
the color of the conflagration that night, the color of the earth at the interrogation square, and the color of blood gushing from the head coolies forehead.
What in fact had happened that night? Years later, I learned from Father that
it involved attacks by bandits on the Fushun coal mines. Powerful Manchurian
bandit militias in those days included the Big Sword Society (Dadao Hui), the Red
Spear Society (Hongqiang Hui), and the forces led by Ma Zhanshan.3 Among them,
the Red Spear Bandits formed a sort of religious community, a contingent of brave
and resolute local outlaws who, red spear in hand, believed in their immortality,
gained by ingesting magic inscriptions. It was rumored that it was this group that
had attacked Fushun.
However, referring to those groups as outlaws, mountain brigands, or
horseback bandits was just arbitrary name-calling on the part of the Japanese.
From the point of view of the Chinese people, they were antigovernment militias
forming an anti-Manchukuo and anti-Japanese guerilla force. In the region, an
anti-Japanese volunteer army (kanri yiyongjun), a resistance force referred to as
communist bandits, was also becoming active.
From what I heard from Father and friends, along with the notes from those
who worked at the Fushun mines at the time, the incident occurred on the night
of September 15, 1932, not as my memory registered, on a midsummer night. September 15th was the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival, a holiday for both the Chi-

My Fushun Years

nese and the Japanese at the coal mines. People had spent the festive but quiet evening drinking wine or savoring tea as they admired the full moon. Then, during
the night, fires were set all over the coal-mining hills. Of the ten coal-mining control offices, four were burned down. The number of attacking bandits was said to
be around one thousand.
According to Northern Wind: Thirty Years of Challenge (Sakuf: Chsen
sanjnen, 1985), a memoir by Kuno Kentar, who was an employee at Mantetsus
Fushun mine at the time, it appeared that on September 14th, the night before the
Mid-Autumn Festival, the bandits stayed in villages in Yangbaibao and made preparations for their fiery attacks. They had laborers from the workers dormitory bring
them large quantities of inflammatory materials and lumps of coal from the mining areas. They then made ready-to-use torches out of those materials by wrapping
them in cleaning rags and tying them with electric wires. The next night, they
soaked them in heavy oil, set them on fire, and, after breaking all glass windows
with spears or bars, threw their firebrands all at once into the coal-processing facility, the winch room, the repair areas, and the offices. They carried out their plans
with extraordinary precision. Spurred on by the wind, the firebrands quickly turned
the southern side of the open-pit mines into a river of flames. That river of fire is
what Kuno reported seeing from the streetcar stop at Yamato Park and from inside the streetcar on his way to the Electric Lights Department in the town center
after receiving an emergency call. It was also the very spectacle I saw that night
through the rain shutters at Fushuns reddened sky.
Watanabe Kanichi, head of Yangbaibaos coal-collecting center, was killed
by a company of bandits as he rushed to his office at the scene. Additionally, six
or seven Japanese employees were killed in Yangbaibao and Dongxiangkang. As
most of the Kwantung Armys Fushun garrison was out of town for security duties in the surrounding areas, the weak defense left in the area was caught off guard,
leading to the success of the bandits surprise attacks. The coal mines security force,
comprised of stationary troops, the police, and retired military men, fought desperately alongside the citys volunteer police groups and finally managed to drive
back the bandits. It was not until the early morning hours of the next day that the
fire was brought under control in the major areas. That dawn, on September 16th,
was when I witnessed the interrogation scene of the head coolie who was believed
to have assisted the guerillas.
The story described above was what I first learned about the sequence of the
Yangbaibao Incident from Father and the individuals connected with the Fushun
coal mines. It was the anti-Japanese guerilla attack occurring that night that first
implanted in me the horror of fire and blood. But in fact, there was an even more
wretched sequel to this incident, which was covered up at the time and only gradu-

10

Chapter 1

ally came to light after the war ended. I am referring to the Roundtop Hill Incident
(Pingdingshan shijian), which occurred the next morning and involved a massive
massacre of Chinese residents from the hamlet of Pingdingshan not far from
Yangbaibao. The act was committed by the Japanese Fushun garrison in retaliation against the anti-Japanese guerilla attacks the night before.
In the early dawn of September 16, the Fushun garrison surrounded Pingdingshan and scrupulously rounded up each and every one of the villagers from their
homes on suspicion of harboring or assisting anti-Japanese guerillas. Lined up at
the foothills of Pingdingshan, the villagers were mowed down by machine-gun
fire. Their bodies were then doused with oil, burned, and buried a few days later
under a layer of earth and rocks from a dynamite-induced landslide from the cliff.
Thus, the two tragedies at Yangbaibao and Pingdingshan were interconnected
through cause and effect.4 What I heard from Father was what might be called the
first act of the Yangbaibao Incident; the scene that opened it was the inferno I
saw from my window that night. The interrogation in the courtyard that I witnessed from the same window the next morning was, then, an episode in the
second act, which was the Pingdingshan Incident.
I suppose part of the reason that Father never mentioned anything to me about
the Pingdingshan Incident had to do with the fact that the shameful act had been
committed by the Japanese, but apparently the real reason was that the episode was
looked upon as taboo by concerned parties at the time. In fact, the Pingdingshan
Incident was later taken up by the League of Nations and escalated into an international controversy when the Lytton Commission deemed it serious enough to send
a special investigative team to Fushun. The Kwantung Army responded by putting a gag order on the subject and imposing strict media control. For this reason,
not even Fushuns local population in general, to say nothing of Japanese residents
in China or the Japanese in Japan itself, had any public knowledge of the affair,
which remained buried until the end of the war. In 1948, sixteen years after the
Pingdingshan Incident, a military tribunal of the Chinese Nationalist government
handed out death sentences, not to those within the Fushun garrison responsible
for the massive murders, but to seven individuals, including Kubo Makoto, who
held a doctorate in engineering and had been the head of the coal mines.
As time went by, more facts about the entire incident were unveiled after Morishima Morito, former Consul to Fengtian, mentioned it in his Conspiracy, Assassinations, and the Sword: A Diplomats Reminiscences (Inb Ansatsu Gunt: Ichigaikkan no kais, 1950). For my part, however, I learned the truth about the
Pingdingshan Incident when I revisited my beloved Fushun during my recent trip
to China.
Going south from downtown Fushun along the valley of the open-pit coal
mines, one can see Pingdingshans rolling landscape not far from the hamlet of

My Fushun Years

11

Yangbaibao. On the hilltop stands a plaque commemorating the dead; and in the
foothills one can find the Pingdingshan Memorial Hall for the Remains of Our
Sacrificed Fellow Countrymen. The interior of the building is divided into rectangular sections resembling exhibition sites of archeological finds. Everywhere,
scattered before ones eyes, are human bonesbones of human arms stretching
vainly into the air, skulls of mothers who still seemed to let out screams in their
last moments of trying to shield their children from harm.
I closed my eyes and recalled to my mind Fushun on the night of September
15th and at dawn the next day. That morning, on the 16th, just as I was witnessing
the interrogation scene at the courtyard with breathless horror, the people of
Pingdingshan were being killed en masse in the very foothills where the memorial
hall now stands. There are various estimates as to the number of murdered victims, ranging from four hundred to three thousand. As I stepped out of the memorial hall, the summer breeze over the rolling hills of Pingdingshan seemed to
sob with bone-chilling sorrow as it drifted across the trees.
Regardless of whether war time atrocities occur in the East or West, there are
always divergent views and interpretations as to what actually happened. The Pingdingshan Incident is no exception. To be sure, there have been reports that primarily focused on the Pingdingshan killings with only the slightest examination
of the coal mine attacks by the anti-Japanese militia. Doubts have also been raised
about the trial and execution of the seven civilians, Director Kubo included, who
were not directly responsible for the incident. With various different estimates, it
also remains unclear how many people were actually killed.5 On the other hand,
it is an undeniable fact, substantiated by virtually all sources and testimonies, that
the Japanese Fushun garrison, specifically the Second Squadron of the Second Battalion in the Manchurian Independence Defense Infantry, had recklessly and brutally massacred noncombatant civilians in a convulsive act of retaliation. The morning after the incident, Director Kubo, along with the other executives of the Fushun
mines, were reportedly stunned and agonized to learn of what had happened.
While there have been various testimonies detailing the incident, the most
objective account is thought to have come from A Record of the Fushun Mines at
the End of the War (Bujun tank shsen no ki, 1963) by Kume Kyko, an employee
at the Office of Electricity of the Fushun mines. She described what occurred
as follows:
Taken by surprise with a small garrison force in the absence of Commander
Officer Captain K, it was true that Lieutenant N, the officer in charge, suffered
a setback more than he could bear. Completely convinced that there had been
spies within the Fushun mines passing information to the bandits over security matters, he viewed with greatest suspicion the residents of Pingdingshan

12

Chapter 1

where the bandits had staged their attack. . . . As he was searching the hamlet
with a platoon, stolen objects from the scene of the attack the night before were
found, leading him to conclude that the villagers had acted in unison with the
bandits. Individuals being questioned at the village offered ambiguous answers
and did not readily confess. Angry at what was happening, he gave orders for
a thorough investigation, the temporary removal of the residents, and their
assembly at the foothills about one kilometer west of the village. Lieutenant
N was by reputation a man of high-strung nerves and was extremely severe
when it came to military matters. . . .
When all men, women, and children of all ages were lined up, Lieutenant N ordered his men to kill all by a hail of machine gun fire. A few villagers
who were protected by the fallen bodies of their fellow neighbors and managed to escape under the cover of night were later able to tell the world what
had happened through the reporting of foreign news agencies. After the League
of Nations received the report while in session in Geneva at the time, Ambassador Plenipotentiary Matsuoka, later to become Mantetsus President, found
himself unable to avoid answering some very tough questions.6 Meanwhile,
as we Japanese company employees at the time privately complained of the
act of atrocity, the victims bodies were burned with oil by Japanese defense
troops and buried with earth and rocks from a dynamite-induced explosion
at the hilltop.7

The peculiar character of Lieutenant N to which Kumes work refershis

high-strung nerveshas also been mentioned in other sources. I discovered a
remote cause of this personality trait in a chapter I read later in Sawachi Hisaes
Women in Shwa History (Shwashi no onna, 1980). I refer readers to Sawachis
book on Ns circumstances before he joined the Fushun garrison and her analysis
of his personality; here I wish to mention that his wife committed suicide on the
eve of his departure for the Manchurian front in December 1931. She laid her sixmatted tatami room in her house with white shiray fiber before slashing the right
side of her throat with a dagger nearly a foot long, accomplishing what she set out
to do in a sea of blood.8 The young couple had just been married in October
the year before; the lieutenant was twenty-nine, his wife twenty-one. The alcove of
the room in which the suicide took place was reportedly decorated with a picture
of the Emperor and the Empress. The wife fashioned her hair in a swept-back
style and wore a black crested kimono with patterns of a peony and seven autumn
flowers on the sleeve. She was also wearing minimal makeup and white tabi.
In the will she left to her husband, she wrote, My profound joy fills my heart.
I am at a loss to offer my words of jubilation, but I will gladly leave the world be-

My Fushun Years

13

fore your departure for the front tomorrow. Please do not have the slightest worry,
as I will do what little I can to look after you and all your comrades. Please carry
out as much as your heart pleases for the sake of our nation.
While the real motivations for the new wifes suicide were unclear, she was
much venerated by the nations newspapers as a shining example worthy of emulation by all wives in a nation mobilized for war. Wars without fail incite fanaticism among human beings, bring madness to nations, and transform the times
into periods of lunatic chaos.
Now, juxtaposing what I witnessed in Fushun fift y-five years earlier with an
incident rescrutinized and illuminated by history, I become acutely aware of a sense
of inevitability that links the individual and history, for I found myself situated
exactly at the confluence of the time and the place of destiny. The series of events
I mentioned earlier occurred on the day when the Japan-Manchukuo Protocol was
signed, leading to Japans recognition of Manchukuo. The Liutiao Lake Incident,
taking place the year before on September 18th, was the signal shot to the outbreak
of the Manchurian Incident. Surely, the anti-Japanese guerillas must have planned
their uprising to coincide with the first anniversary of those events. Not only was
I in the middle of the Sino-Japanese conflict, in terms of time and space; I was at
the focal point of its origins.
A recent Chinese source entitled A History of the Anti-Japanese Volunteer Army
in Northeast China (Dongbei Kangri Yiyongjun shi, 1985) states that it was Liang
Xifu who led three thousand men from the Peoples Self-Defense Army of Liaoning
to launch an attack on Yangbaibao. In retaliation, the Japa nese army instigated
the Pingdingshan Incident by massacring over three thousand Chinese residents.
The Pingdingshan Incident led me another step toward my destiny: because of it,
my family moved to Fengtian.
After the incident, the military police took Father in for questioning on suspicion of having worked with the enemy. He was, in other words, suspected of
betrayal. Father had many Chinese friends and acquaintances, and the polices
assumption was that he had spoken with the bandit leaders concerning a peace
settlement. In those days, primarily because of its coal and steel production, Fushun was Manchurias largest mining and industrial centerhence, the target of
attack from a variety of bandits. With his patriotic temperament, knowledge of
the Chinese language, and understanding of Chinese public sentiment, Father
might have convinced himself to work seriously on maintaining peaceful relations in an attempt to avert any possible future attacks on the city. For this reason, he had already been forced to resign from his position as a consultant to
Fushun County. It was at this point in time that the anti-Japanese guerilla attacks
took place.

14

Chapter 1

Father was subsequently cleared of suspicions of working with the enemy, but
life for him in Fushun became difficult. He decided therefore to leave the place
where he had been residing for so long and, availing himself of the goodwill of his
friends, to move to Fengtian.
The year was 1933, and I was turning thirteen.

CHAPTER 2

My Fengtian Years

For me, born and raised in the coal-mining town of Fushun,

Fengtian was the very metropolis I had dreamed about. Indeed, I would go so far
as to say that this was not my sentiment alone, but one shared at the time by all
those who lived in Manchuria, where Fengtian was both the biggest city and its
political, economic, and cultural center. Needless to say, even today, Shenyang is
the largest commercial and industrial city in Northeast China (Dongbei); with a
population of 5.3 million, it is also the fourth largest city in China after Shanghai,
Beijing, and Tianjin.1
It was not just a matter of size and scale. It was a beautiful and cultured
city, proud of its long history and traditions. A sparrow in Fushun might be
just an ordinary little bird, but in the green of Fengtians Chiyoda Park, even
the feathers of a sparrow pecking on crumbs of food shone with a lustrous
dark brown.
Fengtian was what the Japanese named the city during the Manchurian occupation. As early as the beginning of the Yuan Dynasty, it was given the name
Shenyang. Nurhaci, the founding father of the Qing Dynasty, established his capital there in 1625, and it remained the capital of the Manchus until 1643, when it was
replaced by Beijing.2 Until the founding of the Republic of China, military viceroys
(Chengjing jiangjun) were dispatched from Beijing after the establishment of the
Fengtian Prefecture (Fengtian-fu), thus giving rise to the name adopted by the
Japanese.3 During the Russo-Japanese War, it was the decisive battleground for
the two opposing armies. Liutiao Lake, on the citys outskirts, was where the Japanese army set off a railroad explosion, igniting the Manchurian Incident. Our
familys move from Fushun to Fengtian coincided with the opening chapter of
the sad history between Japan and China. But as a girl, I knew nothing about all
that, absorbed as I was in my daydreams about the glamor of city life. In that big,
colorful, international metropolis, everything I saw and heard came as an exciting discovery, whether it derived from Chinese, Western, or Japanese origins.
Fengtian was my castle of dreams.

15

16

Chapter 2

Even though its scale was not as large as Beijings Forbidden City, the walled
city of Fengtian, whose old palace bore witness to the rise and fall of the Qing
Dynasty, still quietly evoked a profound impression of the past. The palaces extensive grounds contained more than seventy structures with an excess of three
hundred rooms; its gold-tiled roofs reflected beautifully in the setting sun. This
was the Imperial residence of the founder of the Qing Dynasty, Nurhaci, and then
Huang Taiji or Emperor Taizong. Spreading out in the northwestern suburbs of
the city was a large lush park, the North Tomb (Beiling); this is where Zhaoling,
the mausoleum of Huang Taiji and his Empress, was located. On its roof rows of
sculpted soldiers had been standing guard, unchanged from the old days since the
end of the Qing Dynasty. Passing through the main entrance to the tomb one can
see parallel rows of quaint, stone-carved creatures watching over the mausoleum,
a scene reminiscent of the approach leading to the Thirteen Tombs of the Ming
Dynasty (Mingchao Shisan Ling).4
The city center contrasted sharply with these historical sites. Siping Boulevard, a main thoroughfare in the Shenyang District in the Chinese section of town,
had numerous high-class department stores and shops built in Chinese or Western styles and was always bustling. The area between the Shenyang District and
the Japanese quarters around the Yamato District had a Western ambience about
it. Formerly an international commercial hub, it still had diplomatic and trade missions from countries such as England, the United States, Germany, and Italy and
felt like a European city. The Yamato District, on the other hand, with its busy
streets such as Naniwa, Chiyoda, and Heian radiating out from Fengtian Station
in every direction, was reminiscent of Japan. Here you would find many typically
Japanese buildings, including traditional restaurants and ryokans.
In any of Fengtians districts, magnificent Western-style structures were a
common sight. Most of them, like the red-bricked Fengtian Station and the citys
Catholic Church, had been constructed by the Russians. Fengtians chic Yamoto
Hotel, under Mantetsus direct management, was a particularly attractive example of American Renaissance design. It seems to me that the citys richly cosmopolitan environment had a considerable impact on the direction my future life
would take. Beyond its buildings and other scenic sights, there was a prevailing
international atmosphere surrounding its city life and human interactions.
Fengtian was home not only to various ethnic groups from Asia. A large number of White Russians also came as exiles after Tsarist Russia was transformed
into a communist country. Among Fengtians residents were also Russians of Turkish descent, Armenians, and others. Together these groups created a colorful racial
mosaic. Naturally, many languages were spoken in peoples daily lives. I, of course,
used Japanese at school and with my family, but while shopping, I almost always
spoke Chinese. As it turned out, I was able to use more Chinese once my household

My Fengtian Years

17

began to include Chinese coinhabitants. Living under the same roof with us was
the second wife of General Li Jichun, along with her servants. General Li himself, a
good friend of Fathers, was our next-door neighbor. We always called him General, though he was not on active duty. In the past, he had been a warlord leader in
the area around Shandong Province and an important figure in the military politics of Northeast China. Afterward, he became active in business circles and at the
time of our move was the President of the Bank of Shenyang in Fengtian.5
He had known Father since his younger days in Beijing. Indeed, the two became such close and congenial friends that I heard they had formally exchanged a
pledge of eternal friendship. Father was quite depressed after his resignation as a
consultant to Fushun County, and it was General Li who was good enough to invite him to come to Fengtian and to make a house adjacent to his own available
for our family. Now Fathers new job title was Consultant to the Datong coal mines
and Councilor to the coal-mine operations at Beijing Mentougou. Based in Fengtian, he was ready to travel to various locations in Manchuria should the need arise.
The house General Li provided for us was what you might call his second residence. The living quarters of his second wife and her servants occupied no more
than a small area within the large, three-story house, so there was more than
enough room to accommodate two families. Living together with the main
household, we paid no rent on the condition that we took care of Mrs. Li and her
company as if they were members of our own family.
Our new residence was in Xiaoxibian Menwai, an area just between the Yamato
and the Shenyang districts. I can still remember the exact address: Number 111,
Shengxuan-li, Sanjing-lu, Waishangbudi, Xiaoxibian Menwai, Fengtian City. As
our address revealed, our neighborhood was where the foreigners lived, with their
commercial quarters and consulates from various countries. As a whole, it had
very much the flair of an upper-class European residential district, as though it
had been transplanted from somewhere in London or Paris.
Commuting, as it were, between his main and secondary households, General Li would visit us twice a week and look in on his second wife to see how she
was doing. Whenever he came by, he had a jolly time playing mahjong, enjoying
wine served by his second wife, singing boisterously, or discussing national and
international affairs. His style of living was typical of those belonging to the dominant class at the time.
General Li wore an impressive Kaiser mustache that curved sharply under
his nose in the shape of a handlebar; it was a truly magnificent sight. A powerfully built man, almost six feet tall, he had a chivalrous but unpretentious
disposition; with his ever-present radiant smile, there was nothing domineering about him. He was also kind enough to take a liking to me as if I were his
owndaughter.

18

Chapter 2

His second wife, on the other hand, was a slender woman standing less than
five feet. She was still at a young, tender age, and her skin seemed almost translucent, like pure white porcelain. She had classical features, with crescent-moon eyebrows and a waist as slim as a willow. She also had bound feet, and the way she
moved about with tottering steps further accentuated her air of childlike innocence.
Although foot-binding was practiced by the Chinese aristocracy from the
time of the Southern and Northern Dynasties until the early Republican period,
the custom had surely been banned by the time we lived with her. And yet among
those belonging to aristocratic lineages or to the land-owning classes, this appalling custom of binding childrens feet with silk bandages to obstruct their natural
growth did not seem to have disappeared entirely. One time, Mrs. Li invited me
privately into her bed chamber and showed me her uncovered foot, bent into the
shape of a new moon. Compared to the size of her foot as a whole, her bundled
toes appeared extraordinarily long. The arch of her inner foot had been folded and
bent into a constricted shape. At the time, she was tenderly massaging her foot
with both hands.
I heard that she was a Manchu woman by origin, but perhaps due to her fine
family background, she spoke Mandarin Chinese beautifully without any accent,
as if she were singing in the language. To thank me for taking care of her in the
same household, she taught me the Beijing dialect. During my years in Fushun, I
had been Fathers student of Mandarin Chinese at a Mantetsu institute along with
many grown-ups; now, in Fengtian, I was given lessons in Chinese from morning
to nightfall.
My greatest joy in those days came from movies and operas. Even today, I can
still remember movies at the Shenyang Cinema and plays at the Dongbei Grand Theater. Neither of them put on any Japanese productions; instead, they showed mainly
Chinese films and staged performances from the repertoire of Beijing opera.
One film I can never forget is the Chinese movie Legend of the White Serpent
(Baishe-chuan), a story based on an old folktale; it was also well known in Japan
from a famous 1958 Tei production.6 After the war, I appeared in the film Madame White Snake (Byakufujin no yren), directed by Toyoda Shir with Ikebe
Ry, Yachigusa Kaoru, and others. Coproduced with a Hong Kong fi lm studio,7
it was based on the original Legend of the White Serpent with a script adapted
by Hayashi Fusao. While preparing for my part in the fi lm, I fondly recalled
those Fengtian days as we proceeded from historical research to fi nessing my
character.
Of course, I also went to see Japanese fi lms and plays that catered to Japanese
audiences, usually in the company of either Father or Mother. Tairiku Gekij,
Heian-za, Hten-kan, Shintomi-za, Minami-za, Ginei Gekij, and, yes, I now remember the Chshun-za after coming up with all those names of theater houses.

My Fengtian Years

19

These recollections were inspired by a piece I read recently by Awaya Noriko in

Manchuria: Past and Present (Mansh: Kin Ky, 1985).8 Back in Fengtian, I heard
that Awaya often sang at the Chshun-za to attract audiences to its films, and one
time I went to see the Awaya Noriko Show with my parents. Then, I met Awaya
herself quite by accident. By that time, she was already renowned as the queen of
blues, and I, a thirteen-year-old who loved to sing, took some lessons with her.
Needless to say, I was still an unknown schoolgirl.
As for Awayas reminiscences, let me quote from her essay Manchurian Blues
(Mansh bursu):
I had an unforgettable experience in this town [Fengtian]. One time, I found
myself in what you might call the city proper all by myself . . . and lost my way
as I wandered into the Chinese section. Unable to find my way out, I was loitering about not knowing what to do. It was at that time that I fortuitously met
Ri KranYamaguchi Yoshikowho happened to be living in the neighborhood at the time. She was not well-known then, still a young girl. She was good
enough to let me rest for a while at her house and send me on my way by car.

Awayas recollections were mostly accurate. Losing her way and unsure of what to
do, she was wandering in the area where my family lived in Xiaoxibian Menwai,
and as I remember it, she saw our nameplate with the words Yamaguchi Fumio
on it, realized that the household was Japanese, then went through our gate and
rang our doorbell. Upon opening the door and noticing her pale face, I asked her
what had happened, to which she promptly replied, Ah, youre Japanese, just as I
thought! Oh, how lucky I am! With a deep breath of relief, she said, Excuse me,
but can I use your lavatory? and stepped into our house. This was the incident
that drew us together.
According to custom in China, members from unrelated families could enter into sworn kinship when their relationship began to resemble that of blood
relatives; this custom gave rise to a very large number of sworn brotherhoods and
parent-child vows. To seal the bond between our family and General Lis, he
and Father decided to enter into a pledge to recognize each others children as
their own. Since this decision happened to coincide with the Chinese Lunar New
Year, lanterns were put up to decorate the front of our houses; spring couplets
(chunlian), freshly written with ink brush on red paper for the occasion, were glued
on doorposts to bring good fortunes. The walls surrounding the altar were transformed into an exhibition area for New Year pictures, or nianhua, woodblockprints of auspicious creatures such as legendary phoenixes, mythical unicorns, and
heavenly dragons, all in dazzling colors. From the outside, we could hear firecrackers, gongs, and drums, along with melodies played on the erhu.

20

Chapter 2

Wearing a bright red Chinese dress and a comb with a flower design in my
hair, I walked slowly up to General Li who sat right in front of the altar. The General and his second wife, sitting next to him, were likewise formally dressed for
the Lunar New Year. Kneeling, I put each of my arms into its opposite sleeve and
buried my head in the space in between. Then, with my knees on the ground, I
bowed three times with my head touching the floor. I then drank from the cup
the General handed me in full view of other New Years guests before returning
it to him.
With the conclusion of the ceremony, I became General Li Jichuns ganguniang,
his adopted daughter, and he my ganbaba, foster father, even though the ritual
did not result in my physical adoption by the Li family or in a change of my nationality. It simply represented the creation of a strictly nominal father-daughter
relationship that attested to our families long-lasting friendship.
To commemorate our new relationship, my ganbaba gave his ganguniang a
new name, Li Xianglan, his surname Li coupled with his elegant pseudonym
Xianglan [literally, Fragrant Orchid.] I might add that the orchid was a celebrated flower grown mainly in Northeast China.
It was under these circumstances that my Chinese name, Li Xianglan, came
into being. Perhaps only the Chinese people can appreciate the names musicality
and the particular mood created by the configuration of the two Chinese characters Xiang and Lan.
The following year, I became a singer using the stage name Li Xianglan. This
was followed by my debut as an actress for the Manchuria Film Association, or
Manei. It is not true, as suggested and circulated in some quarters, that Li Xianglan was a name the Kwantung Army had deliberately concocted in order to pass
off a Japanese woman as a Manchurian actress. It was the name given to me at the
time of my adoption.
On a related subject, the research I did in preparation for writing my autobiography revealed that General Li Jichun was an influential figure in Shandong
Province and a pro-Japanese warlord who had actively cooperated with Colonel
Doihara Kenji,9 head of the Fengtian intelligence apparatus, in the establishment
of Manchukuo and in the Kwantung Armys operations in northern China. According to Furuya Tetsuos book Sino-Japanese War (Nicch sens, 1985), Li attempted in 1931 to instigate a riot as a diversionary tactic that would enable him
to bring Puyi, the former Qing Emperor, secretly out of Tianjin. At the time, it
was reported that Li went to such lengths that even the Japanese consul in Tianjin Kuwashima described him as a scoundrel. In 1933, Li organized a guerilla
force for national salvation under the alias Ding Qiang to assist the Kwantung
Army in its military operations in Rehe.10 Furthermore, he was the organizer of a
security force from the army of the government of Hebei Province, then a puppet

My Fengtian Years

21

of the Japanese government. As a reward for his various acts of collaboration with
the Japanese, he was apparently appointed by the Kwantung Army to be honorary President of Fengtians Shenyang Bank. After the war ended, he was arrested
as a kingpin traitor (hanjian) from Chinas Northeast and subsequently executed
in accordance with the sentence he received at his trial.
By the time General Li invited Father to come to live in Fengtian, from what
I could tell, he had already washed his hands of his villainous warlord past and
was enjoying a rather easygoing lifestyle as a noted fi nancier. To me, he was just
a genial old man living next door. Half a century later, when I fi rst learned about
his past as a principal traitor of the Chinese people, I was absolutely stunned.
I was supposed to transfer from Fushun Girls High School to another girls
school in Fengtian, but there was no vacancy at the time. While I was waiting for
my turn, I was temporarily enrolled at the Fengtian Girls School for Commerce.
Because I was extraordinarily bad at subjects such as mathematics, bookkeeping,
sewing, and the abacus, school life was no fun at all. As usual, my aptitude was for
music, drawing, composition, and the Chinese language in particular. Given that
I was learning Chinese from Mrs. Li from morning to night while living under
the same roof with her, I felt that I was making steady progress.
During my second year at the girls commercial school, all students were given
a Chinese language test. As I mentioned earlier, the qualifying examination separated the students into five different levels of proficiency. Those placed into Special
Class and First Class were deemed qualified to become, respectively, chief interpreters for the prime ministers office and senior interpreters at various government bureaucracies.
The result of the test was pasted on walls along the hallway, but for some reason, I couldnt find my name on it. I discovered later that, due to my negligence,
I had forgotten to put down my own name on the test paper. The student who had
submitted the test without her name turned out to have received Second Class certification, the best result among all students in the school. Father was overjoyed,
saying, Well done! Well done!
My Second-Class Chinese language standing encouraged Father to take steps
toward realizing his long-held aspiration that his daughter would eventually become a politicians secretary. With that goal in mind, he consulted General Li and
made arrangements for me to study in Beijing under the guardianship of Pan Yugui, a politician and a mutual friend of theirs.11 Ah! You see, as the Japanese proverb goes, its better to send ones darling child off on a journey to learn about the
real world.12
But his plan had to be postponed. My health had not been particularly robust
since childhood, and at the time I was hospitalized for a month with an infiltration of my lung. When I left the hospital, my doctor ordered a six-month absence

22

Chapter 2

from school and quiet rest at home. During the recuperation period, the person
who gave me consolation and encouragement was a young White Russian girl of
Jewish extraction named Liuba Monosova Gurinets.
Liuba and I were the same age. Perhaps due to certain circumstances, she was
two grades below me and was a fift h-year student at Chiyoda Elementary, a school
attended by Japanese kids. Her family ran a confectionary on Naniwa-dri in front
of the train station. Her father baked the bread and the cakes, while her mother
tended to the store. She also had an older brother who was good at Chinese, and
her cousin Firas family was in the neighborhood as well. Fengtian was where youd
fi nd a large number of White Russian residents who had migrated from areas
around Harbin. Besides Liuba and Fira, I also had other Russian friends such as
Dzhuletta and Nina, the latter a White Russian of Turkish descent.
I first met Liuba in the autumn of my sixth year at Fushun Elementary School.
I was traveling by train to Fengtian on an excursion, happened to sit next to her,
and we fell into a conversation. She spoke fluent Japanese and also a little Chinese.
I wasnt able to speak Russian at the time, and so we talked in Japanese and Chinese. With her chestnut hair streaming in the wind from the trains window, her
dark emerald eyes, and her strikingly fair skin, she had a beauty reminiscent of
the blue-eyed doll from the title of a Japanese childrens song. Yet the tiny lightbrown freckles speckling her cheeks lent a warm, charming touch to what could
otherwise be a doll-like frostiness, and when she smiled, she was incredibly attractive. She seemed to take a liking to me as well and repeatedly stroked my head,
saying, What makes your hair so black? For more than two and a half hours
until the train arrived in Fengtian, we were totally immersed in conversation.
I can describe my meeting with Liuba only as an extraordinary encounter of
fate. Superficially, it resulted in two young girls who shared similar interests developing a fondness for each other, but the ensuing drama convinced me that what
brought the two of us together represented nothing less than divine intervention.
For my part at least, I was inspired at the time with the feeling that that young
girl would become a dear future friend of mine. Years later, when she recalled
our past, Liuba said that she shared the same feelings about me. Needless to say,
when we first met on the train, neither of us knew our destinies. Although we did
frequently exchange letters after the excursion ended, they were just exchanges
written on fancy letter paper about extremely trivial matters, delivered in pink
envelopes.
When Father announced his plans to move our family to Fengtian, I was quite
saddened to leave my childhood friends Toshiko and Midori in Fushun. But I was
fi lled with elated anticipation to see Liuba again. When I sent her an excited letter to let her know my plans, she replied immediately with equal enthusiasm. On
the day we arrived in Fengtian, I quietly slipped out of our baggage-cluttered house

My Fengtian Years

23

and went to see Liubas Petrov Confectionary on Naniwa-dri. Thrilled at our reunion, we firmly shook hands and hugged each other.
Liubas father was different from what I had imagined of a confectionary owner;
he was a tall man with a dignified countenance. Her mother was a kind woman
who always wore a smile on her soft, round cheeks. Her brother had the disposition of an accomplished young man and seemed to be the sensitive type. Liubas
mother warmly welcomed her young guest from afar by preparing hot lemon tea
from a steaming samovar on the stove. She also treated me to her freshly made,
fluff y Russian-style meat buns, saying, Th is is what we call pirozhki. Liuba
herself seemed to be enjoying them, and urged me on. As a souvenir, they gave
me a bag filled with multicolored Russian jellies, chocolates, marshmallows, and
nougat. This was how my friendship with Liuba began. She called me Yoshikochan, and I returned her affection by calling her Liubochka, in the Russian style
of endearments.
By then, I was largely cured of the infiltration of my lung, and my doctor encouraged his weak patient to build up her health by practicing breathing techniques.
Father knew that I had never been much of a sports enthusiast and suggested that
I learn the art of ykyoku, which he himself enjoyed chanting with his friends.13
However, I never developed a fondness for such a form of singing and dancing.
The person who came to my rescue was Liuba. If you dont like ykyoku, why not
learn to sing classical songs? They are no different when it comes to breathing techniques. Our family knows a famous opera singer. Mother knows her well and Ill
ask her to make an introduction on your behalf. I know you will do well in authentic classical music, if you just follow up by learning Russian and English. After Father agreed, however reluctantly, to the proposal, I visited Madame Podlesov with Liuba in the hope of becoming her pupil.
According to Liuba, she was an Italian whose father was a professor at
Milans Academy of Music. After her marriage to a Russian aristocrat, she became
a renowned opera singer in Russia during the Tsarist years, as well as a worldclass dramatic soprano. I had heard that there were coloratura and lyric sopranos.
At the time, I had no idea that the style of the coloratura soprano, whose singing resembles a birds chirping and twittering, was to define my future professional repertory.
Madame Podlesov was in her forties, a woman with a robust build and a
stern face. She had an impressive presence, which in itself was intimidating
enough. She immediately took me up to the second floor where there was a grand
piano, and there, in the lesson room, she gave me a voice test. After she sang DoMi-So-Do-So-Mi-Do as she hit the notes slowly on the piano, she asked me to
vocalize them. As I was fidgeting at Madames own remarkable performance and
felt unnerved by what I was ordered to do, she repeated what she did and urged

24

Chapter 2

me to do the same. Completely petrified, I was unable to come up with much of a

voice at all; the best I could do was no louder than the virtually inaudible buzz of
a mosquito.
Oh well, lets try another chord! Her words were a mixture of Russian and
English, and while I could more or less understand what she meant, her speech,
delivered with a brusque accent, struck me as haughty and overbearing. I tried to
sing one more time, but I could very well tell that my voice was stiff and trembling.
All right, we can stop here, Madame interrupted me, her tone of voice betraying her shock at the level of my performance. She retreated into a backroom,
taking only Liuba with her. After they emerged ten minutes later, speaking in
Russian, she turned to me and said in English, Well then, I want you to come
starting from Saturday next week at two in the afternoon. Relieved that even my
terribly flawed performance still managed to earn Madames approval, I began
taking lessons the following weeks and received strict training on the fundamentals
of soprano singing.
Actually, however, I hadnt passed that test. That was something I learned more
than a decade later. At the end of the test, Madame had called Liuba into the backroom and announced her refusal to have me as a student, saying that I was beyond
hope. So it was true after all that I had no talent for singing. And yet Liuba refused
to give up. The argument they had been having with each other in Russian as they
came out of the back room was Liubas desperate attempt to beg Madame to change
her mind. At the time, Madame had been outdone by Liubas perseverance and
had finally agreed only with considerable reluctance. In any case, had Liuba chosen not to implore on my behalf, I would not have been scouted by the Fengtian
Broadcasting Company as a singer, nor would the fi lm actress Li Xianglan have
been born.
Just as one might expect from a first-rate opera singer at the time, Madame
was a strict teacher. Beginning from my first day, I was scolded for having bad
posture. Chin down, chest out, breathe deeply. Now breathe hard from the pit
of your stomach! Before each lesson, there were always preliminary exercises to
prepare me for vocalization. First, I was to lean my back tight against the wall and
remain completely still. Then, I had to put five or six books on my head as I vocalized as instructed without compromising my posture. If even one book tumbled
to the floor, I had to start over. Next, I lay flat on my back with five or six books
on my diaphragm and practiced breathing not with my chest but with my stomach. Once again, any fallen book would result in my having to repeat the exercise.
This was how I began to acquire the vocalization technique of using my midsection. The first textbook Madame assigned was Chorbungen, a collection for choral singing from Germany,14 and as soon as we were finished with it, I began
practicing representative songs from various different countries. The first ones I

My Fengtian Years

25

learned were folk songs from Madames country, namely Krasnii Sarafan15 and
the compositions of Glinka.16 Needless to say, the lyrics were in Russian. The German compositions included Beethovens Ich Liebe Dich, Schuberts Serenade,
and others.
After three months of practice, I realized that I was making some progress in
my own way. More smiles began to appear on Madames face. Liuba was always
good enough to accompany me to my Saturday afternoon classes. She could speak
English and German, to say nothing of Russian, and served as our interpreter at
the beginning. In time, I was able to carry on a conversation without Liubas interpretation. I am sure there are individual differences among learners, but I think it
is natural and enjoyable to study a foreign language through song lyrics.
Madames husband, an aristocrat in the days of Tsarist Russia, was an exile
who came to Fengtian by way of Harbin. Apart from managing a Western-style
lodging house in Kiso-ch, the family supported themselves with Madames teaching classical music as a private tutor. They had a child about eight years of age.
After my lesson ended on a Saturday afternoon, he would join us in the living room
and receive treats of candies and tea from the samovar. Madame would play the
piano, and her husband the balalaika, and together we would sing Russian folk
songs in a chorus.
During my six-month absence from school, I seldom went anywhere except
to Madames. Without fail, I attended my weekly lessons. The enthusiasm with
which Madame taught me, along with my sense of accomplishment and improving health, contributed to considerable progress, and one day, I was asked to give
the opening performance at a forthcoming recital. Every autumn, Madame had a
regular recital at the Yamato Hotel, which was one of the features of the seasons
musical events in Fengtian. I was both excited by the request and anxious at
the prospect.
Yamato Hotel, the present-day Liaoning Hotel, was situated in the grand city
square (present-day Hongqi Square) at the intersection of Fujimi-ch and Naniwadri, which ran in a northeastern direction from the train station. Directly managed by Mantetsu, it was Fengtians largest hotel and the most prominent venue
for the citys social events. The front portion of its grand hall, called the canting,
was built as an elevated stage; it was here that musical recitals and dance parties
were often held. Old chairs were arranged in rows on its spacious mahogany floor,
while the surrounding furniture and ornaments were all time-honored antiques.
The huge mirror built into the wall had a frame inlaid with shells, reflecting the
light from splendid chandeliers. The audience consisted not just of Japanese, but
also Chinese and Russian dignitaries from various circles in Fengtian.17
You are Japa nese, so wear a formal kimono, Madame told me, but I didnt
have any such costume. I remember that during events like the gala day for children

26

Chapter 2

in my Fushun years, I had my picture taken with Toshiko and Midori wearing a
formal kimono. But at thirteen, what I had were either school uniforms or Chinese
outfitsnothing for a formal occasion. After discussion with Mother, a formal
kimono was delivered a day before the scheduled event. It was a gorgeous purple,
with a design of white cranes, a dress so beautiful that I felt enchanted gazing at
myself in the mirror. After the recital, I found out from Mother that since we didnt
have any Japanese friends in Fengtian at the time nor was there a rental place for
kimono in town, Mother, after giving the matter much thought, had gone to a pawn
shop and taken out the item on loan.
The first song I sang wearing my loaned kimono was The Moon over the Castle Ruins (Kj no tsuki),18 chosen by Madame, who insisted that my first piece
be a Japanese song. To me, that number represented all my yearnings for my home
country, which I had not yet seen. Since that time, it has meant as much to me as
the national anthem, and whenever I visited troops on the battlefield or gave performances overseas, I routinely sang it first, with due dignity.
The Moon Over the Castle Ruins was followed by Schuberts Serenade,
Beethovens Ich Liebe Dich, and Griegs Solveigs Sang, all of which I had learned
and practiced repeatedly. Even though it was my first stage performance, I was
surprisingly composed. But then I must have been a little ner vous as well; I still
remember how I caught my foot on the end of Madames long shawl.
Besides Russian folk songs, Madame also performed arias from her favorite
repertoire of operas, including Carmen, Madame Butterfly, La Tosca, and others.
Befitting her stature as a prima donna of the Italian opera, she held a red rose in
her hand and wore a black dress and a very long black lace shawl that extended
from head to heel. On that first performance night, as applause thundered, I was
standing with Madame in the wings, and as she began to move toward the stage,
I stepped inadvertently on the end of her shawl, tearing a piece of the fine Frenchmade lace from below. For a second, she turned and darted a fierce look at me.
And then with a rose in her left hand, she quickly assumed a seductive pose and
started to sing her Carmen as if nothing had happened.
My first performance at the recital turned out to be the catalyst for my recruitment by the Fengtian Broadcasting Station. One of Madame Podlesovs fans
who served as Chief of Planning there was in the audience. While I was practicing Schubert the following Saturday afternoon, I had a visitor. The Japanese gentleman introduced himself as Azuma Keiz from the broadcasting station.
You were good at the recital, and so was your singing of Schubert just
now. Turning stiff in my school uniform, I could only look speechlessly at the
tip of my shoes. He then asked, Would you like to try singing for us at the radio station?

My Fengtian Years

27

Surprised, I looked at Madame for help. Her usual stern expressions had turned
this time into a beaming smile. Mr. Azuma went on to say that he was planning
a new program and asked if I would participate in it.
Established in 1932 with the founding of Manchukuo, the Fengtian Broadcasting Station had by then boosted the quality of its staff with the addition of
such announcers as Morishige Hisaya,19 and now it was trying to further attract
a general Chinese audience by creating a new singing program called New Melodies from Manchuria. Azumas job was to look for singers to work exclusively
for the program. By rearranging old Chinese folk tunes and popular songs and by
seeking new ones among the public, Azumas venture sought to identify the peoples songs (kokumin kay) of Manchukuo and then replay them repeatedly on the
air as part of a cultural movement to educate, publicize, and promote the cause of
Japanese-Manchurian Friendship (Nichi-Man shinzen) and Cooperation and
Harmony among the Five Ethnic Races (gozoku kywa).20 To be selected, the singers had to be young Chinese girls capable of reading music and speaking Mandarin,
the standard dialect. They also had to understand Japanese as it was necessary
for them to coordinate activities with the stations Japanese staff. Despite Azumas
efforts, however, the search had failed to fi nd a Chinese vocalist who could fi ll
the bill.
While he was at a loss as to what to do next, he chanced to hear my performance at the Yamato Hotel. After learning from Madame that I could also speak
Mandarin, he came up with the idea of inviting me to join his enterprise. Madame
eagerly recommended that I seize this opportunity, and Liuba was also strongly
in favor of such action.
I could not offer an immediate response until I had a chance to discuss the
matter with my parents. Father had long been molding my future career as a
politicians interpreter or secretary by polishing my language skills, and I, for my
part, had also vaguely entertained similar aspirations. Despite Fathers reservations with Azumas offer, Mother was in favor of it, though with one condition.
Given Yoshikos love for singing, if she were to simply sing on the air, I think it
would be okay, she said. Doing this would also be beneficial for our nation.
And if I did not need to appear on stage, I could still study in Beijing and do my
broadcast recordings. Thereupon, a composer by the name of Sakakibara initially
arranged a number of Chinese folk and popular songs into a dozen or so New
Melodies from Manchuria, pieces deemed suitable to being called peoples
songs. There was a large number of sorrowful Chinese melodies (aige) such as
The Sorrows of Wang Zhaojun (Zhaojun-yuan) which were best performed on
the erhu. Song of the Fishermen (Yuguang-qu), my very favorite, belongs to
that genre as well. It was the theme song from the fi lm bearing the same name

28

Chapter 2

and directed by Cai Chusheng, with Wang Renmei in the leading role; both the
film and the song were enormously popu lar at the time.21
Hurry, cast your nets and pull them in with all your might,
Bitter are our days awaiting our catch in the morning mist.
With no fish harvest and heavy taxes,
The ageless sufferings of fishermen!
The song condemned social corruption while voicing resentment over the wretchedness of poverty, but at the time, I was not thinking in any profound manner
about the relationship between the lyrics and the social background. I simply liked
the sad melody and practiced singing it over and over again.
With the approach of the scheduled broadcast of New Melodies from
Manchuria, Azuma came to our house to discuss what my Chinese stage name
should be. While all the grown-ups were scratching their heads, I said offhandedly, I do have a Chinese name which our neighbor General Li gave me, Li
Xianglan. Father gave me a look of approval and explained to Azuma the circumstances that gave birth to Li Xianglan as Lis ganguniang. Well then, lets
use that name, Azuma said. We will simply announce the song titles, the names
of the lyricists and composers, and say the singer is Li Xianglan without going
into any personal details. Such were the simple circumstances under which my
stage name Li Xianglan was decided upon. At the time, neither Father nor Azuma,
to say nothing of myself, had any idea how this stage name would so radically
change my future life.
And so New Melodies from Manchuria were repeatedly broadcasted on the
air. The following year, in accordance with Fathers plans, I went to Beijing to study.
When I returned on vacations, I would record new songs for the broadcasting station to use in the future, and for that reason, the program was able to continue
for quite a while. Whenever I came back to Fengtian, I also resumed my lessons
with Madame Podlesov. She introduced me to study under another Russian singer,
Madame Pedrov, in Beijing, and so I was able to pursue my musical education without interruption.
In 1931, the Manchurian Incident took place at the instigation of Japan. In
1932, the state of Manchukuo was created by the Japa nese. The following year
marked the debut of the singer Li Xianglan performing New Melodies from Manchuria as part of Manchukuos national policy. I, Yamaguchi Yoshiko, a Japanese,
was that Li Xianglana girl who knew nothing about the world, but still a Chinese entity concocted at the hands of the Japanese, just like Manchukuo. It pains
me whenever I think about it.

My Fengtian Years

29

Once the decision to continue my studies in Beijing was formalized, I was

able to transfer to Yijiao Girls School, a first-rate mission school in Beijing, as the
adopted daughter of Pan Yugui. While I studied Chinese and general education
subjects there, I worked at home as Mr. Pans secretarial intern. On the day we
decided on my departure for Beijing, I visited Liubas bakery-scented house on
Naniwa-dri. She and I had exchanged farewells many times before, but still
we had endless things to say to each other.
As I approached her shop, I noticed that there was an unusual commotion.
Japanese military police were coming and going past the back door of her house,
rattling their sabers as they marched noisily in their military boots. The house
entrance and windows were all boarded up with nails. Peeking through a crack,
I saw that the inside of the house had been ravaged and left in a complete mess.
Talking with the onlookers gathering in front of the shop revealed nothing about
what had happened. Some said that all the family members had apparently been
taken away by the military police; others said that by the time the military police
raided the place, the house was already an empty shell. In any case, Liuba and her
family had suddenly disappeared. Standing frozen on the spot, I shouted Liubochka! Liubochka! and started to cry. The military police looked at me suspiciously and drove me away from the scene just like a dog.
As I was researching the events of those years for this book, I was fortunate
to be able to borrow from Mieno Yasushi, Vice President of the Bank of Japan, a
list of names of students from Fengtian Elementary School, the same school
Liuba attended. I learned that Mieno himself, a classmate of the writer Abe
Kbs, graduated from the same school in 1936. Going over the list, I found Liubas name among those who had graduated a year before, in 1935, under the heading Whereabouts Unknown. Other graduates from the same year included
such luminaries as Et Shinkichi, President of Ajia University, Hirayama Takeshi,
Chief of the Research Institute for the Prevention of Cancer, and Fukuda Jun,
film director for Th. It occurred to me that someone on the list might be able to
tell me Liubas current situation. I started my inquiries by sending a letter to
Ikari Miyako, the organizer of the class reunion committee for 1935. The following is a summary of the information she sent me.
I made telephone inquiries with all knowledgeable parties, only to be told that
you, as Liubas closest friend, should be the one who could best tell what her
situation was. So it all ends up at where we started. But for your reference, let
me tell you what fragmentary reminiscences they had about Liuba.
In her elementary school days, Liuba was such an affable girl that even
though she was a foreigner, she was able to play and make friends with everyone

30

Chapter 2

in her class. She must be some two or three years older than us. Everyone
including me remembered her as a good speaker of Japanese and as a tall, thin
girl with a few freckles and a fair complexion. In those days, we all had straight
haircuts, but Liuba alone wore her long, beautiful chestnut hair in braids. The
predecessor to Chiyoda Elementary School was the elementary school attached
to the College of Manchuria Education (currently the University of Education).
The educational experiments conducted there gave it its own character. I suppose for that reason, changes were made every year to the composition of the
first through the sixth-grade classes, and while it was a Japanese school, children of Russian and Turkish parentage were allowed to enroll as well.
From the fourth-grade level, students taking calligraphy lessons were
asked to change writing their names with the hiragana script to using Chinese characters, and Liuba was delighted to have received a good Chinese name
from her teacher. One other person I talked with remembered a song Liuba
used to sing often:
There faraway in Mongolia,
Undulating above the clouds,
When even the frozen moon thaws,
When the grass sprouts on a spring day.
As sheep wander,
Still in daylight.
Of course when speaking of Liubas singing, I am sure you would remember
it particularly well.
No one that I spoke to on the telephone had ever visited Liuba at her house,
though almost all of us remembered how frequently Liuba played with you.
Someone seemed to have remembered seeing Liubas parents at her graduation, and so she must have graduated from Chiyoda Elementary. And then one
day, the whole family suddenly disappeared from Fengtian, and nobody knows
what happened to her afterwards. As graduates in the same class, we too want
to know how she has been doing, and in conversations at our class reunions,
we often thought that you might be the one to have such information.
Knowing that Liuba had introduced a Russian opera singer to you as your
voice instructor, we gathered that the two of you might well be the best of
friends. If you had any updates about her, we in turn would appreciate it if
you could let us know.
I also have in my possession a class photograph when we were third-grade
students at the elementary school. I am enclosing it with the letter in case it
may be of use to you in any way.

My Fengtian Years

31

The photograph shows Liubas face, which I had longed to see. She was in the
middle column on the right facing the camera, a girl from a foreign land standing taller than the rest. And indeed she alone braided her hair. Her forehead, the
faint smile on her cheeks, her translucent skin. As I was looking at her while remembering the past, I seemed to see her charming freckles. That night, I slept holding her picture close.

CHAPTER 3

My Beijing Years

With the end of my recuperation at home came the muchawaited spring of my departure to Beijing where I would continue with my studies. While Father did invoke the saying Its better to send off ones darling child
on a journey to learn about the real world, it was after all my first long journey
away from home, to say nothing of my traveling to an unfamiliar destination. I
had naturally assumed that Father would accompany me, only to discover that he
had to depart for Beijing earlier due to business, leaving me to be the lone traveler.
Fengtian was Manchurias largest metropolis, but compared to Beijing, the
historical capital on the Chinese continent, it was a mere rural city in the Northeast. This alone would have made me ner vous, not to mention having to travel for
days and nights on a rocking train through a foreign land. But there I was, a
fourteen-year-old on her solo journey.
It is true that I was also a little excited, driven by curiosity and yearning
for Beijing, but my predominant feeling was an indescribable sense of anxiety
about heading to an exotic city. At Fengtian Station, Mother gave me all kinds of
precautionary advice for my trip, but I was too distracted to take in most of what
she said. I boarded the train, carefully guarding a bundle of money under my
clothes, arranged like a haramaki;1 the money had been entrusted to me to pass
on to Father.
My seat on the train was not in the soft-seat compartment reserved for foreigners and members of the upper class, but in a hard-seat section littered with
garbage and fi lled with stench. Father had bought me the ticket, saying, You will
be living as a Chinese person from now on, so get used to it. Other than me, all
the passengers in the hard-seat section were Chinese. I should say that I myself
pretended that I was Chinese, fearing that danger might come to me if I was found
to be Japanese.
Under the direction of Song Qingling and others, May 1934 was the time when
the preparatory arm of the Committee for Armed Self-Defense for the Chinese
People announced their basic strategic plans against Japan. In March of the same

32

My Beijing Years

33

year, Puyi, the defunct Qing Emperor, was made Emperor of Manchukuo, thereby
giving rise to guerilla resistance against the Japanese and Japan-controlled Manchuria throughout China. As long as there was no particularly urgent business,
few Japanese, save those in the military, would choose to travel any long distance
by train.
The railroad had become a frequent target of anti-Japanese guerilla attacks.
This was especially true around the town of Sanhaiguan at the Manchukuo-Chinese
border, where a year before, in January 1933, a military conflict between the Chinese and Japanese forces had led to the temporary suspension of rail ser vice. Since
then, incidents involving guerillas had often occurred around the area.
It had been raining since the train departed from Fengtian, and when night
fell, the rain turned into a downpour. As the train approached Sanhaiguan, the
winds also began to pick up before developing into a full-blown storm. It was dark
inside the train compartment, and the air was heavy with a strong smell of garlic.
Most of the passengers were coolies and poor people. From the way they carried
their belongings in bedrolls on their backs, it was clear that they were destitute
drifters.
The ferocious roar of the storm and the sound of the rain striking hard on
the window drowned out the trains rumbling wheels. Dashing through the thick
of darkness, the train trembled like a gigantic beast writhing in agony, accentuating my sense of dread.
All of a sudden, the train braked abruptly with a sharp metallic squeal, throwing all the passengers out of their seats. The deafening howling of the storm rose
as thunder roared. The accompanying flashes of lightning revealed desolate scenes
of the wilderness outside, a wide landscape of muddy streams and wind-whipped
bushes. As the thunder began to abate a little, the agitated passengers began asking Where has the thunder struck? Was there an ambush by bandits? Did
the guerillas attack?
The conductor came around and explained. The river level near Sanhaiguan
has been rising as a result of heavy rain. Since water has already risen to the foot
of the iron bridge, it would be dangerous for the train to cross it at normal speed.
So we are going to go at the slowest speed and wed appreciate your understanding of the situation.
No sooner had the passengers sighed a breath of relief at the absence of any
guerilla attacks than they became agitated with terror at the prospect of the dangerous bridge-crossing. As the train jolted into motion, they all instinctively looked
at each other. I saw family members holding one anothers hands and embracing.
All by myself, I crouched, my body stiff, my arms tightly crossed over my chest.
As the train crawled along the bridge, a passenger opened a window and stuck
his head out in spite of the violent rainstorm. Other passengers soon followed suit.

34

Chapter 3

I, too, leaned over the person next to me and looked out from the window. The
rain totally soaked my straight-cut hair as I abstractedly stared at the running
stream under the iron bridge. The angry roar of the seething waters echoed with
the noise from the rain pouring from the sky, from the sideswiping winds, and
the raging storm. With water running as dark as coal, the river threatened to swallow up the entire train. I had the feeling that my body would be sucked away along
with it. Instinctively, I withdrew into the train compartment.
The tension in the air amidst the darkness and furious uproar probably lasted
for some twenty minutes. When the train finally crossed the river, its whistle blew
hoarsely as if releasing a sigh of relief. When it began to accelerate to its former
speed, the passengers all responded with loud cheers.
It was in the middle of the night, at 11:30 p.m., when the train arrived at
Sanhaiguan. Having traversed Japanese-occupied Manchukuo, it would then
enter the northern part of the Republic of China. I clearly remember the arrival
time because it was announced by the conductor, who went on to declare something
totally unexpected: The time now is 11:30 p.m. Well stop for thirty minutes, and
the train will depart at midnight. From that time on, at zero hour tomorrow morning,
a change will take place in the currency system. Because currency exchange will
take place while the train makes its stop, please be ready to present all the currency
you carry with you. That was apparently what my ears heard. I couldnt quite
understand what those words meant, but at least I realized that we were asked to
submit all the money we had with us. I was totally shaken at this announcement.
Currency reform was a major undertaking at the time. Could it be that I was
at the border town on the day, indeed, at the precise moment, when changes in
the currency system in China were about to take place? According to A Sequel to
Source Materials in Contemporary History: Currency Operations in Occupied Territories (Zoku gendaishi shiry: Senrychi tska ksaku, 1983), edited by Tada Ikio,
currency reforms by the Nationalist government took place in November 1935. I
cant remember the exact date of my trip to Beijing, but I am quite certain that it
was in May of the year before; there is a discrepancy of a year and a half between
those dates. As I had no knowledge about monetary affairs at the time, my memory could be faulty when it came to what was happening. One conceivable scenario
was that since the train would be entering into the territory of the Republic of
China, passengers were obligated to change their Manchukuo currency into that of
the Nationalist government. Whatever the case might have been, even prior to my
departure, I had been quite nervous about traveling with all that money, the largest
amount I had with me in my entire life. I muttered to myself, Dont lose it! Dont
let anyone steal it! as if I were chanting incantations of some kind, all the while
touching the bundle against my body to reassure myself that I still had it.

My Beijing Years

35

Nothing would be worse than having all my money taken away! I quickly made
up my mind that I would run away from the scene. Rising from my seat, I deft ly
squeezed my way through throngs of people in the crowded and noisy compartment. All the other passengers seemed to be so preoccupied with their own baggage and their money that nobody was paying any attention to what a little girl
was doing. As I was making my way into the third compartment, something made
me gasp and freeze in my step. A police officer was hauling a man off of the train,
and another officer was counting a bundle of money he had apparently confiscated.
Around me, other officers were checking the passengers baggage. When I saw a
lavatory right in front of me, I dashed into it and locked the door from the inside.
The space was dark and small, with an eerie-looking opening and the pungent
stench of urine. Holding my breath, I squatted down and stayed motionless for a
long time. I could sometimes hear the movement of people and their conversations, but fortunately nobody tried to open the door.
At long last, the whistle blew, and the train started to move. I leaned my
completely exhausted body against the wall of the lavatory, indulging in a moment of satisfaction over having accomplished such a great feat. As I returned to
my seat, other passengers were falling asleep. Clutching my haramaki, I watched
as the train station slowly disappeared from sight, and before I knew it, I too fell
into a sound sleep.
A completely different scene greeted me as I awoke. The sky was clear, and the
rural area was giving way to an urban landscape. I could see houses here and there
between poplar trees lining the streets. The dazzling morning sun generously sent
its powder of gold to earth as fluff y clouds floated across the sky, a sky so crystal
blue that it almost hurt my eyes. It was an invigorating May morning in Beijing.
As the train entered into the city proper from the suburbs, it ran parallel to a
long stretch of grayish city wall until it reached the vicinity of the city streets.
Although the brick wall looked as if it wouldnt last very long due to age, small
yellow flowers were blooming in profusion from weeds growing in the openings,
producing patterns exactly reminiscent of those on a tapestry. I had a feeling that
I had been abruptly transported from the darkness of last nights rainstorm into
a land of fairy tales.
Father was there to greet me at the train station. As our rickshaw ran on streets
lined with acacia, we were embraced by the fragrance of jasmine drifting in the
spring haze. Im proud of you for having come all this way by yourself, Father
said as he gave me an affectionate pat on the head.
Beijing was known throughout the world for its beauty as a walled capital. Its
imposing magnificence was first introduced to Europe as Dadu, the Great Capital of
the Yuan Dynasty, by Marco Polo. The fact that the city retains its splendor to this

36

Chapter 3

day is surely the result of scrupulous efforts of political leaders, whoever they might
have been at any given time, to preserve its integrity and beauty as a historic capital that exemplified the profound wisdom of its people. And yet changes have come
to Beijing. My first impression as I looked at Beijing from the train window was
its extended city wall running parallel to the railroad, but now that wall no longer exists. Also, the barbican gates and towers that once soared at key city locations can no longer be seen today. One can, of course, understand that such grand
old structures are incompatible with the dictates of a modern citys traffic policies. That said, I most fondly remember prewar Beijing, with its city wall and gate
towers, depicted in scenes of the Forbidden City so lovingly painted by the late
Umehara Ryzabur.2 Speaking of the painter, he passed away peacefully last year,
in January 1986, at the age of ninety-seven. While I was living in Beijing in the
prewar days, I was honored to make his acquaintance, and he and his wife were
good enough to treat me most affectionately. Mr. Umehara stayed for a long time
in a suite at the western end of Beijing Hotel (Beijing Fandian); that was his atelier, where he painted. I cant remember exactly what year it was when I served as
his model, but I do remember frequenting his studio when our work was in progress. We could see the Forbidden City below from his window, and I was posed as
a young woman looking at the scenery outside. I would sit on a chair wearing a
qipao he specified;3 Mr. Umehara was particularly fond of the Chinese dress. The
qipao was of a simple design, a long garment with a stand-up collar, but it was the
kind of dress that would never go out of style. Mr. Umehara had his model wear
the high collar in a proper fashion and in a pose that kept her chin low and her
head straight. Even though she might just be in a seated position, Umehara said
that the dramatic tension from the movement of the womans legs visible through
the slit might serve to heighten a certain aesthetic effect.
He was very much inclined to paint young women in that par ticu lar attire.
I, too, served as one of his models for a series of maiden portraits (guniang hua).
He had a sharp eye for his models; indeed, as an artist, his gaze reached as far as
the recesses of the human heart. As a matter of fact, even my inner thoughts failed
to escape his incisive scrutiny. While I took a certain pose, purposely sitting very
still on a chair, various thoughts would be going through my mind. At moments
like that, I would be repeatedly asked to keep perfectly still! When I protested
with But I didnt move at all, he would say, Ah, but the expressions on your face
before and after my painting intervals have not been the same! And just as my
thoughts wandered toward distractions such as having fun with my friends, he
would seize that exact moment to announce, All right! Lets just call it a day and
start again tomorrow!
I also remember him saying, A cats face can show two hundred different expressions, and yours has more than a cats. Its quite an amazing face that changes

My Beijing Years

37

every time I look at it. He also observed, Your right eye is different from your
left; the former conveys flights of unfettered imagination, and the latter a serenity with a trace of bashfulness. When I look at number twenty of his maiden portraits, now hanging in my living room, I can indeed see that the right and left eyes
have completely different expressions, just like a Picasso portrait.
Among the works he produced during his time in China, there is no question that the most celebrated is Autumn in Beijing. Others such as Forbidden
City or Temple of Heaven capture Beijings cityscape against an ultramarine
sky with strikingly brilliant colors reminiscent of the three-color glaze style of
Tang ceramics (Tangsancai). The individual characteristics of those works notwithstanding, the fact that there is such a striking consistency to their compositions has to do, I think, with the precise location of his atelierhis many landscapes reveal a perspective emanating from that par ticular Beijing Hotel window
looking westward across the city. Taking Xishan, the Western Hills, as the background, he painted many scenes of the Forbidden City surrounded by a canopy
of trees. Those remarkably beautiful scenes depict the red Gate of Heavenly Peace
rising high above the woods, beyond which stood the golden-yellow roofs of the
Upright Gate, the Meridian Gate, and the Gate and Hall of Supreme Harmony,
all leading to the main palace hall. In those days, the city limits of Beijing were
enclosed by rectangular walls, with the Forbidden City located in the center. Laid
out in the original city design at key locations, the gates and towers made Beijing
appear, at first glance, to be an easy place to navigate. To be sure, that was also the
impression one would get while surveying a city map, but if a traveler had to negotiate this huge citys small alleyways, the hutong, he would surely lose his sense
of direction.4
The focal point of Beijing today is Tiananmen Square. The rectangular-shaped
precinct occupying a quarter of the area at the upper right corner of the city map
is the Dongcheng District, while the corresponding area at the upper left is the
Xicheng District. When I was in Beijing, the citys residential areas were concentrated in these two districts, as they still are today. The Xicheng District in particular was where the households of old Chinese families, national universities, middle schools, and the like were congregated; virtually no Japanese lived in that area.
The Pan family, into which I was adopted and with whom I boarded, lived in
Picai Hutong in the Xicheng District. The neighboring house belonged to the
renowned painter Qi Baishi.5 Countless alleyways or narrow streets, the hutong,
crisscrossed the city from east to west. The dajie, or main streets, which ran northsouth and intersected at right angles with the hutong, were naturally few in number. The hutong, reportedly numbering as many as eighteen hundred, had a long
historysomething comparable, I suppose, to the notion of Edos happyakuyach, if you want a Japanese equivalent.6

38

Chapter 3

Father stayed with the Pan family for two or three days, took care of my school
transfer, and entrusted me to Pan Yugui before returning to Fengtian. I was left
all by myself in Beijing, a city in which I knew not a single Japanese. There, I was
simply Pan Shuhua, a Chinese girl who came from the rural Northeast to live with
the Pan family as their adopted daughter while attending Yijiao Girls School.
Though Yijiao was a mission school, it was like any other Chinese school in Beijing in its pronounced anti-Japanese attitude. There, I had to act in every way like
a Chinese girl so that nobody would have any idea about my Japanese identity.
There were ten children in the Pan household. The eldest brother was a university student studying in Tokyo, and the youngest was a nine-year-old boy. Two
other children, Yuehua and Yinghua, went to Yijiao Girls School. For some reason, beyond those four adoptive brothers and sisters, I cannot recall anything about
the other children. (Junqian, the eldest brother, has now passed away, but his wife,
Terumi, is still living in Saitama Prefecture. I spoke with her to ascertain if my
recollections were correct, and it was during our conversation that I fi rst learned
that the Pan family had ten children.) I heard that the reason I was given the name
Shuhua was to preserve the name Yoshiko7 and that the name would at the same
time allow me to be treated as a family member just like my other seven sisters,
all of whom had the character hua in their given names.
Like General Li Jichun, Pan Yugui was an old and close friend of Fathers and
an important figure in local politics in northern China. I heard that he was an
influential consultant to General Song Zheyuan. According to Masui Kichis Trial
History of Traitors to the Chinese People (Kankan saibanshi, 1977), Pan was born
in 1884 in Yanshan County in Hebei Province. After graduating from Japans
Waseda University, he took such positions as Vice President of the MongolianTibetan Council, Councilor to the National Affairs Assembly, and Military Commander of Beiping and Tianjin, before serving as Chief of Political Affairs for the
Political Affairs Committee of Hebei and Chahar and later as Mayor of Tianjin.8
His grand residence befitted a man of his influence. The main gate to the house
was situated at the center of a large earthen wall on the south side facing the
hutong and continuing for several blocks. At the gate stood two guards holding
rifles fi xed with bayonets. A reception room at the side of the gate, the menfang,
was staffed with gatekeepers and errand boys.
There were some similarities between the design of a Chinese residence and the
shinden-zukuri style during Japans Heian period. Rooms were constructed
along the corridors within the house enclosure. The central courtyard surrounded
by the corridors was known as the yuanzi. To the north, farthest from the main
gate, was the zhengfang, or what one might call the main structure and the private residence of the master and his wife. To its east and west, on the left and right,
were symmetrically arranged annexes called xiangfang where corridors connected

My Beijing Years

39

the individual rooms for the children, the familys relatives, and the masters concubines, as well as the servants quarters.
Counting servants and private guards, there was a grand total of a hundred
people within the Pan residence, and for this reason, the design of the house was
even more complex than that of an ordinary Chinese residence. To pay ones respects to the occupiers of the zhengfang in the inner courtyard, one had to pass
through a number of gateways and yuanzi. It was as intricate as a labyrinth, and,
not knowing the way out at first, I got totally lost.
Within this huge family of a hundred people, I was the only Japanese person
in a world in which not another soul spoke Japanese. I was quite lonely at first,
but soon felt grateful that my two elder adoptive sisters, who were close to my age,
treated me kindly. I ended up living in a large room with them at the back of the
eastern annex, the Dongfang.
I began school speaking exclusively Chinese. Even though my Mandarin proficiency had been officially certified at the second highest level, from the first day,
I felt a sense of inferiority when I heard how wonderfully Beijing students spoke
their native tongue, as if music emerged from their lips. I was somehow able to
cover up my immediate unease by not actively talking with my classmates, who
in turn seemed to think that my behavior was due to timidity natural in a girl
from the rural Northeast. I would offer responses when asked, but I would not
engage others actively in a conversation.
I went to school together with my two other sisters, but after school, I was
sometimes by myself. At times like these, I would often take the route via Beihai
Park, where, on a desolate island, I would practice Mandarin pronunciation and
consult my dictionary. Sometimes I would even walk as far as Taimiao, the Imperial Ancestral Temple.9
Perhaps because many of the students at my missionary school were from rich
families, or perhaps it was simply a reflection of the campus atmosphere of newly
established Chinese academies, I was surprised at how students behaved there.
Even at the start of class, some simply ignored their teachers by merrily chattering away or standing by their deskscertainly not conduct evocative of the high
respect students traditionally paid to their teachers.10 In fact, some of the students
went so far as to mock their teachers. The geography teacher was a balding man
with a seedy look, and students hooted at him by comparing him to Sanmaoer, a
child tramp with only three strands of hair and a Cupid-like face from a comic
strip that was popular in Shanghai.11 I didnt know anything about the cartoon
figure at the time and couldnt understand the joke behind all the derision; all
I could do was to look on with numb amazement.
As I became increasingly accustomed to the school atmosphere, I began to
realize that the students did not always act disruptively. The handsome teacher of

40

Chapter 3

English was popular, and thanks to his instruction, I began to develop a strong
interest in the subject. On the other hand, students would boycott classes by teachers who were incompetent or authoritarian. It was a situation difficult to imagine
at a Japanese girls school, but at least Yijiao students were capable of clearly voicing their own views. Some delivered speeches at small political gatherings after
they had boycotted classes. Students actively held gatherings in protest against the
Japanese army then moving southward from Manchuria in an attempt to swallow up northern China. This is not the time for the Nationalist and Communist
Parties to fight against each other, but one for us to strike back at the Japanese
dev ils (dongyang-guizi) as a united national front.12 Amidst such loud proclamations, all I could do was to remain silent and lower my head.
At the Pan house, I frequently awoke to performances by the pipe ensemble
of the pigeons of Picai Hutong, a special treat for residents of the area. As the eastern sky began to light up in the morning, a large formation of the birds would
soar into the sky. Little pipes made of gourds or bamboo tied to the birds feet produced a loud whistling chorus as soon as hundreds of them turned nimbly in the
dawning sky. That was the alarm clock for my two sisters and me. The timbre of
their per for mance was not always the same; it also changed according to how
I felt on a particular day. When I was sad with homesickness, it came to my ears
as a forlorn tremolo; but when the morning was pleasant and cheerful, it sounded
like a pure and invigorating forte note.
The first thing I did after getting out of bed was to wash my face. The trouble
was that there was no running water even though the house had a very impressivelooking washroom. All that was provided for the three of us was a basinful of warm
water. As I could not bear to wash my face with water already used by someone
else, I ended up acquiring the habit of being always the first to get up.
Beyond washing our faces, we rarely had the opportunity to take a bath. As
a wealthy family, the Pan household had a grand Western-style bathtub, but the
most vital element, water, was not in the pipeline. And so, all family members would
go to a large public bathhouse in the downtown area once every two weeks. Everyone looked forward to that day as if it were some sort of an excursion. Inside the
large bathhouse structure was a sizable pool reminiscent of a Roman bath, as well
as private bathing rooms, fully furnished with bathing assistants, masseurs, barbers, and beauticians. After wonderfully refreshing baths, the Pan family would
have a luxurious meal at a restaurant in the next building, complete with entertainment provided by an erhu player. That was how the whole family enjoyed
themselvesdrinking and singing for a whole day at the bathhouse.
After washing my face and changing my clothes, I would offer my morning
greetings to Mr. and Mrs. Pan at the zhengfang. Mr. Pan, a distinguished-looking
man, always wore an elegant Chinese-style silk garment.

My Beijing Years

41

At the time, in attempting to turn the five provinces in northern China (Hebei, Shandong, Shanxi, Chahar, and Suiyuan) into a protectorate like a quasiManchukuo, the Japanese Kwantung Army forced the Chinese side to accept a
number of agreements. Accordingly, in November 1935, the Eastern Hebei AntiCommunist Autonomous Committee under Yin Rugeng was formed in Tongzhou.
Succumbing to the pressure from the Japanese military, the Nationalist government then established the Hebei-Chahar Political Affairs Committee under Song
Zheyuan in Beijing in December to take over the political affairs of the provinces
of Hebei and Chahar, as well as the cities of Beijing and Tianjin, by dissociating
these areas from the central authorities. For a time, these two local political entities served as a buffer zone between Manchukuo and the Nationalist government.
In time, Pan became a very busy man assisting Chair Song Zheyuan of the HebeiChahar Political Affairs Committee and taking a position something akin to a
chief cabinet secretary to a prime minister.
Madame Pan was a fine-looking woman, tall and slim, with a dignified air
emanating from her decisiveness of character. Like the second wife of the Li family, she too had had her feet bound, and perhaps for this reason her movements
and expressions had an elegance reminiscent of women from an earlier era. With
the hairline on her forehead shaved into the shape of a square, she wore her hair
in a bun and decorated it with an expensive comb-shaped ornament made of jade.
(As far as jewelry is concerned, it was only later that I learned that it was a custom among the rich in China to wear mostly imitations; the real ones were kept
in their safes.) My adoptive sisters called her Dongniang to differentiate her from
Pans other wife whom they addressed as Xiniang, a slight older woman who
also had bound feet.13
At first, I thought it was incredible that there were two mistresses within the
same family, but then according to Chinese customs at the time, that was quite
natural. I heard that Xiniang was married first into the Pan family, but since she
had failed to produce a child, Pan took Dongniang as his next wife. As the latter
managed to give birth to three boys and seven girls, she was elevated to be the
number one mistress of the family and was in a position to supervise all family
affairs. Without Dongniangs permission, the children could not go to their meals
nor leave the housethat was the extent of the enormous authority of the head
mistress within the family. On the other hand, Xiniang played a different role,
one that one might describe as the head of domestic maids. She was mainly responsible for taking care of the childrens attire and preparing the family meals.
After my two sisters and I awoke to the music brought to us by the pigeons
and washed our faces, we would offer our morning greetings to our parents and
then go out to practice our equestrian skills. Our horses would pass through the
hutong, still blanketed with morning mist, and along the acacia-lined boulevards,

42

Chapter 3

trotting around the Xicheng area. We would stop by the Beihai Park and enjoy a
light breakfast there. The body of water spreading out on the west side of the Imperial Palace, named The Pool of Splendid Water (Taiye-chi), was divided into
three lakes known respectively as the South (Nanhai), Central (Zhonghai), and
North (Beihai) seas. The former two were collectively known as the Zhongnanhai
Park while the remaining Beihai Park, adorned with a fresh green lake and dotted with artificial hills, had served as the Imperial garden for various lines of
emperors during the Jin, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties. An eye-catching white
pagoda towered above Qionghua-dao, a green island in the middle of the lake. In
its vicinity were famous historic landmarks such as the Five Dragon Pavilions
(Wulong-ting), the Temple of Eternal Peace (Yongan-si), and the Painted Pleasure Boat Abode (Huafang-zhai), collectively providing a graceful oasis within the
metropolis, a garden beloved by Beijings citizens of all ages.
One morning on our return from our usual equestrian ride, as we were passing the lakeshore of Beihai Park, a sudden downpour forced us to seek quick shelter inside a pavilion. It was at that time that it happened. Our instructor pointed
at the lake and shouted an astounded Aiyaa! as a large turtle suddenly appeared,
made one leaping revolution, and then sank back into the water. I suppose the lake
was home to fish and other marine animals, but I was still totally flabbergasted
that a huge turtle, the kind one hears about in legends, should make such an unexpected appearance. Nobody believed our story at home or at school the next
day. Was the creature we saw the master of the North Sea? I wonder if the same
turtle is still alive today.
The ice cream I had at this park on my way home from school was particularly delicious. Getting the pocket money for the treat was no small feat, and I
suppose that explained its extraordinary flavor. To go to school every morning,
we usually caught one of the many rickshaws hanging around the main street,
bargained down the fare, and saved the rest as our pocket money to get our ice
cream. Each one of us got twenty copper coins called tongzier, the smallest coin
denomination, from Dongniang every morning as our two-way transportation
fare. We beat down the one-way fare to seven or eight coins from its normal ten.
While the Pan family treated us quite generously, to teach us proper discipline, they
did not allow us to have extra pocket money. Thus conserving our transportation
expenses became a little exercise in the art of living. This was why sometimes when
Mr. Pan himself offered to take us to school in his own automobile, we were scarcely
pleased with the gesture. Seeing how we three girls looked at one another with
disappointment on our faces, he must have wondered how incredibly odd our
behavior was.
As the days grew increasingly hectic for Mr. Pan, the security around him
became correspondingly tighter. He belonged to the pro-Japanese faction and en-

My Beijing Years

43

deavored to establish a pro-Japanese regime through cooperation with the Japanese army, and for this reason, he was targeted as an enemy by anti-Japanese groups.
I did not have a clear understanding of this matter until much later. Recently,
I also learned for the fi rst timefrom A Trial History of Traitors to the Chinese
Peoplethat Pan was tried after the war and sent to prison for his crime as a collaborator with the Japanese military. According to Terumi, the wife of his oldest
son Junqian, Pan was first given the death sentence before it was subsequently reduced to a fifteen-year prison term. Apparently, the mitigating circumstances were
that while serving as Tianjins mayor, he had performed good deeds such as
spending a huge amount of his private fortune to help flood victims and protecting anti-Japanese guerilla groups.
At the time, I was familiar with neither political nor military matters. As my
aspiration was to become a politicians secretary or a journalist, assisting Pan in
his daily affairs was also part of my necessary training. That said, about the only
thing I was capable of doing was serving tea. When informed by the gatekeeper
that such important figures as Song Zheyuan had come to visit, I would greet the
guests in the reception room and lead them into the main building through a number of gardens. After their meetings were over, I would see them out. That was all
I did. Besides Song, other distinguished guests included Wang Kemin14 and General Wu Peifu.15 Apparently, servants were not allowed into the guest rooms inside the main structure, leaving Dongniang, my two sisters, and myself as
Mr.Pans sole caretakers. I suppose that arrangement was made to prevent any
leaks of private conversations between important men. During their meetings,
our primary role was to serve tea, but occasionally we were also responsible for
preparing opium.
Pan and his guests would recline on an opium bed called the yenta. From a
shelf, I would take out a complete smoking set on a plate and place it on a table in
the middle of the bed. A brownish liquid, resembling thick syrup called yangao,
was placed inside a small ivory bowl carved with geometric patterns. The tip of a
fifteen-centimeter needle would be dipped into the liquid and then heated over
an opium lamp to solidify it. After the process was repeated many times, a round
brown formation called the yanpao would appear at the tip of the needle. When
the yanpao was moved into the pipe-bowl and heated, it turned soft with the emission of smoke, which was then inhaled from a long opium pipe shaped like a Japanese bamboo shakuhachi flute. Engaging in this activity produced a most contented
expression on the face of Pan and his guests.
When I grew older and looked back on my Beijing years, I was astounded that
even such important figures as Pan had turned into habitual abusers of opium
yinjunzi, or gentlemen on the hook as the Chinese called them. Come to think
of it, I even remember seeing Dongniang blowing opium smoke from her own

44

Chapter 3

mouth into that of her youngest son, who was only nine years old. There was more
to the connection between the Pan family and opium. After their eldest son, Junqian, graduated from the medical school of Japans Kei University, he returned
to China to open a hospital in Tianjin, where his father was then mayor of the
city. The hospital, it turned out, was dedicated to the treatment of narcotics
addicts!
As time went by, I started getting used to school life, and my sense of inadequacy in speaking the Beijing dialect was replaced by a growing self-confidence.
It was, however, still impossible to change my ingrained mannerisms and customs.
One day, Dongniang called me into her residence and offered me some advice.
You have a habit of responding with an instantaneous smile whenever someone
is speaking to you. Why do you behave like that? If thats a Japanese custom, I want
you to change it. Smiling with no apparent reason just to please others is called
mai-xiao in China and is looked upon with contempt.16 Come to think of it, from
a young age, we Japanese are drilled in the notion that men are defined by their
strong nerves and women by their winning charms, so much so that wearing a
perpetual smile has come to be regarded as an expression of femininity. In China,
however, it is considered a form of self-denigrating flattery. Dongniang also told
me: In our everyday greetings, its all right to nod your head slightly, but stop
making such deep bows as the Japanese do. We regard that as servile behavior.
I was profoundly grateful for such advice. When friends engaged me in a conversation at school, I learned to respond without smiling for no reason. When encountering an acquaintance on the street, I would refrain from standing on the
spot and bending my head deeply in a bow. Thereupon, my friends told me that
I had become a city girl. Later, my experiences in Europe and the United States
revealed that, as far as daily greetings were concerned, the peoples mannerisms
there were the same as they were in China.
On the other hand, such behavior might very well strike the Japanese as callous and arrogant. When I returned home to my real parents in Fengtian at the
end of my school term, Mother lamented that big city life had corrupted my proper
training in etiquette and contributed to my impertinence. She had always been
strict with us when it came to maintaining proper manners. If I really wanted to
become Chinese, I would lose my Japanese character; but if I wished to retain my
Japanese self, I would be misinterpreted by the Chinese. Not only in matters of
mannerisms and customs alone, but in all aspects of life, I was haunted by this
antinomy until the aftermath of the war. The saddest part of it was that the tension between my fatherland of Japan and my motherland of China was escalating. Even my classmates were expressing their anti-Japanese sentiments more
openly and speaking about opposing, expelling, and resisting the Japanese. Some
of my friends even began to participate in underground activities.

My Beijing Years

45

The fact that I couldnt divulge my sense of anguish to anybody was my most
tormenting burden. When the ordeal became unbearable, I would often go to the
Imperial Ancestral Temple, the Taimiao, and allow myself to cry my heart out while
wandering along paths lined with old trees.
Lying on the right, just beyond the Gate of Heavenly Peace, the Taimiao was
a sacred ground enshrining the ancestral spirits of the various Qing emperors and
a park quite in contrast with the altar area in Zhongshan Park on the left. Rocks
excavated from various parts of China were put together to create magnificent artificial hills, and oak trees many hundreds of years old grew luxuriantly along the
approach to the shrine, making the area peaceful and quiet even during the daytime. Just beside the old oak trees were tea houses furnishing the area with wisteria chairs like a caf terrace where guests could enjoy servings of jasmine tea. The
sweetened dates and salted peanuts were also enticing delicacies. Quite incredibly, my mind always felt at ease while I was strolling around the Taimiao area, for
me a secret haven unbeknownst to anyone else. At times when school was temporarily closed or when classes were canceled, I often took the opportunity to visit
the area. On days when there were anti-Japanese demonstrations or protest gatherings, our school would end up closing for good.
The anti-Japanese feelings at Yijiao Girls School were no less intense than those
in other academies. Indeed, such an atmosphere was escalating not only at school
but also in daily life. Even childrens songs, for example, were imbued with such
sentiments. For instance, I was quite fond of a folksong melody called The Song
of Fengyang (Fengyang-ge), which the youngest son of the Pan family used to
sing. Unaware of the songs implications, I joined in a game in which a child playing a parents role attempts to outmaneuver a demon from snatching away her children.17 The lyrics tell the story of a place called Fengyang, where all the local inhabitants were proud of their wonderful homeland. However, the misdeeds of one
Zhu Huangdi managed to turn Fengyang into a complete wasteland, depriving
the village of land where no more children could be sold by their parents. And so,
with bags on their shoulders, people went over to the next village where there were
still children around and land to be had.18
This Zhu Huangdi referred to in the song was a bandit active during Chinas Warring-States period.19 One time as I was humming the song, my classmate
Wen Guihua told me that Zhu Huangdi was in fact a reference to the Japanese
Zhu, the color crimson, I learned, represented the image of a red sun against a
white background.20
The year 1935 was when Japanese troops stationed in northern China ousted
the Nationalist government in Hebei and began their encroachment into Chahar,
thereby further inflaming the resistance movement in various parts of China, with
Beijing taking the lead. In August of the same year, the Chinese Communist Party

46

Chapter 3

presented its August 1st Declaration, advocating an anti-Japanese united front

throughout the nation for the salvation of all the Chinese people. It was in November and December that the Eastern Hebei Anti- Communist Autonomous
Committee and the Hebei-Chahar Political Affairs Committee (the latter involving Pan and others) were formed. In response to these developments, thirty thousand Beijing students held demonstrations and gatherings in protest. This was the
so-called December 9th Movement in which the demonstrators demanded a cessation of the civil war between the Nationalists and Communists in an attempt
to form a united front against the Japanese.
I spent the years 1935 through 1938 as a Chinese student in Beijing, and I can
never forget images of anti-Japanese demonstrations from that time. When invited to attend such a gathering, I always came up with some excuse to say no. I
was unable to be an active participant in anti-Japanese demonstrations; to do so
would have been an act of betrayal against Japan, my fatherland. During the day
when demonstrations were planned, I would shut myself at home all day long. If
I happened to go out and come across a demonstrators procession, I would hurriedly turn into a hutong and head straight home.
Once, an unexpected turn of events did lead me to attend a gathering of student
protesters even though it was not a political demonstration. The Beijing students
organized the December 9th Movement as a protest against the Japanese invasion of
northern China, as well as Chinese initiatives on the part of pro-Japanese factions to
establish areas of local autonomy. Now that I reflect upon the affair, I cant help
thinking that the circumstances that brought me to a meeting like this as a daughter
of the Pan family were precisely symbolic of my predicament as someone caught
inthe middle of the Japan and China conflict. That said, my attendance was not
prompted by any prior knowledge about the nature of the meeting. Rather than participating actively, the truth of the matter was that I was made to go before I knew it.
That day, Wen Guihua invited me to a party held at the Zhongnanhai Park.
I think it was in 1936, the year following the December 9th Movement. As I mentioned earlier, this famous Beijing park and the Beihai Park together make up the
Pool of Splendid Water. In the past, only part of it was opened to the general
public, and it has now become the residential compound for top officials of the
Chinese government and the Communist Party, such as Deng Xiaoping. As could
be expected, it was in a state of good repair, as beautiful as a miniature garden.
The party was held inside a pavilion surrounded by a grove on an island on the
other side of the famous Centipede Bridge (Wugong-qiao), and the island itself
formed a small recreational area. At the time, lotus flowers were blooming splendidly in the pond. I had been invited on many prior occasions for tea and refreshments at outdoor parties, and on that day, I went along expecting only a similarly
enjoyable afternoon.

My Beijing Years

47

However, what awaited me was not any cheerful gathering but an assembly
of grieving students consumed in serious discussion. The person standing in the
middle of the crowd and speaking passionately appeared to be someone involved
with the anti-Japanese movement. He said, Our school was surrounded by three
thousand armed policemen on February 29th and as many as twenty students were
arrested. On March 31st, as we mourned students who had been killed by honoring them with a procession of their coffins, many students were again arrested.
The young man went on to tell the crowd about the recent developments in northern China before stating emphatically that their movement would be further
strengthened if their arrested comrades were to be returned. After that, students
who had been arrested reported on matters such as the prisons conditions, at which
point all students rose and offered their silent prayers to those who had lost their
lives. I learned that their open discussion was centered on how they should continue to fight.
There was always a romantic ambience about the Zhongnanhai Park with the
sweet fragrance of lilac floating from the bushes; but on that day the atmosphere
was tense. While their discussion involved a matter of grave concern, the participants demeanor revealed a state of impassioned excitement. I think I was probably the only one who looked dejected with downcast eyes.
Our leader began by posing a question. The Japanese army has already created a bogus Manzhouguo [Manchukuo] and is now encroaching on Beijing from
the northeast. What would you do if the invading army crossed the city walls?
Thereupon, the students rose one after another and gave their answers. I would
not allow even a single Japanese soldier to enter the city. Well fight until death!
When someone said, We can talk about fighting, but lets not forget that students
dont even have guns and ammunition, another responded, Ill go to Nanjing to
be a volunteer in the Nationalist army! This was followed by another student roaring that hed join the Communist army in the Shaanbei region.21 All the students
spoke about what they had decided to do with fervent zeal. As for Wen Guihua,
she enunciated her determination to participate in the guerilla forces, apparently
in an attempt to join hands with her boyfriend, a student from Yenching University who was working underground in the rural provinces.
And now it was my turn to speak. Realizing earlier on that I had to come up
with something to say soon, I had become thoroughly agitated and was unable to
gather my thoughts. Indeed, that was not something I could possibly accomplish.
My fatherland was about to go to war with my motherland, and for someone who
loved both countries and their peoples, what was I to do? As my turn finally came
around, the moderator turned to me with his eyes for an immediate response.
I . . . , I began hesitantly, Ill stand on the city wall of Beijing. That was not
a conclusion reached after any serious thinking but an answer that came to me

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Chapter 3

instantaneously. That was all I could say by way of expressing what I felt at the
time. If I climbed up and stood on the city wall, I would be the first to die, either
from a bullet from the invading Japanese army from the outside or from one from
the Chinese defense forces from within. Instinctively, I thought that was the most
appropriate action I could take.
The next year, in July 1937, Japa nese and Chinese forces clashed at Lugouqiao (Lugou Bridge) in the suburbs of Beijing. It was the beginning of a full-scale
war between China and Japan.

CHAPTER 4

The Tianjin Encounters

Th ree years of studies in Beijing went by quickly, and Pan

Shuhua, as I was known, had turned into someone completely indistinguishable
from a Chinese girl. Except for the days when I returned to Fengtian to visit my
parents, I had almost no contact with other Japanese. At the time, after his appointment as the mayor of Tianjin, my foster father Pan Yugui had already gone
to take up his assignment there.
One day, as Xiaodi, the youngest son of the Pan family, was cheerfully practicing the flower drums folk dance (Da-huagu) in the inner courtyard, Yinghua
ran to me holding up a name card. Somebody called Aizawa is here to see you,
she told me, and, with a soft voice, added, Quite a handsome boy! Aizawa was
one of the young intelligence agents who used to visit Father in Fengtian.
So you are Yoshiko! Youve certainly grown up! Spoken Japanese was something I hadnt heard for quite a while. Aizawa was the first Japanese to visit me at
the Pan family house, and he came at Fathers request. With Dongniangs permission, he and I went out to an upscale Chinese restaurant on Wangfujing Street.
It was my first time having a meal alone with a young man. Feeling awfully
tense on my first date, I became quite self-conscious over how other people nearby
might look upon us, and my ner vousness hardly allowed me to enjoy the fine food.
On the other hand, I was elated to be able to speak Japanese without constraint
after such a long time. As I kept rambling on, I suddenly realized that Aizawa was
not exactly interested in what I was saying. It turned out that Father wanted the
young man to make sure that I was safe in Beijing, a city then embroiled in fierce
anti-Japanese movements. After discussing the situation with Father, Aizawa himself came up with several options for my immediate future and wanted to know
how I felt about them.
First, he was concerned about my continued freeloading at Pans Beijing residence at a time when Tianjin had become the center of the familys activities. Second,
as Father was traveling back and forth between Fengtian and Beijing for his work
at the Datong coal mines, he was making plans to settle down in Beijing eventually.

49

50

Chapter 4

And so one option for me was to board with a Japanese family until my familys
own move to the city. Third, anti-Japanese demonstrations in Beijing had intensified. Under such conditions, it was extremely dangerous for me to assume a false
Chinese identity, go to a Chinese girls school, and live with a Chinese family.
And so the proposal was that I be transferred to a Japanese girls school and stop
living in the Pan household.
As Aizawa explained these options and asked for my response, he also seemed
to be probing, with an air of deliberate casualness, the conditions of the Pan
household and my schools situation. He was a man with fine features, but the look
in his eyes always betrayed a sense of restless suspicion. On the other hand, perhaps he still looked upon me as little more than a willful child. Hoping to settle
the matter quickly, he wearily interrupted me, saying that his proposals were Fathers wishes and suggesting that I move promptly to somewhere safe.
Suppressing my exasperation, I offered a counterargument. It is true that Uncle Pan is now in Tianjin for his new job, but his family is still in Beijing. Yuehua
has indeed graduated, but Yinghua and I are still going to school. I simply cannot
quit midway. If I did, all my previous hard work will come to nothing. And if Father and the rest of my family are going to move here eventually, it makes all the
more sense that I remain in Beijing. I will continue to stay with the Pan family.
Now I am Pan Shuhua and a Chinese girl!
Chinese rolled off my tongue more smoothly than Japanese when the occasion called for a verbal altercation. A good speaker of Mandarin himself, Aizawa,
wearing a wry smile, gave a rebuttal in his brisk Chinese. But a Japanese military
type like him could hardly be expected to appreciate the unspeakable hardships
experienced by a Japanese teenager who was trying so hard to turn herself into a
Chinese girl. Linguistic proficiency alone, however impressive, could hardly qualify anyone to reach into the recesses of other people, more so for Japanese intelligence agents who had always been acting like bullies to the Chinese. Spurred on
by a sense of rebelliousness, I ended up arguing with Aizawa fervently. Later, I
did regret that I had made myself rather disagreeable, but it was also true that
Ifelt relieved for having said what I did.
Ill come again. With this, Aizawa left, but he returned a few weeks later.
I could surmise the purpose of his visit and was not ner vous this time. With the
same unruffled composure, he delivered his sermon in a soft voice. Although we
picked a high-class restaurant for the occasion, the food there wasnt at all inviting.
What Aizawa told me was the following: As you know, a Sino-Japanese military
conflict took place at Lugouqiao and now war has been spreading throughout
China. Terrorism associated with anti-Japanese resistance has been growing,
and Pan has now become a constant target of attack. And when they find out that
a Japanese girl is living in his house, this in itself will be sufficient reason for them

The Tianjin Encounters

51

to burn it down. He then asked, in a half-commanding tone, that I promptly

remove myself from the Xicheng District, where the Chinese lived, to take refuge
within the grounds of the Japanese Embassy in Dongjiaominxiang, the area in
which foreign embassies were situated in the Dongcheng District.
I have no desire after all the efforts Ive made to go back to a Japanese lifestyle. I am well-disposed toward living like the Chinese. Take school as an example. You have no idea how much more free and enjoyable it is here compared to a
Japanese girls school, I retorted.
At this time of emergency, it is out of the question for you to continue to go
to a Chinese school. Japan and China are now at war! You are Japanese, arent you?
Aizawa let out a sigh. I suppose there is no other way to change your mind than
to ask your father to come to Beijing and give you a piece of his mind himself.
The result of these conversations was that I continued my stay with the Pan
family. Yuehua had already graduated, but as for Yinghua and me, life remained
the samewe got up in our shared room, took a rickshaw to school, stopped by the
Baihai Park on our way back, and paid for our ice cream with the transportation
fare we bargained down.
Around that time, I had another Japanese visitor besides Aizawa. Like Aizawa,
Yamaga Tru was a close acquaintance of Fathers in Fengtian. His long title on
his Japanese calling card read Army Major for Area Pacification, China Section,
Press Division of the Northern China Army Command, but he was more popularly known as Wang Erye.1 When he was a frequent visitor at Fathers in Fengtian, I was only a first-year student at the girls school. He was then an army captain,
but when he came to visit me in Beijing at the Pan residence, he had become a
major and was soon to be promoted to lieutenant colonel. When I met him later
at a nightclub in Shanghai, he had become a colonel. Whenever a soldier received
a promotion, his affi liation along with his responsibilities were always reassigned,
but in Yamagas case, he was always working at pacification initiatives with the
Press Division and headed the Yamaga machine, an agency responsible for information dissemination and propaganda in the culture, art, and publicity arenas. For this reason, he had many acquaintances among those involved in fi lm,
theater, and the popular arts. Leading a flamboyant lifestyle, he always had in his
company a beautiful Chinese actress.
I heard that Yamaga had been involved in the establishment of the Fengtian
Broadcasting Station during his years there, and for this reason, he was well aware
of how I had been scouted by Azuma Keiz, Chief of its Planning Section, to debut as Li Xianglan and perform New Melodies from Manchuria. Later, he was
involved in the establishment of the Manchurian Film Association (Manei), and,
with the initial stage of his work completed, he told me that he had just moved
the center of his operations to Beijing. His other calling card, printed in Chinese,

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Chapter 4

read Wang Jiaheng, General Manger of Wudebao News Agency, Beijing; apparently that was the Chinese name hed assumed.
Yamaga was also fluent in the Beijing dialect; in fact, that would be an impertinent way of putting it, as his Mandarin was by far more proficient than
mine. Like Aizawa, Yamaga also came at Fathers request to see how my life was
in Beijing, concerned as he was about the ferocity of anti-Japanese sentiments in
the city.
While both Aizawa and Yamaga wanted to sound out my intentions, they were
totally different in their manner of assessing a situation and craft ing a response.
They were both quick-witted men speaking good Chinese, and yet Aizawas shrewdness in the head had no effect whatsoever on his inner rigidity as a Japanese intelligence agent. In contrast, Yamaga knew well how to reach into delicate Chinese
sentiments; the Mandarin he spoke was nicely complemented by the Chinese
clothes he was wearing. Aizawa was in his twenties while Yamaga was in his forties, but I suppose their differences were not merely attributable to life experiences
but also to their capacity for compassion toward other people. It was true that they
were both kind enough to take me out by car and treat me to fine food on Wangfujing. Yet the restaurants Yamaga patronized were not formal, upscale places, but
mostly good, little-known spots favored by local Chinese food connoisseurs.
Additionally, Yamaga showed considerable understanding regarding my personal circumstances. Now that you have become accustomed to the Chinese way
of life as Mr. Pans adoptive daughter, he said, it would be best to continue with
your existing lifestyle as long as the situation allows. It is true that Pan has become
a terrorist target, but my own investigation shows that his house is not marked for
firebomb attacks. On the other hand, why dont you reconsider your thoughts
about becoming a politicians secretary? I myself have no intention of dragging
you into my own business, but since you already have a good reputation with the
Fengtian Broadcasting Station, why not think about a career as a professional singer
with the Beijing Broadcasting Station?
But I had no intention of becoming a professional singer. While I had received
singing lessons from Madame Podlesov in Fengtian and Madame Pedrov in Beijing, I was trained in classical music. To become a professional singer of popular
songs would require separate and proper training in that par ticu lar area.
Yamaga told me to contact him whenever I felt the need, and, availing myself of his kindness, I telephoned him on a number of occasions at the Wudebao
News Agency. My need on such occasions was generally a request for a loan.
With my advancement into the upper grades of my girls school came the need
for spending money. While I was allowed more freedom to go out of the house,
Dongniang still did not allow any extra spending money beyond clearly accountable expenses such as my rickshaw fare and money for school stationery. She had

The Tianjin Encounters

53

strict rules about approving pocket money for my socializing and material needs
as a young girl. That explained my telephone calls to Yamaga, and, naturally, I reported such communications to Father.
The language I spoke when I asked for a loan was Chinese. I found it incredible
that I could make such a request with no hesitation at all in that language, while the
same would have been nearly impossible to utter in Japanese. The greeting among
ordinary Chinese, day or night, was Have you taken your meal? Among people
in business, it was Have you made any money? Osaka merchants would say the
same by way of exchanging greetings. For people to share an interest in each
others everyday affairs was a very natural way of thinking. In contrast with Japanese conversation, the word money came out very naturally in Chinese, allowing the Chinese to address facts of life without any accompanying feelings of
embarrassment or impropriety. In China, when speaking with a new acquaintance, it was certainly not considered ill-mannered to inquire, during the course
of a conversation, what monthly salary the other party was making. Indeed, the
amount would be revealed directly, in an unaffected response. In this way, I made
a number of requests of Yamaga for pocket money, and every time I did so, he would
take me to Wangfujing, treat me to a fine meal, and buy me the things I wanted.
To me, he was, then, also a knight in shining armor.
In those days, as it is now, Wangfujing was Beijings liveliest area, essentially
the equivalent of the Ginza in Tokyo. But in my days, the place was not as crowded,
and the area was a fashionable and modern promenade. From the Ming to the Qing
dynasties, members of the aristocracy had many of their houses built in this neighborhood, along with their residential wells.2 For one continuous kilometer, part
of Wangfujing Street, from the side of Beijing Hotel on East Changanmen Boulevard north toward Donghuamen, was beautifully lined with acacia. On both sides
of the street were high-end establishments selling Western goods, Western fashion, along with restaurants and tea houses. Stores such as Japans Matsuya Emporium were also among them.
Situated in the northeastern part of Wangfujing was the famous Dongan Market (present-day Dongfeng Market). It originated as a small open-air market peddling miscellaneous products before turning into a boisterous marketplace with
businesses ranging from first-class shops to wonton stalls. Now it had restaurants,
and a great variety of shops selling antiques, books, shoes, dry goods, copper
ware, eyeglasses, personal seals, and stationery. There, you would also find dentists, bone doctors, fortune-tellers, photo studios, and barber shops, along with
snack bars, billiard halls, and theaters. . . . Even opium dens proudly advertized
their business with explicit signs.
Inside the market was an intricate labyrinth reminiscent of a casbah in an
African harbor town. One would surely get lost if venturing into the place alone.

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Chapter 4

There was a wide open space in the interior of the market where one could see
performances of magic and acrobatics shows.
The place where Yamaga often took me was called Donglaishun, a restaurant
facing the Jinyu Hutong at the northern side of Dongan Market away from Wangfujin Street. An Islamic eatery specializing in mutton dishes, it had a green sign
and lanterns hanging at the entrance, served scrumptious food at low cost, and
was always crowded. Customers who stepped into the place were instantaneously
greeted with a thunderous Welcome! Inside, conversations in the local dialect
flew off in every direction with deafening vivacity. Its most famous dish, among
other favorites, was shuayangrou, a kind of mutton shabu-shabu, for me the number one pick in Beijing cuisine even though Peking duck was better known to the
Japanese.3 The thinly sliced mutton used in the cooking came from soft, high-grade,
nonfat meat produced in Zhangjiakou. A mixture of soy sauce, vinegar, pepper,
and sesame paste served as the main sauce, to which one could add ones own choice
from over a dozen different kinds of condiments, including scallions and cilantro. The thin meat slices were nimbly put into the boiling pot of soup before they
were quickly consumed with the seasoning sauce, along with other items such as
Chinese cabbage, mushrooms, bean-starch vermicelli, and noodles. The basic idea
is the same as the Japanese shabu-shabu; in fact, the shuayangrou was none other
than the original inspiration for the Japanese dish.
At first, I was totally unaware of the fact that Yamaga was the first love of Kawashima Yoshiko, the beautiful daughter of Prince Su from the Qing Dynasty,
and a woman known for her penchant for menswear.4 During the time in Fengtian when Yamaga was a frequent visitor to our house, neither Father nor Mother
told me anything about it. Come to think of it, there was nothing for them to tell,
as I was no more than a little ten-year-old girl. The first time I met Kawashima
Yoshiko was in the year 1937, around the same time Yamaga came to visit me at
the Pan residence. After that, I met her a number of times, and she received me
fondly. But I knew nothing about her past relationship with Yamaga, and befriended
them as two separate individuals without making a connection. In time, when
the respective relationships between the three parties became known, Kawashima
for a time misread my friendship with Yamaga before developing her misunderstanding into an emotional issue. But all that happened in a different time and
place. Perhaps there is no par ticu lar need for me to attempt any clarification
here. Suffice it to say that Yamaga was twenty-three years my senior, and for me,
he was like an affectionate uncle figure from my childhood throughout our
relationship.
I remember that the first time I met Kawashima Yoshiko was at a party held
at the Dongxinglou (The House of the Rising East), a Chinese restaurant she managed on Matsushima Street in Tianjins Japanese Concession. After Pan Yugui be-

The Tianjin Encounters

55

came the mayor of Tianjin, Dongniang moved in with him into their official residence, while Xiniang, Yuehua, Yinghua, and I continued to live in Pans Beijing
house. The only time I went to visit the Pans in Tianjin at their official residence
was during my summer vacation.
Tianjin was the largest city near to Beijing. Facing the Tanggu Harbor, it was
an important center for diplomatic and military affairs. There were no foreign
concessions in Beijingthe citys Dongjiaominxiang effectively served that
functionbut Tianjin had its special zone, and the major European countries,
along with the United States and Japan, had carved out their own concessions,
creating a world completely detached from the general Chinese society around
them. Walking within the foreign concessions had the illusion of a leisurely stroll
in the streets of Europe. The interior areas where the Chinese lived, however, had
degenerated into slums just as they had in other Chinese cities. Tianjins Baihe, or
White, River, contrary to its name, was a dark, muddy waterway with a constant
load of dog and cat carcasses, and sometimes a human corpse.
In October 1985, I watched a play at Nihonbashis Mitsukoshi Theater in Tokyo called The Sea of Unfulfillment (Mihatenu umi). It was a dramatization by its
director, Enomoto Shigetami, of Watanabe Rysakus The Untold Record of Kawashima Yoshikos True Life and Its Mysteries (Hiroku: Kawashima Yoshiko sono
shgai no shins to nazo, 1972). The leading role was given to Matsu Akira, originally from the Takarazuka Troupe, while Kawashimas adoptive father, Kawashima
Naniwa, was played by Nishida Shichi. Meguro Ykis role of Koigata Atsuo, a
Manchurian horse bandit, was probably a fictional creation, but I realized immediately that Antaku Yichi, played by Ikui Takeo, was in fact Major Tanaka Takayoshi, Kawashima Yoshikos lover, the officer from the Office of the General Staff
stationed in Shanghai, and the main conspirator in the Shanghai Incident.5 Additionally, Ayana Noboru, played by Nishikino Akira, was instantaneously recognizable as Yamaga Tru.
The story depicts the dramatic vicissitudes of Kawashima Yoshiko, from her
beginnings as a daughter of Prince Su from the Qing Imperial family, her adoption by a Japanese man named Kawashima Naniwa, her various activities on the
Chinese continent in her adult life, until her departure from the scene by execution. The part that attracted me the most was scene two of act two where the guests
of Dongxinglou appeared. While the stage setting of Dongxinglou was different
from what I remembered of the place, watching the gorgeous banquets helped evoke
images of the many parties I attended there.
Dongxinglou was a large, formal Chinese restaurant, dominated by indigenous architectural and design motifs. While spending a summer vacation at the
mayors residence, I was taken by Father, who happened to be visiting the area, to
a party at Dongxinglou. When we arrived, the restaurants spacious interior was

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Chapter 4

ablaze in gorgeous colors. In the middle courtyard, a circle of young, high-society

Chinese women adorned in an array of colorful dresses were having a good time
chatting and laughing among themselves. Particularly eye-catching in the midst
of this crowd was a white, slender face with a smile exuding flowing elegance. The
person was not particularly tall, but the long, black Chinese qipao, designed for
men, concealed a well-proportioned form and produced a sensual beauty evocative of an oyama.6 The soft, short hair, parted more generously on one side, was
just slightly slicked. The full lips combined with the expression in the eyes, changing in sync with the line of vision, together gave off a mischievous charm.
Thats Kawashima Yoshiko! Commander Jin Bihui! Madame Dongzhen!
Princess Xianyu!I could hear whispers of this sort from the crowd. And so
this was Aisin Gioro Xianyu, alias Dongzhen, the fourteenth daughter of Shanqi,
the tenth-generation Prince Su from the Qing Imperial family; she was also Commander of the Rehe Pacification Army, and came with the Japa nese name Kawashima Yoshiko.
While male actors sometimes perform female roles in Beijing Opera, in a manner similar to Kabuki plays, there is no operatic tradition in China in which females take on male roles as they do in Japans Takarazuka shows or Shchiku plays.
While I didnt quite understand the implications of a woman dressing in a mans
clothes, I did appreciate the extraordinary charm surrounding her alluring beauty.
I looked at her as if I were observing a live doll. Kawashima appeared to be a young
boy, while in fact at the time she was already over thirty years of age.
After introducing himself, Father introduced me to her. With a slight frown
playing around her eyebrows, she surveyed me in my Chinese dress from head to
toe and then murmured in Chinese, Ah, so you are Japanese! Responding in Chinese, I told her that I was a student at Beijings Yijiao School where only Chinese
girls attended, that I had never been to Japan even though I was Japanese, and that
for that reason I was not quite familiar with the conditions in Japan. That was
how our rambling conversation went.
Quietly listening to what I had to say in Chinese, Kawashima then surprised
me by replying in Japanese, this time assuming a male role, Yoshiko? What a coincidence! Ive got the same name. Glad to make your acquaintance. People called
me Yoko-chan when I was small, and thats what Ill call you. You, on the other
hand, will call me Onii-chan [dear brother].
While having a conversation with someone, Kawashima would first make eye
contact with her partner, then tilt her head to draw her left cheek closer to listen.
I learned later that this charming gesture was a compensation for a deafness in
her right ear caused by an injury suffered while fighting guerilla forces.
As a result of this close bond that developed between Yoko-chan and Oniichan at that party, I was often called upon to be Kawashimas guest at various

The Tianjin Encounters

57

gatherings. She would ask her aide, Ms. Liu, to telephone me, making up all kinds
of excuses for an outing, such as the visit of a Beijing opera star or a famous erhu
performer or the coming of a heroic figure from the Japanese army.
At first, Dongniang was generous enough to allow our interactions. After all,
it was my summer vacation, and the invitations had come personally from an Imperial Princess. Even in the eyes of Pan Yugui and his wife, the daughter of Qing
Dynastys Prince Su was a highbred woman of noble blood. Moreover, as Commander Jin Bihui, Kawashima was officially branded the Orients Joan of Arc
by Lieutenant General Tada Hayao, the powerful chief military advisor to Manchukuo.7 With that, she had earned their total trust.
For me, this was a time when I was transforming from a young girl into a
young woman, a time when I was beginning to develop an interest in the world of
grown-ups. I was also getting bored with having nothing else to do but study and
with wearing nothing more elegant than the same blue cotton school uniform. I
was then seventeen, and those alluring summer days, when I could dance away
in beautiful Chinese dresses, allowed me a breath of freedom from my prosaic life
in Beijing. Kawashima Yoshiko gave me the opportunity to feel emancipated from
the regimented routines at home and at school, although what really surrounded
her was an air of perverse degradation and self-abandoning decadence.
Kawashima appeared in her military attire only when she attended parties
and formal gatherings as Commander Jin Bihui. Ordinarily, her outfit was a black
satin qipao and a round black satin hat. Even in her mens clothes, there was always a trace of color on her cheeks. Since the skin color on her face and arms was
so pale that it appeared morbid, she would always apply minimal makeup on her
eyebrows and lips. She always surrounded herself with what could well be called
her own palace guard of fifteen or sixteen young girls, and her secretary, Chizuko,
was there to cater to all her everyday needs. Among the young guards, the apparent leader was one Ms. Liu who deserved to be described as a woman of absolutely
unparalleled beauty. And of course the queen of the group was Kawashima herself. Since she was always wearing mens clothes, perhaps a more appropriate title
would be that of prince.
She led a life in which the order of the day and night was turned completely
upside down. She would arise like an apparition at around two in the afternoon
from her mosquito-netted bedroom on the upper story of her house and have
a light breakfast at around three or four. From then on, friends in twos and threes
would gather at her place, or else Kawashima herself would order Ms. Liu to
summon them by telephone. Mealtime for the entire group was after ten at night,
after which came party time. By then, more of her hangers-on would show up,
along with actors and musicians from the Beijing opera. People drank, sang,
danced, acted, performed acrobatics and magic, played mahjong, and gambled at

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Chapter 4

cards. Such goings-on only became increasingly rambunctious with every passing hour of the night. Just as one thought one had seen all, there was an exodus
of partygoers to nightclubs, dance halls, billiard parlors, and cabarets. . . . And
when fatigue finally took over as the night turned into the first light of day, it
was time for a night snack. It was not until around seven in the morning, when
the streets started to come alive, that the revelers began to disperse like retreating apparitions.
Most of the time, I would leave the crowd before they called it a day, but apparently other girls would stay on for as long as a week. Perhaps one could describe their behavior as a way of living for the moment, of turning their backs on
reality when times were getting rough. I came to realize later that Kawashimas
lifestyle involved nothing more than abandoning herself to debauchery at a time
when she could no longer enjoy the prestige of Commander Jin Bihui. No longer
was she the object of any rapt curiosity as the Mata Hari of the Orient, nor was
she able to maintain her prior position on the high pedestal as the Joan of Arc of
the Orient. Nobody at the time was prepared to treat her seriously, not the Japanese army, not the Manchukuo military, not the private right-wing Japanese groups
that had their eye on the Chinese continent. It was said that at one time she had
some three to six thousand followers, but the number had dwindled to less than
a hundred. Even among the remaining ones, any knowledge that they had worked
under Jin Bihui would lead to their banishment from their own villages, thereby
forcing Kawashima to scramble for a means to provide for their livelihood. It was
for this reason that she implored Lieutenant General Tada to allow her to take up
the management of Dongxinglou. Despite all that, she still made a false show of
power by spreading the word that Dongxinglou was the hideout in Tianjin for her
Pacification Army.
I came a number of times to Kawashimas wild parties during those summer
nights, but once I had satisfied my fleeting sense of curiosity, I began to feel disgusted by them. It was exactly at that time that Pan Yugui gave me a thorough
scolding. At the beginning, Lieutenant General Tada, an influential figure within
the Japanese military, had acted on behalf of Kawashima, and for that reason Pan
was prepared to accord ample respect to her on every occasion. But once he saw
through the empty lies and exhibitionism upon which Kawashimas whole existence depended, he had her behavior thoroughly investigated. To his surprise, he
found through his secret investigators that his own adoptive daughter Shuhua was,
of all things, herself a frequent visitor to Kawashimas establishment, and after
scolding Dongniang for her supervisory negligence, he sternly demanded that I
return to Beijing.
The summer had ended, and in Beijing I faced the unchanging reality of unrelenting anti-Japanese demonstrations and gatherings. While I was engrossed in

The Tianjin Encounters

59

my pleasurable diversions during the summer, my friends and classmates had been
working with total devotion for the resistance movement.
Pan Yugui was not the only person who gave me a piece of his mind. Yamaga
also unequivocally warned me immediately after my return to Beijing that I must
not have any more interactions with that woman. He seemed convinced that I
was already aware of his past relationship with her, but in fact at the time I had
no such knowledge. In any case, I heard shortly afterwards from Father, Pan, and
others the story of the tragic fate of this Imperial Princess. I learned about her
first love with Second Lieutenant Yamaga Tru, the standard-bearer of the Matsumoto Regiment, her falling out of love, her failed suicide, the sexual advances
from her adoptive father, and her descent into total despair. There was the story
about her desire to revive the Qing Dynasty, her failed marriage to the Mongolian prince Ganjuurjab,8 her flight to Shanghai, subsequent cohabitation with the
spy operative Major Tanaka Takayoshi, and their role as conspirators in the Shanghai Incident. I also learned about her part in guarding Emperor Puyis wife during her getaway,9 in the expedition to Hulunbuir in Inner Mongolia, as well as her
ascent to chief officer to the court of the Manchurian Empire. She then became
associated with Tada Hayao, chief military advisor to Manchukuo, before she assumed the position as Commander of the Manchurian Pacification Force under
the name Jin Bihui and participated in the expedition to Rehe. And then there
were stories about her chronic and worsening inflammation of the spine caused
by her external injuries, along with her indulgence in narcotics, her subsequent
insulation from the Japanese army and the Manchukuo military, and then her seclusion inside Dongxinglou and so on.
I hope you have not received any par ticular favors or assistance from that
woman, Yamaga said with a worried look on his face. In any case, its best not
to maintain any relationship with her in order to avoid her poisonous sting. Come
to think of it, I did receive from Kawashima two beautiful pink Chinese dresses
with French-made silk lace. One time, Kawashima asked me to wear one of her
Chinese dresses, and because it fitted me perfectly, she gave it to me as a present,
along with another with a contrasting design. I was not particularly tall, but I realized at that time that Kawashima and I were practically the same not just in height
but also in size and style. Those two dresses were all that I received from her.
Since that summer, I have never been to Tianjin again. Kawashima, on the
other hand, had houses in both Tianjin and Beijing and often traveled between
them. Meanwhile, I heard rumors that she had made false accusations against a
famous opera actor at a Beijing nightclub, and that she would secretly inform
on anyone she didnt like to her lieutenant-colonel lover in the Japa nese military
police.
After that, I met Kawashima twice in Beijing.

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Chapter 4

One time, I went with my younger sister, Etsuko, to the Zhenguang, a large
cinema in the Dongcheng district. We took seats at the very back of the box that
was set aside for honored guests and located at the front of the screen. Right
before the movie began, Kawashima, in her usual mens clothes, made her entrance
with a little monkey on her shoulder and proceeded to sit in the very middle of
the box. The two soldiers who had ushered her in gave a salute and left. Kawashima
took time to survey her surroundings before settling down with her legs
crossed. Hoping not to be seen, Etsuko and I cringed and covered our faces with
the program.
During a movie screening, cinemas in China instituted a tea-time interval
for their guests. When the time came, the whole cinema was instantaneously lit
up. Instinctively, Etsuko and I shrank our shoulders. Right at that moment, Kawashima suddenly jumped to her feet and roared in Chinese, What total garbage
this damn movie is! When the soldiers ran quickly back to attend to her, Kawashima put her little monkey on her shoulder, turned her back to the audience,
and left the cinema with them. I later heard that those two soldiers were not actually her personal guards from the Pacification Force, but house servants whom
she dressed in military uniform before dragging them along with her in public.
I met Kawashima the second time in Beijing when I was walking along Wangfujing Street. A Ford came swift ly from behind me and stopped. I heard Kawashimas voice calling out, Yoko-chan!
Oh no, I thought, but trying not to show how disconcerted I felt, I replied,
It has been a long time!
Come into the car, she said. Lets eat at my place. I have invited two or three
other people, and they are a good, congenial bunch!
That same little monkey was sitting quietly on her shoulder. She still had short
hair, was wearing a stylish male-qipao, and sitting cross-legged in the backseat of
her vehicle.
For a second, I didnt know what to do. The warnings from Pan and Yamaga
did flash across my mind, but I could hardly allow myself to reveal my disinclination to accept her invitation. Moreover, there was a swelling sense somewhere
inside me that I really missed her. And so I got into the car as I was told.
Kawashimas house was situated at the Jiutiao Hutong in Dongchengs
Dongsipailou. Although it was not as grand as the Pan residence, it was still large
enough to have two or three courtyards, complete with a sentry guard standing
at the entrance. The meal was served around a big round table with a few other
guests. Then something extraordinary and unforgettable happened. In the middle of her meal, Kawashima all of a sudden lifted the hem of her qipao, took out a
syringe from a drawer next to her, and nimbly injected a white liquid into her exposed thigh.

The Tianjin Encounters

61

Well, you know, I cant drink any water as I am doing this.

Those words she uttered strangely still ring in my ears to this day. Later, when
I met her again in Japan, she injected herself in the same way. One of her brothers
was an opium addict, and for that reason, she never got hooked on that par ticular drug, but I heard rumors that she was drugging herself with narcotics. One
theory was that she was using fuscamin to suppress the chronic pain in her back,
but her youngest sister, Aisin Gioro Xianqi, testified in Born as an Imperial Qing
Princess (Shinch no jo ni umarete, 1986) that her sister was injecting herself
with nothing but morphine.
Two months before my graduation from Yijiao Girls School, the school building was dynamited and demolished by an unknown party. With the situation getting increasingly unstable, it was unclear when the school could be rebuilt or when
I could return to continue with my studies. To be more precise, for those who
had officially been scheduled to graduate, there would be no formal graduation
ceremony.
While pondering my future course of action after graduation, I took a recreational trip one day with my classmate Wen Guihua to Wanshou Hill in the Summer Palace (Yihe yuan) in the suburbs of Beijing.10 I hadnt been there for quite
some time, and this outing was also meant to cheer up Guihua in the aftermath
of her lovers departure from Beijing. The Summer Palace was a place we had often gone together. A day trip there plus a boat ride would always bring back our
good spirits.
Walking a short distance in the northwesterly direction from Beijings Xizhimenwai along a beautiful elm-lined street, one would come face to face with a gate
tower and the entrance to the Summer Palace, called the Donggongmen, or Gate
to the Eastern Palace. During the Jin period, the emperors temporary palace was
built on the site of the Wanshou Hill, which stood at a height of about a hundred
meters, its picturesque reflection shimmering on the surface of the artificial Kunming Lake at its foothills. The Summer Palace was the name given to the large
garden compound consisting of an ensemble of temples and other structures dotting the mountain and lake areas. During the late Qing period, when plagued by
disturbances such as the Boxer Rebellion, Empress Dowager Cixi spent an enormous amount of money to reconstruct the garden into a summer palace retreat,
thereby creating what the garden is today. With the Wanshou Hill as its background,
the artisans created a brilliant spectacle in which nature was blended with an
array of artificial structures, including temple quarters, pagodas, high towers,
massive bridges, temple gates, pavilions, and covered corridors along the lakeshore.
Walking to the other end of the Seventeen-Arch Bridge across the brimming,
azure waters of Kunming Lake, we decided to take a boat ride from Nanhu Island.
Guihua and I had a mutual friend on that lake, whom we had not told anyone else

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about, an old, scrawny boatman with the appearance of an otherworldly hermit.

With his silvery hair rolled up in a bun at the back of his head, he was still vibrant
and energetic, but he told us that he was already close to ninety years old. We also
heard that he had once served as an attendant to the Express Dowager. In the
slow boat navigated by this old man who seemed to have transcended our mundane world, we crossed Kunming Lake diagonally and arrived at the shore near the
gardens Paiyunmenlou.
While steering the boat, the old man always told us stories about his past. Although he spoke standard Mandarin, he often used old expressions I didnt understand. This time, while the old man spoke, Guihua, with her eyes on the water, seemed to be deep in thought, while I, on the other hand, had no idea what
I should do to comfort her now that her lover was no longer in Beijing. The Second
Sino-Japanese War was becoming more ferocious, and increasingly my feelings
about the conflict were threatening to tear my whole body apart. Having no idea
what I would do after graduation, I was seized with an indescribable sense of anxiety about the future.
Yet the beautiful Summer Palace brought us soothing comfort that day as it
had done in the past. As the boat approached the lake shore, the large sun was
setting behind the joint peaks of the Western Hills, generating a kaleidoscopic mosaic of yellow, green, and red rays against the temples and pagodas, the long walkways and the gate towers.
You may ask why I remember so vividly that day trip I had with Guihua in
Wanshou Hill, and the answer is that that very day was intimately connected with
my own new beginning. In the main hall of a Buddhist temple, Guihua must have
prayed that she and her lover could soon be reunited. I put my hands together and
prayed that the war would soon come to an end and that I would be enlightened
with regard to how to live my life after my graduation from the girls school.
When I returned home, Yamaga had been waiting for me, along with one Yamanashi Minoru from the Manchurian Film Association. As always, Yamaga took
us to Wangfujings Donglaishun Restaurant at the Jinyu Hutong by the side of
Dongan Market. For some reason, Yamaga spoke Japanese with Yamanashi, but
with me he spoke Chinese. It appeared that Yamanashi had no knowledge that
I was Japanese and thought of me as just a new Chinese singer called Pan Shuhua
with the stage name of Li Xianglan.
After introducing Yamanashi to me, Yamaga summarized the purpose of their
visit. A year earlier, during the summer of 1937, the Manchurian Film Association (Mansh Eiga Kykai, or Manei for short) was established in Xinjing11 (presentday Changchun) with equal financial support from Manchukuo and the South
Manchurian Railway Company. Its aim was to produce and distribute films made
by the Manchurians (actually, by the Japanese) and for the Manchurians as part

The Tianjin Encounters

63

of a cultural policy to promote Japans political objectives in the name of Cooperation and Harmony among the Five Races and Japanese-Manchurian Friendship. In this way, Maneis goal was to promote Japans national policy, and they
wanted me to assist in that enterprise.
After its establishment, Manei had made a few dramatic fi lms, and the new
one they were planning was a kind of musical in which the female lead would sing
in more than a few scenes. But the Chinese actress slated to play the leading role
could not sing at all. All the other actors were recruited just the year before, and
all of them, regardless of sex, were total beginners in the business of fi lmmaking.
No actress in this group could sing, and dubbing was out of the question.
Just as the Manei people were scratching their heads over this situation, its
production manager, Makino Mitsuo, heard by chance broadcasts from Xinjing
Broadcasting Station of me singing New Melodies from Manchuria. Yamaga
grinned as he finished explaining to me in Chinese what had happened so far.
Makino then went to the Japanese militarys Press Division and asked for its
assistance in recruiting Li Xianglan to do the singing for the sake of Japans national policy. Yamaga then went on to explain to me what happened, this time
speaking nonchalantly in Japanese so that Yamanashi could understand what was
going on.
I told him that Li Xianglan is the oldest daughter of my old acquaintance,
Yamaguchi Fumio. Thereupon, Makino-san implored me, with hands clasped, to
offer him assistance. Well, how about it, Yoshiko-chan? We are not asking you to
appear in a film, just to do a recording of its songs. Can we ask for you to cooperate with Japans national policy this time?
After Yamaga finished, Yamanashi said, Oh, so you are Japanese! while staring at my face. Then, this makes all the more sense. I hope youll help us.
Having performed New Melodies from Manchuria for the Fengtian Broadcasting Station, I didnt realize that my singing could be heard all over Manchuria through the waves of the Xinjing Broadcasting Station until I heard it from
Yamanashi, and I thought it wouldnt matter much if all they were asking was just
for me to sing. While I had second thoughts about Yamagas prior suggestion that
I become a singer for the Beijing Station, I had nothing against singing itself.
It would just be a few songs! Yamanashi urged me on enthusiastically. Meanwhile, I thought that it might not be a bad idea for me to go and see this new city
of Xinjing. As I would be passing through Fengtian, I could see Mother and my
sisters on my way back. I could also see Madame Podlesov, tell her how I had been
doing, and receive more lessons from her. Additionally, I would also see General
Li and his second wife and show them how my Mandarin had improved. As I was
thinking about those things, Yamaga seemed to see through my mind and said
casually, Well, why dont you give it a try? Without thinking, I nodded my head.

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My first trip to Beijing when I was fourteen had been a terrifying experience.
Riding in the same hard-seat compartment this time, I was neither fearful for my
safety nor apprehensive that my money would be taken away as the train passed
through Sanhaiguan. At Xinjing Station, I was utterly surprised to find that a large
number of people had come to greet a singer whose role involved merely dubbing.
Yamanashi then introduced me to Production Manager Makino who would oversee the project. Glad youve come! Making a films a lot of fun. Nothin to worry,
and just leave everything to me!
What he spoke in his loud voice was clearly Japanese, but there were phrases
I didnt quite understand, making me a bit worried that I might have forgotten
my mother tongue. Of course, he was speaking the Kansai dialect. While I was
aware of the dialectal differences of Beijing, Guangdong, and Shanghai, I learned
then for the first time that there were various dialects in Japanese as well.

CHAPTER 5

The Birth of Li Xianglan

It happened as far back as fi ft y years ago, but I still remember it

very well! At first, Major Yamaga and you spoke in Chinese, and
then midway through the conversation, you two switched to
Japanese. A native Manchurian girl who could sing, speak
Mandarin, and understand Japanesethose were precisely the
qualities we were looking for in a Manei star. Thats why I
became so eager to persuade you to take the job. But as I listened
carefully to what the two of you were saying, I realized that
youre in fact Japa nese, that you were already well-known as a
Chinese singer by the stage name Li Xianglan. When I called up
people like Negishi-san [Director Negishi Kanichi] and
Makino-san [Production Manager Makino Mitsuo] at the Manei
headquarters, they told me that this was even better than they
had dreamed and urged me to do my best to recruit you.

It was June 1985 when I visited Yamanashi at his home in Tokyos Ogikubo area for the first time in a long while. He showed me a Manei album as we reminisced about the past. He remembered very well the circumstances
at the time he scouted me. An important figure in the Japanese film industry, Yamanashi first worked for PCL (the predecessor to Th) and then for Th before
going to Manei. After the war ended, he served as Executive Director of New Th
and President of Tei CM.1
During that 1985 visit, he recalled more details about the time he recruited me.
There was no one else capable of convincing Li Xianglan except Major Yamaga from the Press Division of the Northern China Expedition Force. Not
only was he familiar with Chinese films, he was also a close acquaintance with
Li Xianglans father. That piece of wisdom was imparted to me by Major Shibano
from the Press Division of Xinjings Kwantung Army. I felt so relieved when
you accepted our offer. Although I told you at the time that all you needed to

65

66

Chapter 5

do was to dub a few songs, in fact we had all along wanted you to appear in
the entire fi lm. And so I worked hard colluding with Major Yamaga not to
tell you the whole truth.

I suppose that was why all the important figures of Manei had bothered to come
to Xinjing Station together to greet an amateur such as myself.
Let me tell you, we were all feeling pretty fidgety at Xinjing Station as we waited
for your arrival. We stood where the soft-seated cars had come to a stop at the
platform, but no one resembling Li Xianglan got off from the train. As we were
wondering what had happened, we saw a small girl standing all alone at the
end of the platform and that was you, with bobbed hair and wearing a plain,
blue cotton Chinese dress. You were waving goodbye to Chinese passengers
leaning forward from the windows of their hard-seated car. We were all quite
moved just by the fact that you didnt ride in a special car with soft seats as
other Japanese did, and that you were talking affably with such ease with the
Chinese people. Thats our girl! we thought. Maneis Li Xianglan beloved by
the ordinary people of China, the birth of a star befitting the goals of JapaneseManchurian Friendship and Harmony among the Five Races!

They all seemed to be quite impressed that I mingled with other Chinese passengers on my train journey, but for me that was the only natural thing to do. I came
to Xinjing and looked forward to quickly finishing my singing duties and returning to my own family in Fengtian. That was all.
The next morning, a car came to pick me up and take me immediately to a
squalid place that appeared to be a fi lm studio. As soon as I arrived, I was asked
to sit in front of a big mirror before the makeup artistthat was what I thought
he waswho proceeded to plaster a sticky, yellow cream-like substance on my face.
I supposed it must have been some kind of greasepaint. Never before in my life
had I put on any makeup. I was then given a thick coat of lipstick and my eyebrows were painted to accentuate their shape. When finished, my eyes, already
resembling those of a goldfish, looked even bigger, and from the mirror I could
see that my heavily made-up face had turned into something like an actors from
a Beijing opera.
After a short while, I was asked to stand in front of a big camera. Ah, I thought,
finally they were going to ask me to sing. Just as I was wondering about the kind
of songs they wanted me to do, I was told to move my face in a certain way. Look
toward here! No, no, this way, this way! Thats it. Now turn to the side, to the left.
A little more. No, thats too much. Now, thats it. Hold it right there. Okay, now

The Birth of Li Xianglan

67

turn in the opposite direction. Good. Now, see if you can turn your body in the
same direction. Lift your jaw as if you are giving a sidelong glance.
At the time, I knew nothing about the art of dubbing songs and was beginning to convince myself that identifying with the main character and singing in
full synchrony with the atmosphere of par ticu lar scenes were just part of what
I was supposed to do. While I did what I was told, as time went by, I began to feel
I was breaking down. I couldnt stand the humiliation of having to adopt various
poses by following each and every instruction.
That was not all. After the first part of my work was done, I was told to smile.
Just give me a grin, you know, like you are really happy and feeling cheerful. Next,
give me a shy smile. Now, dont show your teeth, and dont close your eyes. Okay.
This time give me an enchanting smile; rather, smile like a seductress, be very sexy.
How could I allow myself to fake a smile in front of all those people? The expression on my face stiffened, and I was just about to sob. Thereupon, I was promptly
told, You are doing great! Now, go ahead and sob, and then show me how you
gradually turn into a tearful face!
My tearful face was the only thing authentic about my performance. The director firing the orders couldnt be bothered with any of my feelings; he was satisfied so long as his instructions were being acted upon. After having thoroughly
embarrassed me, he commented, Your face looks pretty messed up, but hey, what
the heck! And you can sing. Lets go with her. Thanks for the hard work.
I realized too late that I had been hoodwinked; the day in fact was my screen
test. I had thought all along that all I would be asked to do was to dub some songs
as a stand-in, only to realize that from the outset I had been invited to Xinjing as
a fi lm actress.
Two days later, I found myself on a Beijing-bound train with a large film crew.
As soon as the train began to move, the staff began fi lming inside the sleeper car.
The script called for a newlywed wife in pajamas (me!) snuggling against the shoulder of her husband, also wearing pajamas and played by a new actor named Du
Hanxing, as she breathed a sweet Darling! into his ears, to which he replied, Yes,
my dear?2
Now that was not our mutual agreement! I strongly protested to Makino, the
producer. I accepted the job only as a singer. I cannot possibly perform such an
embarrassing scene.
Its okay! Its okay! Just leave everything to me! Youre playing the lead. Once
youre in the thick of it, it will turn out to be fun. Just follow the directors instructions, and itll be all right. Now, be a good girl and just leave everything to me!
From then on, much misery would befall me as a result of Makinos line, Be
a good girl and just leave everything to me. I got easily sucked into the paternal

68

Chapter 5

ambience of his open, gallant laughter and his fast-jabbering Kansai speech, and
before I knew it, I was already wheedled into whatever he wanted me to do.
Makino Mitsuo was the second son of Makino Shz, the renowned producer
and director celebrated for his work during the early years of Japanese film. After
becoming Assistant Manager of Nikkatsu Productions, he entered Manei in the
footsteps of his esteemed superior, Negishi Kanichi, who had switched from his
former position as Director of Tamagawa Film Studio to serve on Maneis board of
directors. One of the most conscientious producers in the Japanese fi lm industry
of the time, Negishi was responsible for giving the world such distinguished
films as Uchida Tomus Theater of Life (Jinsei gekij) and The Naked Town (Hadaka no machi); Tasaka Tomotakas The Road to Truth (Shinjitsu ichiro) and Stone
by the Wayside (Rob no ishi); and Kumagai Hisatoras Takuboku, The Poet of Passion (Jnetsu no shijin Takuboku) and Common People (Sb).
Cajoled by Makinos Be a good girl and just leave everything to me, I first
appeared as actress Li Xianglan in Honeymoon Express (Miyue kuaiche, or Mitsugetsu kaisha in Japanese), a film made for popular entertainment. I played the newlywed wife, Shuqin, and the director was Ueno Shinji, originally from Avant-Garde
Cinema (Shink Kinema) and the man who had mercilessly ordered me to laugh
and cry at whim during my screen test. The script was by Shigematsu Sh and the
cameraman was Ikeda Sentar. This adaptation by Makino of tani Toshios 1935
The Spied-on Bride (Nozokareta hanayome), produced at Nikkatsus Tamagawa Studio, was made with the hope of riding the latters coattails as a big hit in Japan.
Since Makino himself was married to Hoshi Reiko, the star of The Spied-on Bride,
the auspiciousness of the occasion got him all the more fired up for his pronouncements of Just leave everything to me. Yet the simple plot was based on a direct
Chinese translation of the original Japanese scenario, and the fi lm ended up being a silly comedy about the commotion on a sleeper train in which the newlyweds
are travelling on its Xinjing-Beijing run.
When I called you My dear, you answered, Yes, my dear? The echoes from
the hills ring with joy! My dear! Yes, my dear? The sky is blue, and we are young!
And so goes We Are Young (Futari wa wakai), a love song for newlyweds that
has now become a nostalgic number, with lyrics by Tamagawa Eiji (a pseudonym
for Sat Hachir) and music by Koga Masao. I remember singing the rather odd
version in Chinese translation inside the train.
At last, the fi lming was completed as the train pulled into Beijing. Relieved,
I couldnt wait to run back to the Pan residence. But that was not to be the end.
The next day, a member of the Manei staff appeared at the house to tell me that
while the location shots were done, the next fi lming episode would take place
at the Xinjing studio. With that, I was reluctantly dragged back to where we
came from.

The Birth of Li Xianglan

69

I cannot forget to this day how embarrassing and miserable I felt while making my first fi lm. I was mortified that each time I felt perplexed about what to do,
I was scolded with harsh and angry words. Director Ueno, an unusually shorttempered man, would scream at me, Thats all you can do? Just get out of my sight!
With my pride bruised, all I could do was capitulate to his wishes before returning to my hotel to cry alone. I told myself that I would be liberated as soon as the
fi lming was finished, and with that I clenched my teeth to endure the ordeal. It
was during the making of this fi lm, however, that, with Yamaga as an intermediary, Manei convinced my parents in Fengtian to agree to the proposal of an exclusive contract between me and the company, saying that doing so would be for
the sake of our nation. Without my knowledge, my fi lming schedule for the rest
of the year had also been crammed into place. Thereupon, plans for the second
and third fi lms by Li Xianglan were being hammered out against the rallying
cry of Be a good girl and leave everything to me! and the slogan of JapaneseManchurian Friendship.
My second film with Manei was its first omnibus production called The Spring
Dream of Great Fortune (Fugui chunmeng, or Fki shunmu in Japanese), a Frank
Caprastyle satire about the fate of several groups of people who received an extraordinary sum of money. In the last scene, the gods of poverty and fortune look
at the human world from above and ponder what it would take to make man happy.
My third fi lm also had a rather peculiar slant. tani Toshio was the director and
Takayanagi Haruo the scriptwriter for the first ghost film Manei made called Retribution of the Vengeful Spirit (Yuanhun fuchou, or Enkon fukky in Japanese), a
creepy fi lm with the didactic goal of exhorting virtuous deeds while chastising
evil behavior. And those were Maneis first musical, first omnibus, and first supernatural fi lms, not a surprising outcome considering the fact that the productions from the newly-founded Manei were all experiments.
In 1938, when I first joined Manei, its office was still housed on the second
floor of the Nikke (Japan Wool) Building on Datong Street. Facing a tree-lined
boulevard with a chic tea house, the structure had a fashionable ambience about
it, as it was the most modern building of its day. South along Datong Street, Xinjings thoroughfare, were offices of the Great Xinjing Daily News and the Manchukuo Communications Company, as well as West Park, otherwise known as
Kodama Park. Past the Nikke Building and Kangde Hall was Datong Square, surrounded by such buildings as the Central Bank, Telegraph and Telephone Company, the Xinjing Broadcasting Company, the Capital Police, and the headquarters of the Kywa Association. Then, beyond the square, government buildings
spread out around the area surrounding Central Park.
While the Manei office itself was quite impressive, the film studio in which we
actually worked was just an exceptionally primitive shed-house. The main studio,

70

Chapter 5

which was to be the largest in Asia with an area of fift y thousand tsubo,3 was still
under construction on Hongxi Street in the southern suburbs of Xinjing, and
until its completion, we had to use a temporary one converted from a railroad depot owned by the then-defunct North Manchurian Railroad in Kuanchengzi outside the city. In that abandoned structure next to a desolate Russian village surrounded by poplar trees, even soundproofing equipment for making talkies proved
ineffective as the studios doors could not even close completely. In the winter, despite heating from a coal stove, the temperature would drop to minus twenty degrees Celsius. Under such conditions, we had to warm our bodies before we could
proceed to fi lm each one-cut scene.
At the beginning, virtually all the fi lm staff, including the director and cameraman, were Japanese, while all the actors were Chinese. By way of exchanging
greetings, the Japanese staff used to say ohay gozaimasu (Good morning!) regardless of the time of day before it came to be abbreviated into ossu. Young Chinese actresses, not knowing what was going on, would address the producers and
directors and others as ossu, an extraordinary spectacle that even I, who was
supposedly Chinese, couldnt help laughing at.
With the exception of those cast members on active filming duty, every morning we had to go to a study center like elementary school pupils to listen to lectures on acting and instructions on practical skills. The center head was Kond
Iyokichi, a former Shingeki and renowned beau-part actor who first appeared in
Japans earliest art fi lm, The Glory of Life (Sei no kagayaki, 1919, directed by Kaeriyama Norimasa).4 Almost all the other Japanese staff, including directors, scriptwriters, cameramen, and composers, served as lecturers, though they spoke no
Chinese, and the Chinese actors who came as students had no knowledge of Japanese. Communication between the two groups could be likened to scratching
the itch at the sole of ones foot without removing ones boots.5 Their miscomprehensions of one anothers intentions seemed to play out in a real exercise in
comic acting.
Jinteng Xiansheng 6 naturally gave his lecture in Japanese while the Chinese actors listened as if they were bored to tears. It wasnt until the interpreter
gave a Chinese rendition at the right intervals that the content of the lecture was
first conveyed to the audience. As our Japanese lecturer warmed up during the
course of his talk, he would manifest all kinds of emotions on his face and
through his bodily gestures. At times, he would raise his voice in excitement; at
others he would speak soft ly as if he were in a dreamy trance. And yet during all
that time, his Chinese audience could hardly understand what he was saying and
seemed to be watching a pantomime performance.
When the Chinese interpreter offered his renditions, he did so unhurriedly,
translating word for word and standing in a perpetually formal posture with no

The Birth of Li Xianglan

71

bodily or hand movements. Likewise, his audience listened placidy, with no affect. Even if the substance of the lecture could be adequately conveyed to the listeners, the timing between speech and performance was all out of sync, resulting
only in a severely watered-down version of the original classroom atmosphere. The
only person who understood both Japanese and Chinese was me. Tickled by the
different tempos between the talk and the interpretation, as well as the miscommunications between different parties, I was ready to burst out laughing. To suppress my impulse, I had to bite my tongue hard and stare at the ground.
On one occasion, Konds anger finally erupted, and this time he was not giving an acting demonstration. Speaking to the interpreter, he said, Listen, if I get
angry, you get angry too while you interpret for me! Having no idea how to translate Konds fury and his fuming gestures, the poor interpreter was completely
befuddled. On another occasion, the actress Zhang Min, my costar in The Honeymoon Express, still remembers an episode about Trachom, a German word meaning trachoma and pronounced torahmu in Japanese. After an explanation in
Japanese was given about the main character of a story, a girl blinded by the disease, the interpreter translated it as the girl ends up disguising herself by taking
the form of a tiger (tora).
Taking Mandarin lessons was also a mandatory exercise. Because all dialogues
had to be delivered in the Beijing dialect, it was necessary to make speech corrections for those actors with Northeastern Chinese accents. On the Chinese classics and Chinese poetry, the scriptwriter and poet Li Peng gave us engaging lectures. On martial arts, erhu, and classical dancing, the instructor was Zheng
Xiaojun, who, despite her young age, was already a master in those forms. On many
occasions, directors and musicians alike requested the favor of her instructions.
Teaming up with her, I often went for performance tours within China itself, as
well as in Japan. When it came to Western ballet, Ishii Baku, in Xinjing at the time,
gave us meticulous lessons, himself in tights. His daughter, Kanna, was also a frequent visitor to our studio.7 Additionally, the Yoshimuras, Ishiis disciples, presented us with duet performances. I accompanied Ishii on the piano as he gave
his lessons.
Just as its name implied, Xinjing was a new capital. While Manchukuo was a
puppet state created solely by Japan and without recognition from the League of
Nations, in time it was somehow able to take on the semblance of a real state. The
pioneering Han Chinese built Fort Changchun on what had been a Mongolian
pastureland before the Qing Dynasty established an administrative agency in the
area to represent the central government. Nonetheless, it was not until 1898, when
the Russians built a railroad station near the vicinity of Kuanchengzi to the east,
that the area first thrived as a settlement. In the peace treaty in the aftermath of the
Russo-Japanese War, Russia ceded to Japan railroad rights south of Changchun.

72

Chapter 5

Thereupon, Japans Mantetsu purchased a vast area of grassland south of

Kuanchengzi. This was followed in 1932, after the establishment of Manchukuo,
by the change of the name Changchun to Xinjing before Japan began its enterprise of constructing its Manchurian capital.
Seen in this light, the city of Xinjing was a totally artificial structure. Virtually every other big city in Manchuria, such as Harbin, Fengtian, and Dalian, had
been designed and built during the Tsarist period. In contrast to those cities, where
vestiges of their European heritage persisted, Xinjings city planning, along with
that of Andong and others, represented a compromised fusion between Japanese
and Manchurian city styles. In building Xinjing, Mantetsu took the city design
from Japans old capitals of Nara and Kyoto and added to it a continental flavor.
Radiating in a southerly direction from North Square in the foreground of Xinjing
Station were three major thoroughfares leading to the East and South squares,
namely Datong Street in the middle, along with Nihonbashi-dri and Shikishimadri on either side. Between those major boulevards were other city streets running
neatly in a north-south and east-west direction. That was the basic design for the
city of Xinjing. The north-south streets were named numerically as Ichij, Nij,
Sanj, following the Kyoto style, while the east-west ones began with Izumi-ch,
Rogetsu-ch, and so on according to the iroha alphabetical order. There were others
with names like Hinode-ch and Fuji-ch, according to the hifumi arrangement,
while still others such as Akebono-ch and Irifune-ch reflected the conventional
Japanese alphabetical a-i-u-e-o order.
At the time when I first joined Manei, Xinjing as a whole had the feel of a
large park, and when one came to the end of a major street, one would be looking
at the suburbs or else the open fields. On the other hand, the center of Xinjing
had just seen the completion of its first five-year capital construction plan, and
all the major government buildings had been constructed in the vicinity of Datong Square (present-day Peoples Square). At long last, the place was beginning
to look like a capital city. The old Ministry of State Affairs is currently the site for
the departments, hospital, and research centers associated with Bethune Medical
University, a public institution supported by the Province of Jilin.8 And then there
were the Ministries of Transportation, Legal Affairs, Finance, and National Defense, as well as the main office of the Manchurian Central Bank (currently the
Changchun branch of the Peoples Bank of China). Now occupied by the Committee of the Chinese Communist Party for Jilin Province, the old Command
Headquarters of the Kwantung Army was topped by a structure resembling a traditional castle tower, giving it an unmistakable air of haughty arrogance. The new
Imperial Palace, whose construction remained unfinished through the wars end
and which never became the emperors residential quarters during the entire life
span of the Manchurian Empire, serves today as an institute of geology. Yet all

The Birth of Li Xianglan

73

these buildings stand now as they did in the past, even though their occupants
and functions have changed. Likewise, in Datong Squares flower garden surrounded by daphne shrubs, the Kaffir lilies so celebrated locally bloom with the
same dignified elegance as in the past.
In the spring of 1939, the Manei office moved from the Nikke Building into
the new Manei studio, the largest in Asia, after its completion on Hongxi Street
near South Lake Park (Nanhu-gongyuan) in the southern suburbs. It came with
new equipment and sophisticated facilities, greatly boosting the staff s and the actors morale. That was the beginning for Maneiand for Li Xianglanto achieve
commercial success.
*

When I visited China in 1978, I returned to the same Changchun Film Studio
(Changchun Dianying Zhipianchang) for the first time in forty years. I heard that
even at the time, it was still the largest in Asia in scale. Almost all the physical
space seemed to have stayed the same as before; this included the Number One
and Number Two studios, the sound effects room, the fi lm processing room, the
special effects room, the recording room, the storage rooms for large sets and stage
property, as well as the actors learning facility. And what also remained unchanged
were the faces of my dear old friends. Appearing beside a banner with the words
A Very Warm Welcome! a few of them couldnt wait to rush to my side with smiles
on their faces. Those were my friends who had shared their tears and laughter with
me in the old days: the classic beauty, Zheng Xiaojun; the glamor girl, Bai Mei;
the perky one, Xia Peijie; the eternal youth, Pu Ke; the comedy youth, Wang
Qimin; and then there was me, the goldfish beauty, Li Xianglan, all meeting for
the first time in forty years. We were just kids of seventeen or eighteen when we
first made our debut, and at the time we met again, we were all close to sixty.
With Japans defeat in August 1945, Xinjing in old Manchuria, which had until then been under the domination of the Japanese Kwantung Army, came to be
occupied by Russian forces. Virtually all the Chinese fi lm staff and actors went
on to participate in the founding of the Northeast Film Company (Dongbei Dianying Gongsi) in accordance with the cultural policy of the Communist Eighth
Route Army, which took over the authority to carry out the citys administration
in place of the Chinese Nationalist Army. When the Nationalists again established control over the citys administration, the Chinese actors and staff fled
from Changchun by way of Harbin and Jiamusi and settled in Hegang before
renaming their establishment as Northeast Film Studio (Dongbei Dianying
Zhipianchang) to continue with their struggle in filmmaking. Accompanying
them to Hegang were such Japanese staff as the celebrated director Uchida Tomu,
Kimura Sotoji (the younger brother of the painter Kimura Shachi), and the first

74

Chapter 5

female Japanese film director, Sakane Tazuko. Later, the Chinese actors returned
to Changchun, but with the coming of the Cultural Revolution after the birth of
a new China, those who had worked under Manei had to go through the bitter
experience of arrest and imprisonment under the charge of having collaborated
with the national policy of the illegitimate Manchurian Empire.
More than the roles we had performed on screen, our reunion underscored
the dramatic life experiences we had gone through. Together we went for a meal
at Nanhu Restaurant near the studio to reminisce about our past. There we saw
in our aged faces images of our bygone days, and we briefly indulged ourselves in
the good old days of our youth. Xia Peijie recalled that whenever I had free time
on my hands, I would go to the rehearsal room on the third floor to play the piano
and to do voice exercises.
In the course of our conversation, I ventured to ask my old friends a question
that had always been on my mind: Did they know at the time that I was Japanese?
Zheng Xiaojun said that after I acquired an attendanta reference to Atsumi
Masakoshe noticed that the two of us were always speaking in Japanese, which
convinced her that one of my parents had to be Japanese, just as rumor said. Xia
Peijie said that because I could speak Mandarin, she thought I was born and bred
in China with one Japanese parent. I suppose I was thought of as what one would
today call a half.
But even so, the treatment Manei gave me was a world apart from what was
in store for my other colleagues. I did not live in a dormitory but in a hotel; my
every transportation need was provided by an automobile with a chauffeur, and
my monthly pay was 250 yen, as opposed to the twenty to forty yen Chinese actors received. In those days, the starting salary of a male university graduate in
Japan was sixty yen, and if he should work in a company in Manchuria, he would
receive an extra expatriate stipend for a total of approximately 150 yen.
Since I was the recipient of such extraordinary treatment, it was only natural
that suspicions should arise about whether Li Xianglan was a Japanese woman.
One time, Pu Ke and other male actors thought of a way to confirm such suspicions. They would test me with jokes or customs only a true-bred Chinese would
know to see how I would react. For example, they would say, Li Xianglan, our
assistant director Mr. Wang is suffering from inflammation of the trachea. What
a shame! I feel sorry for him. If I understood the joke and guffawed, then I would
have been proven to be Chinese. If, on the other hand, I took their words at face
value and expressed my sympathy for Mr. Wangs medical condition, that was proof
that I was Japanese: the Chinese term for inflammation of the trachea is qiguanyan,
a homonym for a henpecked husband.9
Ultimately, the Chinese actors seemed to think of me as a Japanese person,
or a mixed-blood with Japanese nationality. That said, we were completely inte-

The Birth of Li Xianglan

75

grated in work and play; we did the same things together, took the same lessons
and the same meals, and never did we have an occasion to feel ill at ease with one
another. My Chinese colleagues were all gracious enough to share with me that
while they thought of Li Xianglan as a special coworker, they always treated
me as if I were Chinese since I was friendly with everyone. At least, it was apparent that no one spread the word outside of our own circle that Li Xianglan
was Japa nese.
I, for my part, did not find it necessary to display my special privileges as a
Japanese. During the time when I lived and went to school as Li Jichuns daughter, Li Xianglan, and afterwards as Pan Yiguis daughter, Pan Shuhua, I had essentially put any conscious thoughts about my Japanese nationality out of my mind.
Occasions such as anti-Japanese demonstrations brought me much anguish, but
under more normal circumstances, I forgot completely that I was Japanese. Back
then, Chinese was the language I used to think, to dream, and to talk in my sleep.
Of course, to a certain extent I echoed the sentiments of Harmony among the
Five Races, which the Japa nese military put out as its rallying cry, but I had not
been to Japan. I felt neither out of place nor resistant to appearing in Chineselanguage films with other Chinese under my Chinese name. Living on a vast
continent led me naturally to think that we all coexisted as friends, whether any
of us was Chinese, Korean, or Russian.
But acts of discrimination against the Chinese by the Japanese manifested
themselves in various arenas of Manchurian life. At parties or banquets, even
though the Japanese and Chinese would sit around the same table, eat the same
food, and drink the same wines, the Japanese were served polished rice while the
Chinese had to settle for kaoliang grain. What I had before me was the former, to
be sure, but I could not understand the mentality of how one could treat other
human beings differently, people with whom one lived together from morning
to night. At first, I didnt touch what I had been served, and one time a boy at a
banquet told me that they were merely following instructions from the Manei
management. After that time, I made it a rule to refuse polished rice at such
gatherings.
Even though my good friends apparently took me as a Japanese woman, they
showed no reservations in confiding in me on subjects ranging from private love
affairs to family matters. They would invite me to their homes on weekends and
take me to various festivals and ceremonial events. While we could talk about anything, once another Japanese person entered into the conversation, very often the
subject would either be changed midway or be dropped entirely. While I was happy
that I was looked upon as a trusted friend, I was also saddened that other Japanese were not similarly regarded. Such a realization generated in me a mixed and
complex feeling.

76

Chapter 5

The Chinese actors, both male and female, were without exception wonderful people. We belonged to the same generation and spent the spring of our youth
together. Starting from around 1940, more opportunities for me to appear in jointventure fi lms with Japan began to open up, and for that reason, I began to split
my time evenly between living in China and in Japan. Moreover, just at the time
I entered Manei, my family moved from Fengtian to Beijing. While I ended up
spending less and less time in Xinjing, I always tried to see my friends whenever
I returned to the studio on Hongxi Street. The joy of being with them was comparable to what a student studying in a big city would experience when she went
back to her own hometown during a vacation break to be reunited with her old
childhood friends. As a matter of fact, whenever I went to Japan for filming or
public performances, I would describe my trips as going to Japan, and when I
traveled from Japan to Xinjing, the expression I used was returning home. Years
later, I was again made aware of this tendency of mine after the writer Niwa
Fumio drew my attention to it.
Among my Chinese contemporaries, I recall in par ticu lar Zhu Wenshun, a
handsome young man whose Japanese was so good that he could give a rendition
of Hirosawa Torazs naniwa-bushi;10 Wang Fuchun, an actors actor who could
also give great performances as a comedian (he later changed his name to Wang
Qimin and became a cameraman); and the chubby comedy actor Liu Enjia, who,
teaming up with the very tall Chang Shuda, was Maneis answer to Laurel and
Hardy.11 I remember Dai Jianqiu as a famous erhu player with a fabulous sense of
presence. Another good-looking young man, Pu Ke, who often played the role of
my love interest, is now married to Xia Peijie and prominently serves as the director of present-day Changchun Studio. He is still active in his acting career and
is renowned for his expressive eyes. There was also Sui Yinfu, a nice man who appeared any number of times with me as part of a duo.
Among the actresses, besides Xia Peijie, I remember in particular Wang Dan,
reputed to be the queen of Harbin; Zhang Min, the costar in my first film, Honeymoon Express, who is still active in Beijing under the stage name Ling Yuan;
and Zheng Xiaojun, an expert in Chinese martial arts and traditional music. There
was also Meng Hong, a lovely, cheerful girl, who accompanied me on my first trip
to Japan and who is now married and lives in Taipei. Ye Ling, the sweet girl with
a double tooth, was good enough to be my double when I went out for a secret
date during my filming in Japan. Bai Mei was called the glamor girl, but she was
in fact as refreshingly charming as a white peony. Li Ming, a tall beauty scouted
from Beijing, was to become Yamaga Trus mistress.
When I visited the Changchun Studio, I was able to renew my friendship with
a number of these actors, and in June 1985, members from the same studio, led by
Associate Director Liu, came to Japan for a twenty-day study tour. They had plans

The Birth of Li Xianglan

77

to create a movieland in Changchun, and for that purpose they had come to inspect
Kyotos Tei Uzumaki Movie Village and Urayasus Disneyland for themselves.
Among the group were some technical staff members whom I had known long ago
and missed. And then last summer, I had the privilege to attend a screening of
Along the Songari River (Songhua jian shang, directed by Jin Shan, 1947), produced
by Changchun Film Studio as part of the National Film Librarys retrospective on
Chinese films.12 As I watched the seasoned performances from such gifted actors as
Zhou Diao, Pu Ke, Zhu Wenshun, Xia Peijie, and others, I again recalled with nostalgia images of my friends from our bygone years at the Xinjing Studio.
*

Once fi lm production at Manei got underway, my life became extremely busy. By

nature, I am the type of person who gets totally engrossed in whatever I am doing.
At the beginning, acting in front of a camera was so embarrassing that I wanted to
cry. But once I got used to it, the exercise became sufficiently interesting that I was
inspired to take an active initiative in studying acting. I dont know whether one
should call this the result of an eye-opening experience, or whether it was just a
change of heart after I found myself cornered with nowhere else to turn.
A joint-venture with Th and directed by tani Toshio, Travels to the East
(Dongyouji, Tyki in Japanese) is about two rather unsophisticated Manchurian
peasants who go on a sightseeing tour in Tokyo with the help of a friend who has
made it in the big city; the aim of the fi lm was to introduce Japan to Manchurias
Chinese audience. Maneis participation included the Liu EnjiaChang Shuda duo,
with me playing a typist. From Th came a gorgeous cast including Hara Setsuko,
Kiritachi Noboru, Takamine Hideko, Sawamura Sadako, Fujiwara Kamatari, and
others. Next, I appeared in Yamauchi Eizs Blood of Arms and Heart of Wisdom
(Tiexie huixin; Utsukushiki gisei in Japanese), a fi lm about a police force exposing
the activities of a group of smugglers. To shoot the police cavalry chasing a
horse-riding gang in an open field just like a scene in a Western, an ambitious
decision was finally made to fi lm on location in the city of Anshan. The animals
used in the shooting were race horses loaned from the local Anshan Racecourse. I had already taken riding lessons when I was living with the Pan family, so
the male actors who fell from their horses and suffered many NG takes were surprised at how good a rider I was.
It is no exaggeration to say that prominent Japanese travelers from all walks
of life who came to Manchuria on inspection tours would all stop by Xinjing for
a visit. Just at that time, a group of Japanese literary men visited Xinjing for a few
days and toured our studio. They were members of the first contingent sent by the
Ministry of Colonial Affairs (Takumush) from the Literary Association for Continental Colonization (Tairiku Kaitaku Bungei Konwakai), a writers group formed

78

Chapter 5

to promote Japans national policy by sending Japanese pioneers to Manchuria and

by creating an ideal state based on racial harmony. The head of the association
was the playwright Kishida Kunio. Stopping by Xinjing on their way back from
their tour of the pioneering village at Jiamusi were It Sei, Tamura Taijir, Fukuda
Kiyoto, and Kond Haruo. By coincidence, another group of Japanese led by the
writer Kume Masao was also in Xinjing to gather materials for the story Song of
the White Orchid (Byakuran no uta), which was slated to be serialized in the
Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbun (present-day Mainichi Shimbun). Manei hosted a joint
dinner banquet to welcome those parties at a Chinese restaurant. I attended the
event with Director Negishi and Production Manager Makino.
After the serialization of Song of the White Orchid was completed, Th
had plans to turn it into a fi lm.13 With General Manager Yamanashi then visiting Manei as a go-between, Th proposed the project as a joint venture with
Manei and made an informal decision to have Li Xianglan play the young Chinese heroine.
That was my first time meeting with Japanese literary men. I was ner vous at
first as I listened to their conversation, but in time, the atmosphere became profoundly refreshing in a way that I had never felt. To be sure, I knew something
about the world of music and fi lms, but my knowledge of Japanese literature was
limited to childrens tales and the kind of novels for teenage girls that I had read
in elementary and middle school. I could sense in their cosmopolitan sophistication something alien to me until then. I was so totally mesmerized by their artful
rhetoric, witty exchanges, and unpretentious humor that I thought I had rediscovered the beauty of the Japanese language. I suppose I should clarify and say that
I was actually discovering the beauty of the Japanese language spoken by the
Japa nese actually living in Japan. I felt an instantaneous and swelling sense of
yearning for my own country, one that I had not yet seen, captivated as I was by
an obsessive determination to go to see Japan.
That night, I was quite caught up in the moment in my excitement. I suppose
I must have peppered the guests with all kinds of trivial questions. If youre really so interested in Tokyo, why dont you come for a visit? If you wish, we could
talk to Manei about it. You will be most welcome. Well take you anywhere you
want to go, said Tamura Taijir, who was sitting across the table from me. He
was the youngest among our guests, a literary youth who struck me as being virile, impertinent, rustic, and shy at the same time.14
Do you mean it?
I can assure you that if Li Xianglan comes to Tokyo, Ill invite her first to
my party.
Kume Masao, sitting next to me, was wearing a nice smile, nodding in agreement with what I was saying even though I knew little about Japan. I heard that

The Birth of Li Xianglan

79

he was in the process of writing up The Song of the White Orchid based on what
Th was planning to do, which involved having Hasegawa Kazuo play the main
character, a Japanese structural engineer, and me play the role of a young Chinese girl and his lover. This heroine, the daughter of a powerful local clan, would
be called Li Xuexiang, a name that differed from mine in only one Chinese character. She would be portrayed as a student taking singing lessons in Fengtian, similar to my own experience during my Fengtian years.
At the time, I couldnt take in a drop of alcohol, and yet I declared, in a state of
apparent intoxication, that I would study hard from then on so that I would become famous. Turning to Kume Masao, I boldly challenged him, Sensei, lets have
a competition between us! While I had no recollections that I made such a shameless remark, I was utterly embarrassed when Tamura later told me that I did.
Our conversation lasted late into the night, well past midnight, even though
our guests were scheduled to depart early the next morning.
What about a song for remembrances sake? Kume said. With that, I sang
When Will You Return? (Heri jun zai lai) with all my heart.
Naturally, I will come back to Manchuria again someday, but the real question
is when will you come? You must come to Japan soon. Promise me. Zaijian is the
word to bid farewell, but it can also mean a promise to meet again, Tamura said.
Hai, I answered as obediently as an elementary school girl, Ill see you off
at the train station tomorrow.
Thats all right. No need to bother yourself with that. You see, dawn will come
in no time.
While Tamura was considerate enough to make that remark, I went to the
train station as promised at five oclock the next morning, braving the snow at fifteen degrees below zero and wearing a shuba overcoat and a muffler covering my
face like Tolstoys Katyusha.15
During my subsequent visit to Japan, Tamura kept his promise, took me on
daily trips to many different places, and introduced me to various people. One of
them was Niwa Fumio, Tamuras mentor and senior colleague at the journal
Waseda Literature (Waseda bungaku).16 At our first meeting, Niwa turned to Furukawa Roppa (a comedian and now deceased), who was sitting next to him and
said simply, People say that this girl is Japanese, but its not true. She is really
Chinese. For some reason, those words sank deeply within me and remain so
until this day.
Several years ago at Tamuras wake, Niwa was kind enough to come over and
ask how I was doing. We went on to reminisce about various things, but he had
forgotten about the comment he once made that I was really Chinese. Recalling
my first trip to Japan, he said to me in a composed tone of voice, The friendship
between you and Tamura was just beautiful. Indeed, Tamura and I were bound

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Chapter 5

by this beautiful friendship. We were both single at the time, and while we cared
for each other, our relationship did not develop into a romance. In part, it was
the consequence of Maneis attempt to pull me away from Japanese writers, as the
company was not too happy about what was happening between Tamura and me.
Another factor was that Tamura was soon drafted to fight on the front lines. In
the April 1941 volume of the journal Literary Arts (Bungei), Niwa wrote a compassionate essay on Tamuras and my friendship. This is what he said:
At that time, a party was held at the Rainbow Grill to celebrate the publication of Tamura Taijirs University (Daigaku) and Young Girl (Shjo). Li Xianglan was also at the party. There, I took it upon myself to ask her to sing When
Will You Return? which she did to great applause. She managed to come to
our gathering by seizing an opportunity to sneak out from her performance
duties at the Nichigeki. That night, the celebration after the fi rst party for
Tamura continued at Kagurazaka, and Li Xianglan also came along. Her unusual affection for Tamura was something that came as a surprise to us in private. In time, Tamura continued to meet with Li Xianglan any number of times
before he took her into the side streets of Shinjuku. Li Xianglan became good
friends with us before returning to Manchuria. From time to time, she would
also send me letters. However, since she was spending far too much time with
us while she was in Tokyo, she apparently was warned by Maneis Publicity
or Planning division that she must act with greater prudence befitting her role
as a popu lar actress. And then when she came to Tokyo the second time, she
had changed completely and did not even try to see us. Considering what publicity could do to a fi lm star, I thought that her sudden turnaround was something unavoidable and worthy of our understanding. Tamura Taijir seemed
to be quite hurt by this. They were so close before, and this time when she was
in Tokyo, she did not even send any personal greetings and treated him as if
he were a total stranger. On the other hand, if she were a craft ier woman and
a more scheming actress, she surely could have come up with a performance
not to alienate Tamuras feelings and ours.

Here Niwa presented a thoroughly sympathetic interpretation of the events at that

time. In any case, my relationship with Tamura Taijir did not end there but extended all the way into the postwar period.

CHAPTER 6

My Xinjing Years

When I was chosen along with Meng Hong as a delegate to an

exposition in Japan to commemorate the founding of Manchukuo (Mansh Kenkoku Hakurankai), I was absolutely beside myself with jubilation. As actresses representing Manei, our role was to promote the cause of Japanese-Manchurian
friendship. Off to Japan, a country I had been dreaming about! While my homeland was still an unknown entity to me, I had long thought of it as a nation of
high refinement and advanced culture.
Led by Kond Iyokichi of the Actors Training Center and Yamanashi Minoru, we went from Xinjing to Pusan on the Korean Peninsula via the border town
of Andong (present-day Dandong) before crossing the Yalu River. From Pusan,
we took the Pusan-Shimonoseki ferry to Japan. By the time we reached the Shimonoseki harbor, it was the fourth day of the trip.
On the night before reaching Shimonoseki, I was so excited that I couldnt
sleep at all; I could not even feel the fatigue that had been accumulating over the
long journey. The next morning, as the ferry made its approach, the island silhouetted in an emerald mist grew more prominent. I was seeing Japan for the first
time, unfolding right before my eyes.1
The police officers at the port came onboard and began to inspect our passports. That was carried out expeditiously. The Japanese passengers were the first
to disembark, followed by foreigners, one after another. Standing before a police
officer, Meng produced her passport and was immediately allowed to go. Next was
my turn. The officer gave a nod and gestured for me to go. As I walked past him,
he stopped me and said, Hey, you, just a second. Come back here! Show me your
passport again! When I handed it to him, he scrutinized my face with the picture in the passport and then spit out his words angrily, You! How do you have
the audacity to call yourself Japanese? The name in my passport appeared as Yamaguchi Yoshiko, stage name Li Xianglan.
What on earth are you wearing, woman! he clicked his tongue as he
pointed to my Chinese dress. Now look! We Japa nese belong to a fi rst-class

81

82

Chapter 6

nation (itt-koku)! Dont you know that? Now, look at you, wearing the dress of
the third-class Chankoro and talking in their language!2 Damn you! Arent you
ashamed of yourself?
I was standing in the middle of a long line of foreigners waiting to come ashore.
Curious as to what had happened, the Japanese who had already gotten off the
ferry were glancing back at the commotion on the deck. I was too terribly frightened to know what to say. Blood rushed to my head, and all my eyes could see
before me was a patch of ashen white.
Not knowing the language, Meng Hong had no idea what was going on. Flustered, she looked at me with worry in her eyes. I, on the other hand, was too embarrassed to offer her an explanation. Thinking that I was a fellow Chinese, she
could not have imagined that a police officer was in fact disparaging a Japanese
woman for using a Chinese name, wearing a Chinese dress, and speaking in Chinese. When I told her soft ly, Mei shenme,3 the policeman once again became
incensed that I should be using Chinese in our exchange.
You shameless shit! If you are a true subject of the Japanese Empire, damn
it, use Japanese!
I had no idea why the police officer should openly exhibit such arrogance in
demeaning the Chinese. Having no words to respond to his remarks, I got off the
ferry holding Meng Hongs hand.
This then was my first encounter with Japan, a country of my dreams.
This was also my first time tasting the bitterness of Japanese racial discrimination, and to such a revoltingly intense degree. Crushed by the experience, I felt
nauseated on the express train to Tokyo, though not from mental shock but visual dizziness.
It had nothing to do with the speed of the Japanese train; I was accustomed
to the Mantetsu Express Ajia, the fastest train in the world, which just ran and
ran on the endless expanse of the Manchurian plain. The scenery from the train
window did not change much at all no matter where the traveler sped. The evening Manchurian sun descended on the other side of the horizon even more leisurely than in a slow-motion fi lm. By contrast, the close-up and jumbled scenes
of Japan moved before my eyes with dazzling speed, like a film on fast-forward.
Lines of uniformly-paced telegraph poles standing on the side of the tracks passed
my eyes with astonishing speed. Overcrowded houses stretched on forever without a break in between. Chimneys, factories, steel bridges, tunnels, all came and
went with astounding rapidity. Meanwhile, my ears were pierced by the metallic
reverberations of trains from Tokyo passing us from the opposite direction and
assaulted by the clattering sound katan-katan of the steel wheels hitting each
piece of the connecting rail, carving out a restless rhythm. Meng Hong and I were

My Xinjing Years

83

so overcome by this literally head-spining dizziness that we felt sick and had to
lie down on the seats all the way to Tokyo.
Our next surprise came when we stayed in a Japanese-style ryokan on our
journey that night. Houses in Manchuria were made of thickset bricks; windows
and doors were also reinforced with double panes to prevent the intrusion of cold
air as well as prospective thieves. The frame of a Japanese house, however, was
made of wood and bamboo; both the sliding fusuma doors and the shji screens
were covered with nothing but paper.
When we were shown our rooms, we instinctively let out an amazed ai-ya!
There was no bed in the room, and no pechka or ondol.4 There was nothing separating our room from the corridor and the garden except a piece of paper in the
form of a shji screen. On impulse, we asked the maid whether this was the place
where we were supposed to sleep and what we could do if bandits should come
for a visit.
To attend the exposition for Manchukuos founding held at the Tokyo Takashimaya as well as attractions at the Nichigeki,5 Meng Hong and I dressed up like
two mannequins in Chinese outfits as we endeavored to publicize Manchuria by
charming the Japanese audience. Meng sang only Chinese songs, and I was advertized as a Chinese guniang 6 with a dexterous command of the Japanese language. The songs I sang were mainly Japanese ones such as Moon over the Ruined Castle (Kj no tsuki) and Plover (Hamachidori).
We were greeted with loud applause. I heard people paying tribute to my Japanese, but that inspired in me a feeling of emptiness. The Japanese were intoxicated
with superiority when they heard a Chinese speaking their language and singing their songs. Inside Takashimaya and city streetcars, people would rudely scrutinize our Chinese dress from top to toe with a look of contempt rather than curiosity before spitting out words such as He-e, heres a Chankoro!
*

Beginning with Honeymoon Express, I starred in four films in a row. After my fifth
fi lm, Song of the White Orchid, and with the exception of Yellow River (Huanghe,
Kga in Japanese, 1942) and Glory to Eternity (Wanshi liufang, or Bansei ryh in
Japanese, 1943), all the other films I made could well be called Japanese. Of course,
they were variously described as coproductions or joint-ventures with Manei, but
in essence, they were fi lms made by Japanese fi lm companies such as Th and
Shchiku; the designation of Manei appeared only in small parentheses under the
name Ri Kran. We did go on location shoots in various places in China, but virtually all on-set fi lming was done in studios in Japan. For that reason, I was inundated all of a sudden with opportunities to go to Japan. When I returned

84

Chapter 6

to China for purposes other than location shooting, I would head back to my
familys home in Beijing or to Maneis head office in Xinjing.
I stayed usually at the San Hotel while I was in Japan. Shortly afterwards,
Shigeki Kyhei, a Manei director and the president of its Tokyo office, was good
enough to rent two adjoining units of the Imperial Apartments in Nogizaka for my
purposes. That soon became a second home for me and my attendant, Atsumi
Masako. While it was called an apartment, for all practical purposes, it was what
one would describe today as a Japanese-style mansion. In those days, living in a
high-end apartment was still something of a rarity among the Japanese, and there
was much talk about the place as a modern Western-style building. Indeed,
Western-style homes were a conspicuous presence in the vicinity of the Imperial
Apartments, from the area around Nogi Shrine to Aoyma It-chme. At the street
corner was a police box, and on the opposite side of the street stood the residence of
the painter Umehara Ryzabur, whom I mentioned earlier. The neighborhood
had the ambience of a dramatic setting for some of Edogawa Rampos stories.7
Atsumi Masako was also introduced to me through the good offices of President Shigeki. A graduate of Atomi Higher Girls School, she was about twentyseven or twenty-eight at the time, seven or eight years my senior. A refined and
trustworthy woman who was like an older sister to me, she is currently well and
living in Chiba. The Manei publicity unit might have wanted my attendant to
keep a watchful eye on me, but Atsumi was not the type of person who would report my private affairs to Manei. She was an avid reader, an intellectual type who
had broad-ranging knowledge. For somebody like me, who was born and bred in
China, she was also an excellent private tutor.
While I had already become very well accustomed to life in Tokyo at the time
we settled into our Nogizaka apartment, before that I often found myself at a loss
in Japan as everything worked differently there than in China. At the beginning,
my body just didnt feel well. My general and persistent malaise included headaches, stomach-aches, and an urge to vomit, and I was worried that I was about
to come down with a serious illness. All such symptoms, however, completely disappeared once I returned to China. I did not need a physician to tell me that such
conditions were psychologically induced due to changes in my living environment.
One time Mother musingly observed, Since olden times, it has been said that the
human body cannot tolerate a place different from ones old hometown due to the
change in the water. Well, I suppose for Yoshiko, China is her hometown after all.
To whip up Li Xianglans popularity in Japan while it was already rising in
Manchuria, Manei was putting considerable effort into promoting Song of the
White Orchid by appointing Miyazawa Tadao to run the publicity campaign with
a budget of twenty-thousand yen. Following Miyazawa, I visited Tokyos newspaper agencies and magazine outlets, paid courtesy calls around town, and agreed

My Xinjing Years

85

to requests for interviews. The publicity document Manei produced was disseminated to various venues within the mass media and printed on posters and newspaper advertisements as well. It read as follows:
Her name is pronounced Ri Kran in Japanese and Li Xianglan in the Manchurian language. Born in the eighth year of the Chinese Republic and the
ninth year of Taish, she has just now reached the adorable age of 21.8 She possesses a unique presence that dazzles her many Japanese fans with her modern exotic charm, and she is now visiting Japan again.
Raised in Beijing as the beloved daughter of the mayor of Fengtian, she
speaks fluent Japanese just by virtue of attending a school for Japanese children. So what we have is truly a representative knyan [Japanese for guniang]
from an Asia on the rise, a woman who speaks the three languages of Japanese, Manchurian, and Chinese with remarkable dexterity.
While her musical talents have long been recognized along with her beauty,
as it so happens, her singing broadcasted on Fengtian radio stations instantly
produced impassioned acclaim like a whirlwind across the land of Manchuria. Promptly invited to join the Manchurian Film Association, she soon made
her glorious debut as an actress. Bursting upon the scene like a comet across
the sky, it is truly beyond imagination to fathom the degree to which her striking brilliance has enhanced the developing state of Manchurian fi lms!

And thus, in this fashion, was the life history of Li Xianglan widely circulated. But in China as well as in Japan, there were people who knew that I was the
oldest daughter of a Japanese couple named Yamaguchi Fumio and Ai. There was
always a cloud hanging over this matter, and the issue was ultimately settled in a
compromise making me a product of a mixed marriage between a Chinese and
a Japanese.
Reviewing Song of the White Orchid in its September 1, 1939, edition, the journal Kinema Jump published a commentary by the fi lm critic Suzuki Jzabur,
remarking that
Movie fans are a noisy bunch everywhere, and those here in Manchuria are
no exception. There are not a few rumors about the origins of the Manei star
Li Xianglan. I cannot judge whether she is more fluent in Japanese or in Manchurian. Suffice it to say she is an intelligent gnyan who knows how and when
to make splendid use of either one of these two languages. One time, I presented her with a foolish question by asking her to talk about her personal life.
After rolling her big eyes, she said, My personal life? Well, which life do you
want to know, the fictional or the real one?

86

Chapter 6

This entry appeared in a gossip column meant for entertainment, and as one would
expect, the writer manifestly led the interviewee around by the nose in making
fun of her. But I really enjoyed no such luxury as the report indicated. I couldnt
tell a lie about my life, nor could I tell the truth, and all I could do was to fumble
my way through my responses.
Maneis interests in organizing a huge publicity campaign for Song of the White
Orchid coincided perfectly with those of Th, its partner company. While their
common justification for action was the usual call for Japanese-Manchurian
Friendship and Harmony among the Five Races, in Ths case, I think that
they were especially eager to seize this opportunity to market Hasegawa Kazuo
as a star for gendai-geki, or contemporary drama. To be sure, the relative standings of a new actress from Manchuria and of the big star and heartthrob from
Japans jidai-geki, or period-films, were quite different. I suppose Th was hoping to ride the wave of Japans continental boom by taking a chance on casting
Hasegawa with me.
Hasegawas stage name on his initial debut as an actor was Hayashi Chjir.
He made a career move to join Th after his contract with Shchiku ended the
year before, whereupon he began using his real name on screen. During the transition, he was physically assaulted by a ruffian in connection with bitterness between Shchiku and Th left over from conflicts and inability to compromise.
The attack left a cut on his left cheek and caused quite a public stir. In order to do
real damage to the beau-part actor, his assailant used two razor blades to perpetrate his bloody actthat was how obsessively-driven the offending party was.9
Once at Th, Hasegawas mind underwent a change. In order to make a fresh
start for himself, he decided to use his real name. For that reason, too, Th was
eager to turn Song of the White Orchid into a success. Needless to say, Th was
by no means uninterested in Li Xianglan. In fact, before going to Manei from Th,
Yamanashi had already made arrangements with the latter and Nichigeki in connection with my first visit to Japan.
A representation of Japans dream of continental expansion that took the
form of a sweet romance, Song of the White Orchid was a forerunner of the genre
of so-called goodwill films with the Asian continent (tairiku shinzen eiga). The
story was a simple one. Hasegawa Kazuo played the role of a Mantetsu engineer
named Matsumura Yasukichi who has been identified by his superior as a talented worker and a candidate for marriage to his daughter. Matsumura already
has a lover named Li Xuexiang (that is, Li Xianglan), daughter of the head of a
powerful Rehe clan and a student of vocal music in Fengtian. As they continue to
nurture their transnational love, obstacles from Yasukichis family and the Japanese girls who fall for him beset them. For a time, adding to the complications,
even Li Xuexiang joins the anti-Japanese bandits led by her uncle and attempts

My Xinjing Years

87

to obstruct the construction of a new Mantetsu line. In the end, all the misunderstandings melt away, and the enemies are beaten back, thereby paving the way
for a happy ending for the couple.10
The movie was produced by Morita Nobuyoshi and directed by Watanabe
Kunio, a man known since then for his unusual speed in making films. We shot
on location from July to August in Beijing and in Chengde in Rehe Province, then
did set filming at a Tokyo studio as early as October before we finished our work in
the middle of November. At the end of the same month, the film, in all its threethousand-nine-hundred-and-forty meters contained in seventeen rolls, including
a sequel, was shown in its entirety at the Nichigeki Theater.
When I was first told that I would be costarring with Hasegawa Kazuo, whose
stature in the industry put him way up in the clouds, the reality simply didnt sink
in at all. I had no time to think about anything beyond my own apprehension that
he might very well find it a waste of time working with a novice like me. When
the actual fi lming began, however, things went more smoothly than I had anticipated. All I needed to do was simply act according to Hasegawas instructions. Nervous at first, I was able in time to compose myself and perform in sync with him.
Despite his prominence, there was not a trace of arrogance in Hasegawa, who was
always a kind and considerate gentleman to everyone around him.
On the other hand, Director Watanabe didnt bother to offer me any real acting instructions at allI suppose that was the key to the unusual speed with which
his films were made. All he did was give out orders and a brief summary of the next
scene to be filmed. When I was waiting with all my makeup on, he would say, Hey,
youre already on camera. Now run to the knoll on the other side! Action! Start!
and launch me into motion by tapping me on the behind just like one would flick a
horse with a whip. In a flurry, I ran as told, not knowing whether I should laugh or
cry. In this particular scene, the camera was doing a long-angle shot that required
no real acting on my part. But I didnt even know that at the time.
The special lecture Hasegawa gave me on acting had to do with iroke, the art
of amorous seduction. But the ways in which Chinese women in their culture
expressed their femininity were different from those of the Japanese. To further
complicate matters, for somebody deficient in womanly attributes like me to exhibit them in a manner comprehensible to the Japanese was a source of considerable distress.
You first enter into the realm of iroke through certain gestures, Hasegawa
explained. If I were playing your role, this is how I would do it. And he proceeded to show me how to act coquettishly. As might be expected of a former onnagata,11 the way his eyes, body, and hands gestured to produce the desired effect
was far more feminine than what I could accomplish. Watching him perform was
sufficient to make me blush.

88

Chapter 6

Your eyes must be only half-open and your head tilts just a little to the side.
Look at a person out of the corner of your eyes and then slowly move your line of
vision downwards. I must say that such instructions didnt do me much good, as
I was both amused and embarrassed.
Hasegawa was also very keen in scrutinizing various aspects of his given roles.
He used painstaking care in applying makeup on his left cheek after the injury he
had suffered the year before. When he was being filmed, he would pay close attention to the effects of lighting and camera angle, often making demands more
detailed than the director himself.
While shooting on location, we often visited Japanese troops stationed in the
area. Needless to say, Hasegawa in onnagata form drew more attention than I wearing my Chinese dress. When he started to perform Yukinojs Transformation
(Yukinoj henge),12 everyone became so attentive that you could hear a pin drop.
Every movement of his luscious body was the focus of attention for everyone in
the audience. Hiding himself behind a screen, allowing only a part of his face to
be revealed, the onnagata then drooped his eyes in an apparent moment of shyness before quickly withdrawing himself from sight. With this act, the audience
led out a reverberating chorus of heartfelt appreciation.
I later learned that one of the reasons why Hasegawa was good enough to explain to me how things were done in such meticulous and vivid detail was that he
thought I was Chinese. Forty years later, he revealed to me in a roundtable talk
sponsored by the magazine Sunday Mainichi (on March 4, 1979) that at the time
he was at a loss as to what to do with a young Chinese girl who might not have
any idea how to act in a love scene.
Yamaguchi-san, at first I thought you were a Chinese woman. Let me tell you
something interesting. One time I asked Kume Masao, the original author of
Song of the White Orchid, how we should deal with the last scene. He said, I
think you two should just go right ahead and do a double suicide! I said, Double suicide? I wonder if Li Xianglan knows what it is. (Laughter) To which
Kume replied, Hmm, since this business of double suicide is something peculiar to Japan, Li Xianglan just may not know what it is. And so when you
told me afterwards that you knew what a double suicide was, I was quite
amazed. (Laughter)

Hasegawa and I continued our collaboration the following summer of 1940

with China Nights (Shina no yoru), followed by Pledge in the Desert (Nessa no chikai)
in the winter of the same year. Along with Song of the White Orchid, those three
fi lms were collectively known as the Hasegawa-Li Xianglan continental trilogy
(tairiku sanbusaku). Th is was a time when Japans continental boom was at its

My Xinjing Years

89

height, and my film role was consistently that of a Chinese woman cherishing sweet,
loving affections for a young Japanese man played by Hasegawa. All the fi lms in
the continental trilogy were mundane melodramas; moreover, they were also propaganda tools in the ser vice of Japans continental policy.
Yet I worked very hard on those fi lms and did what I was told. It is true that
I ended up singing praises of the dream and romance of creating a paradise on
earth based on Japans imperial way (d rakudo) and thereby fanning Japans cravings for the Asian continent. The following catchphrases at the time underscored
such sentiments: Lets rise with burning passion for our enterprise in the continental wilderness! Spring willows reflect on the emerald pond in the land of paradise! The flower of love between Japan and Manchuria blossoms in the shadow
of grueling labor!
When I watched those three fi lms again in preparation for this autobiography, I felt utterly ashamed at how poorly I had acted in them. At the same time,
revisiting these fi lms also allowed me to reflect deeply about the manner in which
the films depicted anti-Japanese guerilla forces and related matters. But in the atmosphere of the time, the films in the trilogy came off as big hits, and I, too, was
a child of that era.
In On Actresses: Collected Works on Japanese Film Actors (Nihon eiga haiy
zensh, Joy-hen, 1980), the fi lm critic Shimizu Akira commented:
To the Japanese youths at the time, the idea of advancing into the Asian continent held a mesmeric allure similar to the prospect of living in Europe or
the United States for the young people today. Li Xianglan was the queen in
their dreams with visions of a colorful rainbow connecting Japan and the
continent. . . . The fact that she was Japa nese was nothing short of an irony
in history.

In The Cinema and Cannon Fire (Kinema to hsei, 1985), Sat Tadao, another film
critic, offered the following analysis of how the Chinese people were viewed by
the Japanese through the lens of Song of the White Orchid:
Japan was represented by the role played by Hasegawa, and China by that of
Li Xianglan. If China had trusted and depended on Japan in the same way,
Japan would surely reward her with love. That was the films message expressed
through a romance. To the Chinese, that was simply an idiotic and deceitful
idea unilaterally taken by Japan to subject China to humiliation. For the Japanese living within Japan with no knowledge about the reality of the Japanese
invasion of China, it was a sweet fantasy that indulged their nave self-conceit.
Japanese movie fans were intoxicated by this fantasy. That was why the film

90

Chapter 6

became a hit. They saw Li Xianglan as a pitiable, pure-hearted Chinese maiden

who truly fell for a Japanese male. Since Japan was the object of such adoration by the Chinese, a logic was thus formed that Japan was not an aggressor
in China but merely its mentor.

For me, Song of the White Orchid was memorable in many ways. It was the
first Japanese fi lm in which I had a starring role, and I was fortunate enough to
be appearing with a big star. My work in it also enabled me to befriend many wonderful people, and the discrimination I had experienced up until then also became a little diluted as a result.
Before the fi lming actually started, Th and Manei were busy working
on the fi lms publicity campaigns. Public announcement of the fi lm was made
before reporters at Mantetsus Tokyo branch office building in Toranomon. Those
attending included the two lead actors, the original author, Kume Masao, and the
Th executive Mori Iwao, who was to become the companys vice president after
the war. It was on that occasion that I met Iwasaki Akira, a Manei associate. It
appeared that he had just been released from jail several days before. Active as
the Committee Chair of the Proletarian Film League, or Prokino (Puroretaria Eiga
Dmei), he had been arrested and questioned by the police on the charge of having infringed the Peace Preservation Law. As soon as he came out of jail, he continued to work as a temporary employee for Maneis Tokyo office. His job had to
do with the logistics of importing German fi lms into Japan. While looking gaunt
as a result of his time in jail, this high-spirited critic from Japans progressive camp
was a fine, handsome gentleman with a fair complexion. Casually wearing an informal kimono, he had something of a nihilistic air about him.13
As an actress, I secretly wanted recognition from such a splendid critic, but I
felt too embarrassed to carry on much of a conversation with him. In any case,
surely he would have been critical of an actress serving on the frontline as a puppet promoting Japans national prestige and its mission of continental expansion.
While fi lming opportunities for me in Japan had increased, I continued to
find it difficult to adjust to customs and ways of doing things in Japan. An old clipping from my scrapbook shows that I gave the following answers to a Hchi
Shimbun interviewer on December 7, 1939, who was asking about my impressions
of Tokyo life:
While life is peaceful at the San Hotel where I am staying, for some unknown
reason, I have often been awakened by telephone calls at around seven in the
morning. It is all very strange and perplexing. The callers would say something like, I just wanted to hear your voice, or I am going to go to Manchuria, and when I get there, I will stop by to see you, okay? Those were people

My Xinjing Years

91

whom I had never known or seen before. I am surprised at how amazingly

audacious Tokyoites are!
As you know, I always go out in my Chinese dress, which apparently
makes me really stand out in a crowd. It was quite an experience when I went
to places like the Ginza, where there were so many drunks. Not a very pretty
sight, I must say. Why did they have to pick me to tease when there were so
many other beautiful women around? Tokyo women are really good at their
makeup. I was also amazed at how dashing they looked!
While everything is quite accessible in Tokyo, I am surprised at how difficult it is to get hold of an automobile. In Manchuria, when necessity arises,
it is quite convenient to ride in a horse carriage; ten or twenty sen could get
you quite a long distance. The other day, just as I was thinking of riding in a
rickshaw, a woman wearing a large topknot all of a sudden appeared in front
of me and took it instead. She was a pretty geisha, to be sure, but my friends
all laughed at me when I said, Why should I be the one left behind?

In any case, compared with stressful Tokyo, China was after all a place where
I could feel at ease both mentally and physically; I had grown accustomed to the
country during my many years living there, and, just as Mother said, perhaps the
water of China was more agreeable to me. When I returned to Maneis main office in Xinjing, my Chinese friends, actresses at Manei, would all press me to talk
about my new experiences in Tokyo. I would be busy visiting my family in Beijing and appearing in concerts in Fengtian. But compared to Japan, I found life
in China more enjoyable.
Meanwhile, the Manei actresses were very happy to learn that their salary
was almost doubled. After taking up his new position as Maneis director, Amakasu
Masahiko began right away to carry out a series of new policies, including salary
adjustments, improvements of working conditions, personnel changes, and systematic reforms. The appointment of Amakasu, former captain of the Japanese
military police, took effect on November 1, 1939.
The fi lming of Song of the White Orchid was followed by my per formance
at the Nichigeki. As I stayed for the entire year in Tokyo, I wasnt involved in all
the busy changes that were taking place in the Xinjing headquarters with the appointment of the new director. I was surprised, however, upon learning that
General Manager Yamanashi Minoru of Th, the man who had scouted me for
Manei, had been forced to resign for having ruffled the feathers of the new Manei
director.
Former Captain Amakasu Masahiko was said to be the man who had brutally murdered the anarchist sugi Sakae, his live-in wife, It Noe, and sugis
young nephew Tachibana Sichi in the middle of the Great Kant Earthquake.14

92

Chapter 6

The first Manei director was Jin Bidong, the son of Prince Su of the Qing Imperial family and the older brother of Kawashima Yoshiko. As he was only a parttime director who lived in Dalian, Jin was no more than a figurehead. Managed
by a conglomeration of divergent constituencies, including the Manchukuo government, Mantetsu, fi lm companies, and the mass media, Manei had been criticized from the outset as an extraordinarily inefficient organization. Two years
after its establishment, Mut Tomio, the publicity head of Manchukuos General
Affairs Agency, came to the conclusion that radical surgery was necessary to cure
this bureaucratic patient. After discussing the matter with Kishi Nobusuke, the
Deputy General Director of the agency, it was decided that former Captain Amakasu,
who had just resigned from his position as the General Affairs Director of
Kywakai, would be made Maneis next director.
Rumors that an unofficial decision had been made to appoint Amakasu as
Maneis director apparently led to utter confusion within the organization. Everybody knew Amakasus popular reputation as a terrorist who had massacred
sugi Sakae and others. There were a few remaining questions at his court martial, such as whether he had followed his superiors orders or whether he had been
involved in the murder of young Tachibana. In December 1923, he received a prison
sentence of ten years, and then was released after serving two years and ten months.
After a study tour in France, he ended up in Manchuria as a Japanese civilian and
began collaborating with the Japanese military. In time, he became well known
for his behind-the-scenes influence in Japans continental advancement and the
establishment of Manchukuo. In order to put the deposed Qing Emperor Puyi on
Manchukuos throne, Amakasu was involved in a top secret mission to bring him
from Tianjin to Tanggangzi, camouflaging him as laundry inside a wicker trunk
and having him dress like a coolie inside a hard-seat train compartment, in episodes that could very well have been taken directly from a spy thriller.15 Similarly,
working as a 007-style secret agent, the person credited for getting Puyis wife
Empress Wan Rong out of Tianjin was none other than the Mata Hari of the
Orient, Kawashima Yoshiko.
It was in recognition of his work toward the creation of Manchukuo that former Captain Amakasu had been given the prize of Kywakais General Affairs
Directorship. Even without men like him at Manei, the film company had already
been thought of as an instrument of Japans national policy, advancing Japans colonial enterprise through its cultural activities. And now with Amakasu as director, there was fear that this would give rise to the impression that right-wing militarists had finally taken over the company. Apparently, this personnel development
was the talk of the town, at least in Xinjings Japanese community. The general
reaction was that this was an authoritarian interference into Maneis personnel
affairs by the Japanese military. The common sentiment was something like, No

My Xinjing Years

93

way would I work under a killer! and How dare this most uncivilized of men
ends up taking control over Manchurias most prominent cultural institution!
According to the Reminiscences of the Manchuria Film Association
(Mansh Eiga Kykai no kais)16 of Tsuboi Hitoshi, former director of Maneis
entertainment fi lm division, on the day the appointment of Maneis new director
was announced, Amakasu arrived by car at the entrance to Maneis headquarters on Hongxi Street at 9:05 in the morning. All the other company executives
had yet to arrive for work. Realizing this, Amakasu proceeded to send cars to pick
them up and bring them to headquarters before officially announcing that, beginning the next day, all executives had to report for duty before 9:05 in the morning. This was immediately followed by his order that the managers room next to
the directors office be cleared for a get-to-know-you meeting of all staff above
the rank of section chiefs. My name is Amakasu, the new Manei Director. Glad
to make your acquaintance. And that was all he said.
In contrast, General Manager Yamanashi Minoru, representing all Maneis
staff, greeted Amakasu by saying, It is our honor to welcome you as our director,
sir, someone with such distinguished ser vice toward the creation of Manchukuo.
We are so determined to offer ourselves totally to the ser vice of our company that
we are prepared to bury our bones in Manchuria. To everybodys surprise,
Amakasu replied, I have not performed any distinguished service to Manchukuo
or to anything else. A Japanese should have his bones buried in Japan after he dies.
He spoke so emphatically that his words threw a wet blanket over the enthusiasm
of the entire staff. Tsubois reaction was that Yamanashis comments were really
nothing out of the ordinary and that every general manager in a Japanese company would probably have said more or less the same thing.
Yet Yamanashi was immediately demoted and returned to Japan early the following year. As to why he had incurred such wrath from Amakasu, Tsuboi gave
several reasons. First, Amakasu knew already that Yamanashi had been opposed
to his appointment as director. Now this about-face on Yamanashis part to be his
henchman infuriated the new executive. Amakasu was particularly offended to
be described as a man of distinguished ser vice to the establishment of Manchukuo, and to be again called as such on that occasion irritated him. Another reason Tsuboi gave had to do with Yamanashis ineptitude in allowing Kawakita Nagamasa from Twa Trading Company (Twa Shji) to snatch away monopoly rights
from Manei to import Festival of the People and Festival of Beauty, two parts of a
German documentary fi lm on the Olympics.17
In any case, within a period of two weeks, the new director initiated personnel changes and ordered that staff salary and other working conditions be improved
to bring them on par with those in other national-policy companies. This was what
he said: Li Xianglans monthly salary is two hundred and fift y yen, while Li Ming

94

Chapter 6

gets only forty-five. Thats too much of a difference. Lets raise hers to about two
hundred yen. Currently, actors on the lower rung get eighteen yen a month. How
can one survive with that kind of pay? At least we have to raise it to the current Li
Ming level of forty-five yen. If you pay people more, they will work hard for you.
I was totally in favor of this salary boost. With this in view, I was able to inquire with no hesitation in the course of our daily conversations what the monthly
pay was for my Chinese colleagues. One time, upon seeing the scriptwriter
Hasegawa Shun wearing tattered, mud-splattered shoes, Amakasu immediately
told the personnel chief to supply him with a new pair.18 Another time, Amakasu
was infuriated when he found out that Manei actresses had been asked to serve
wine for Japanese and Manchurian dignitaries at a banquet held at the residence
of Xinjings mayor. Insisting that actresses are not geishas but artists, he demanded
that the mayor host another banquet, this time to express his gratitude to Maneis
actresses who would be his guests of honor. Under the directors order, I, too, was
asked on multiple occasions to entertain important guests locally and from afar,
but at no time was I forced to serve as a wine pourer. On the contrary, I was introduced as the pride of Manei.
On another occasion, Amakasu used his own money to host an elaborate banquet at the Yamato Hotel to which all Manei actors were invited. This time, he
conducted himself totally differently from his usual expressionless self. As host,
the man was charming and engaging, helping actresses take off their fur coats and
even admonishing other more aloof directors and section chiefs for not doing the
same for our guests. As long as he was behaving like this, his image as a terrorist seemed to fade away, and an increasing number of Manei staff actually became fans of this slight, taciturn former military man. That was not all. We even
heard people resolutely telling stories about his innocence, that it was another party
in the military who had killed sugi Sakae and others, while Captain Amakasu
alone took the blame for the crime.
Since it was quite rare for an actor to be called into the directors office, I did
not particularly socialize with Amakasu even though he turned out to be a member of my fan club. I have forgotten what had prompted this fan club to arise,
but I do remember that luminaries in Xinjings financial and political world had
created something called Support Society for Li Xianglan. Its president was Lieutenant General Yoshioka Yasunao, a staff officer of the Kwantung Army and an
advisor to the court of Emperor Puyi. I cannot remember all the names of the other
members, but according to the recollections of Yukiko, Yoshiokas oldest daughter, they included General Affairs Director Hoshino Naoki, Deputy Director Furumi Tadayuki, Deputy Director of General Affairs Agency Kishi Nobusuke, and
President of Manchurian Development Bank Okada Makoto. In addition, there

My Xinjing Years

95

were other figures from the financial world such as Takasaki Tatsunosuke and
Aikawa Yoshisuke.
One night, a regular gathering was held at a high-class Japanese restaurant
where everybody was having a good time singing in unison. Without any prior
notice, Amakasu showed up and somewhat bashfully joined us for drinks. When
it was time to say goodbye, he gave me a somewhat embarrassed grin and said,
Now I too have joined your fan club, yes, yours truly.
Amakasu lived in a suite at the Yamato Hotel in front of Xinjing Station, and
one winter, a cold forced him to stay in bed for about a week. During that time, I
occasionally stayed with the Yoshioka family, and each morning I would visit him
at the hotel with Yukiko bearing some Japanese-style rice porridge we made. He
would rise from his bed, scratching his head with his usual embarrassed look and
say, Oh, you shouldnt have bothered! In me, he evoked the immediate image of
a bashful man with that signature shy smile of his, but he had other aspects to his
character as well.
He was a very heavy drinker and consumed as much as a bottle of whisky a
day. I was told that there was an endless supply of Scotch whisky delivered to him
from a certain agency in the south. Once he had the days work behind him, he
would invariably indulge in his favorite habit as if he were trying to forget everything that had just happened, along with bits and pieces of his past as well. I couldnt
help thinking that intoxication was his way of securing a certain sense of equilibrium during the rest of his living hours. Meanwhile, this dreaded terrorist, a man
perceived to be the instigator of both the murder of sugi Sakae and Japans continental conspiracy, was quietly transforming himself into the father of Manei.
While it was true that Maneis official task was to make national-policy fi lms
to promote Japanese-Manchurian Friendship and Cooperation and Harmony
among the Five Races, the continental trilogy and other films I made with Japans
private companies were by far more blatant in championing Japans national
agenda. In depicting China, the people at Manei did view it as its own land inhabited by people like themselves, but the attitude of Japanese films was more akin
to that of the police officer I encountered at Shimonoseki harbor. The Xinjing studio strived to make films to cater to Chinese tastes, even though their efforts might
not have succeeded at every turn. Of course, it did produce contemporary dramas, or shizhuang pian, with a strong pro-Japanese flavor, but at the same time it
also came up with a number of celebrated period films, or guzhuang pian, such
as The Great Duel (Longzheng hudou) and Rouge (Yanzhi) that aimed to provide
pure entertainment to the Chinese public. Additionally, Manei also experimented
in turning distinguished Beijing opera pieces such as Spring in the Jade Hall
(Yutangchun) and Little Cowherd (Xiaofangniu) into films.

96

Chapter 6

All these films had been conceived in accordance with the principle Amakasu
established. He was quoted in the August 1942 issue of Eiga Jump as saying:
What the nation demands today is for us to provide entertainment to the public
through films. To accomplish this, we must immerse ourselves in the making of
films that will captivate the interests of the Manchurian people.
Amakasu abolished censorship at the publicity office and worked toward a
reformed system whereby the planning and production of fi lms could be accomplished on Maneis own initiative. At the same time, he expanded Maneis associated businesses by leaps and bounds. For instance, he actively invited Kabuki,
operatic, musical, and art groups from Japan to perform in various locations in
Manchuria, and he supported the Datong Troupe in an attempt to develop a new
theater there.19 He also established the Xinjing Music Group and organized regular concerts in various locations. Another initiative involved inviting the conductor Asahina Takashi, the violinist Tsuji Hisako, and the vocalist Sait Aiko for
frequent recitals and special per formances. I, too, participated many times on
such occasions.
Amakasu also went on to establish Huabei Dianying (North China Films)
in Beijing with Maneis capital investment and Zhonghua Dianying (China Films)
in Shanghai with tripartite funding support from the Nanjing government, Manei,
and Japanese fi lm companies. For the latter, he invited Kawakita Nagamasa from
Twa Trading Company to be its vice directorwhich amounted to his being de
facto director. The films made by Zhonghua Dianying catered to the Chinese audience without much propagandistic slant in favor of Japanese national policy. I,
too, appeared in one of its films, Glory to Eternity.20
Hoping to encourage serious film studies, Amakasu established the Scientific
Institute for Film Studies (Eiga Kagaku Kenkyjo) headed by the fi lm director
Kimura Sotoji.21 Perhaps he was dreaming eventually of creating some sort of a
Manei cartel in expanding the scope of his many ventures. These included the
creation of the General Film Agency, Manchurian Technical Sound, Manchurian
Everlasting Industries, Manchurian Record Disks Supplies, and the Manchuria
Journal. The recruitment of talented personnel to the company was also one of
Amakasus contributions; the list included renowned, progressive fi lm directors
such as Suzuki Shigekichi, along with Uchida Tomu, and Kat Tai, a man who
specialized in making science films (kagaku eiga).22 He also recruited the scriptwriters Yagi Yasutar and Matsuura Takeo, as well as Sugiyama Khei, who was
to become a cameraman of international fame and the winner of many postwar
awards. A rather peculiar recruitment was the famous Kei baseball pitcher
Hamazaki Shinji, a major player in intercollegiate games and the future manager
of the Hanky Braves, who was invited to come to Manchuria to help promote
sports among the Manei staff.

My Xinjing Years

97

The Chinese continent was a new haven for Manchurian vagabond adventurers such as Amakasu and men like him who found themselves displaced from
Japans right-wing militarist establishment. That said, along with the Mantetsus
Research Division (Mantetsu Chsabu), Manei was sufficiently open-minded to
go beyond ideological divides and welcome artists from the leftist camp as well.
In addition to those already mentioned, artists who came to Manei included the
scriptwriter Hara Kenichir and tsuka Ysh, the man responsible for staging
fi lm screenings on revolving locations. Having spent ten years in prison for his
involvement in the mori Gang Incident,23 tsuka was able to work under the
protection of Amakasu. And then there was the progressive fi lm critic Iwasaki
Akira, a part-time employee of Maneis Tokyo branch office under the recommendation of Director Negishi Kanichi. In time, he was promoted to Assistant
General Manager to assist Shigeki Kyhei, who was president of the branch office.
Later, unable to suppress his passion for making films, Iwasaki ended up producing
Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, 1942) and My Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu, 1943)
for Manei,24 in both of which I played the leading role.
Amakasu managed the affairs of Manei with masterly shrewdness and, with
his many accomplishments, was able to earn the respect of the staff. But I knew
that much credit should go to his able assistant, Principal Director Negishi Kanichi.
If Amakasu reminded one of Oda Nobunaga on account of his temperament as a
terrorist and a militarist, the liberal humanist Negishi was reminiscent of Toyotomi Hideyoshi who served under Nobunaga. The broad outlines for Maneis initiatives toward personnel appointments, organizational reforms, and film policies were hammered out by Negishi before they were actively implemented
through Amakasus political savvy. It was only due to the intimate collaboration
of the two that the management of Manei went so smoothly. This was not my
impression at the time, but the conclusion I reached after recently indulging myself in reminiscences with those connected with Manei. But after the spring 1945
departure of Negishi, the Mother of Manei, to recuperate from an illness, even
the Father of Manei was apparently quite depressed. Perhaps his unique analytical powers and his grasp of information gave him a sense of the tragedy the
Pacific War was about to unleash. Negishis successor was former Director Wada
Hidekichi, who was promoted to Principal Director.

CHAPTER 7

The Days of
The Suzhou Serenade

With its appetite whetted after the big commercial success of

Song of the White Orchid, Th went on to make China Nights (Shina no yoru with
sequel, directed by Fushimizu Osamu, June 1940), followed by Pledge in the Desert (Nessa no chikai with sequel, directed by Watanabe Kunio, December 1940).
In spare moments between the fi lms, I also made an appearance in The Monkeys
Journey to the West (Songok with sequel, November 1940, starring Enomoto
Kenichi).1 My involvement in those films kept me away from Manei at the time.
Shanghai was the setting for China Nights in which I was a Chinese war orphan rescued by a sailor played by Hasegawa Kazuo, while Beijing provided the
setting for Pledge in the Desert, the story of a transnational romance between a
Japanese civil engineer and a young Chinese woman studying vocal music in Japan.
Each of the films comprising the continental trilogy depicts a love story between
a young Japanese man and a Manchurian woman whose relationship is complicated by Chinese resistance forces. At the end of the turbulent storm, a happy ending awaits the young lovers. Made to justify Japans continental adventures, these
staple melodramas were big hits at the time.2
Beyond the fi lms considerable commercial success, China Nights contains
many episodes reflecting the contemporary social and political scene. For me in
par ticular, China Nights in many ways brings back various deep-seated memories; it was precisely the film that had put me under suspicion of being a hanjian,
that is, a traitor to ones own country.3 Looking back, I feel embarrassed that I
was so ignorant about the larger world.
Just as China Nights was being fi lmed, the Ministry of the Interior issued an
official ban on the use of enemy words and disrespectful vocabulary. The actor Fujiwara Kamatari was condemned by the authorities for having the audacity
to disgrace the name of Fujiwara no Kamatari, a figure in Japans national history (kokushi), and ordered to have his name changed.4 This was also a time when
foreign loan words like baiorin (violin), kurarinetto (clarinet), handoru (handle),
and purogoruf (pro-golfer) had to be replaced by more proper counterparts rep-

98

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

99

resented in kanji compoundsteikin, tatebue, sk temba, daky senshi, respectively. Among popular performers, the singer Dick Mine had to rename himself
Mine Kichi.5
China Nights was released in China as well, but when the screening took place
in areas where the Chinese lived,6 the title was changed to Shanghai Nights (Shanhai no yoru). As one might expect, that artificial window-dressing did not succeed in making the fi lm any more publicly palatable. Quite the contrary, the attempt apparently invited even more ridicule.
The most unforgettable scene in the fi lm is when Guilan, the young Chinese
girl played by Li Xianglan, is slapped across the face by the Japanese sailor Hase
Tetsuo played by Hasegawa Kazuo. That was the first time in my life that somebody actually struck me, and the experience was traumatic.
With the loss of her parents during the war and her house burned down, Guilan
hates the Japanese. At one point, she finds herself bullied by a Japanese drunkard
on a Shanghai street, only to be rescued by Hase, who, realizing that she has no
family, takes her to a hotel and entrusts her to the care of the proprietress there.
The young girl is then shoved into a bath and given a change of clothinga mans
oversized pajamas. When Guilan emerges in her new outfit with the dirt on her
face washed away, her appearance has changed beyond all recognition. Staring angrily at Hase and baring her teeth like an enraged beast, she starts a rampage with
curses in Chinese despite the kindness the proprietress and the other hotel residents had shown her. When this harangue continues, Hase, at the end of his wits,
slaps Guilans face hard, saying, Wake up! How long are you going to keep on
with your stubborn behavior?
I cant tell you how much the slapping hurt! I realized from that experience
that one could indeed see stars breaking out before ones eyes. The ringing in my
ears rendered every sound mute around me. Meanwhile, the camera was still running, and I realized that my acting had to continue. While I had a hard time remembering my original lines, somehow I managed to utter something that meshed
with the general flow of the scene. After the scene was finished, Hasegawa apologized profusely, saying that in the heat of the moment he had actually slapped me
in earnest.
The physical pain is not the only reason why I remember this scene shot some
forty years ago. This episode remains unforgettable to this day because it later
became a matter of contention during my hanjian trial. Additionally, the scene
indicated how differently the Japanese and the Chinese customarily looked at
such interactions.
In prewar Japan, a man striking a woman could also be seen as expressing
his love for her. On stage as well as in fi lms, the abused woman, impressed by the
perpetrators strong masculinity and grateful for his sentiments, would frequently

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Chapter 7

come to cherish reawakened feelings of love for the man. Yet this representation was something peculiar to Japanese sensibilities. No controversy would have
arisen if Hasegawa Kazuo had slapped a Japanese woman played by Yamaguchi
Yoshiko, and if the audience watching had been Japanese. But the fact of the matter
is that in China Nights, a Japa nese man strikes a young Chinese woman played
by Li Xianglan, and it was the Chinese audience who raised questions about
what they saw.
In Chinese eyes, the idea of a woman falling for a man after he had abused
her constituted humiliation twice over. Moreover, the Chinese audience saw this
scene in the context of what was then happening in Sino-Japanese relations between the victim and the aggressor. Far from being moved by the expression of
love in the way the Japanese were, the Chinese were goaded into greater hatred
for the Japanese by their action which further inflamed the resistance. Hence the
effect of the fi lm was exactly the opposite of its intended propagandist goal.
The title China Nights was changed when it was screened in Shanghais Japanese quarters of Hongkuo, but the fi lm was not shown in the best theaters on
Jingansi Road, an area comparable to New Yorks Broadway district. The Roxy
(Daihua) Theater on Jingansi Road adjoining Nanjing Road, Shanghais busiest
downtown area, was the only cinema specializing in Japanese films, but even there,
not only was China Nights never put on screen, but not a single Japanese film belonging to the same genre as the continental trilogy was shown, let alone the
trilogy itself. Working at the time as a film censor for the armys Press Division
in Shanghai, the fi lm critic Tsuji Hisaichi observed in Topics on the History of
Chinese Film7 that
Chinese characters, male and female, are manufactured to fit the convenience
of the Japanese point of view. To state the matter in extreme terms, they are
like lifeless dolls. Even if there had been no desire whatsoever to humiliate the
Chinese people, the inability to portray real living Chinese charactersin essence, their innermost selvesmanaged only to evoke displeasure and disgust among the Chinese.

I suppose the commercial success of the continental trilogy within Japan

could be attributed to the countrys rising continental boom at the time. Another
related factor, I thought, was that the theme song for each of those films turned
out to be as big a hit as the fi lm itself. In fact, their stale story lines notwithstanding, the fi lms background music played out against romantic scenes or picturesque landscapes was quite effective in heightening the dramatic fervor and in embellishing the atmosphere associated with celebrated cultural or historical sites.

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

101

The Song of the White Orchid has two theme songs, one with the same title as
the film and the other called That Lovely Star (Itoshi ano hoshi).8 The music director was Hattori Ryichi. Unlike popular songs in Japan, their melodies were
fashionably modern with a sort of exotic, continental flavor. The recording vocalist for That Lovely Star was Watanabe Hamako, while I did the singing in the
fi lm itself. Beginning with The Honeymoon Express, I sang virtually all the songs
in the films, but when they were later released as records, many of them were sung
by other people.
To give an example, a song called China Nights (Shina no yoru) had appeared before the fi lm and become a recording hit with Watanabe Hamako as the
vocalist. After making Song of the White Orchid, Th decided to use it as the theme
song for the next film featuring the Hasegawa KazuoLi Xianglan duo. After I sang
the song in the fi lm, Watanabes records enjoyed even greater sales; that was the
kind of symbiotic relationship that developed between the film and the record industry. The intricacy of this relationship led to some confusion as to who exactly
the original singer was. The same ripple effects could also be seen with other
fi lms and amongst other singers. In the course of performing various songs while
entertaining troops at the front, my own repertoire of signature songs with Chinese melodies also grew in time.
I was lucky to have a big star like Hasegawa Kazuo as my acting instructor
during my debut. As the singer of the theme songs for those two films, I was able
to launch my career as a vocalist as well. For this, I had the good fortune of making the acquaintance of the wonderful composer Hattori Ryichi, a student of harmonics and composition under the Russian conductor Emmanuel Metter from
the Kyoto University Symphonic Orchestra. Among Hattoris classmates was Asahina Takashi, currently President of the Japan Conductors Association.9 A saxophone player with the Central Osaka Broadcasting Philharmonic Orchestra while
studying classic jazz after the style of George Gershwin, Hattori became a pioneer of contemporary new music. In the area of film scores, I was much indebted
to him for teaching me elegant and nuanced techniques to perform popular songs
that he picked specifically to fit my own style.
The lyrics of Hattoris composition That Lovely Star on the B side of the record Song of the White Orchid goes as follows:
The horse carriage runs on,
Into the evening breezes and the green willows.
Soft ly I whisper:
Forlorn though I may be
My feelings will never change.

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Chapter 7

With its brisk tempo and unique continental flavor, this song ended up becoming a greater hit than the one on the A side.
There were three theme songs for China Nights: China Nights and Longing for Brother (Skeifu) were composed by Takeoka Nobuyuki with lyrics by
Saij Yaso, while The Suzhou Serenade (Sosh yakyoku) was composed by
Hattori Ryichi with lyrics by Saij. I sang all the songs in the fi lm, and Watanabe
Hamako was the vocalist for their record versions. Song of Construction
(Kensetsu no uta) and Red Water Lilies (Akai suiren), the two theme songs in
Pledge in the Desert, the third fi lm in the continental trilogy, were composed by
Koga Masao with lyrics by Saij Yaso.10 The former was sung by It Hisao, while
for the first time I did the singing for both the film and the record versions of Red
Water Lilies. Its lyrics are:
City lights glimmer,
In the flower capital of Beijing.
The Chinese maiden dreams,
With cotton roses scattering
Before the window sill,
As she awaits her love,
Nine roses followed by one wish.
So went the Koga melody imbued with deeply romantic sentiments evocative of
Chinese sensibilities. It contrasts with Song of Construction, with its masculine tenor, as illustrated in the lyrics of the second half of the song:
The flowers may differ
Yet our sentiments converge.
What I await in earnest,
Is the coming dawn
When the flower of Asia blooms!
That was how Japanese-Manchurian friendship was being celebrated. The Japanese
might have been favorably disposed toward the pure innocence of the Chinese
maiden with her single-minded yearnings. In China, on the contrary, that representation only provoked resentment.
Red Water Lilies was first called The Lights of Beijing (Pekin no tomoshibi); the change was made immediately before the records went on sale. While
Beijing was the setting for Pledge in the Desert, apparently its composer, Koga
Masao, was inspired by Hangzhous enchanting West Lake (Xihu), a landscape
quintessentially reminiscent of a Southern Schoolstyle painting (nanhua).11 Koga

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

103

had visited the spot on his trip to Shanghai around 1935. Saij Yaso finished his lyrics for the song on August 8, 1940, and I recorded it on August 21. In just two weeks,
Koga composed and arranged the music based on the image he had held in his
mind for five years. Along with the extraordinary speed with which Watanabe
Kunio directed his films, Kogas feat became the subject of much talk at the time.
In 1939, I made my debut as a recording vocalist with Teichikus Farewell
Shanghai (Saraba Shanhai), composed by Koga with lyrics by Shigure Otowa. It
was created in 1932 as the theme song for the film Shanghai starring kchi
Denjir and Hanai Ranko. Seki Taneko was the first recording vocalist when the
song came out from Columbia Recordings. Later Teichiku changed its title to Farewell Shanghai with me as the vocalist as it tried, without much success, to ride the
wave of the Shanghai boom at the time with such numbers as The Moon over
the Garden Bridge, News from Shanghai, The Shanghai Flower Girl, Shanghai
Blues, On a Shanghai Street, and Shanghai Rill.12 I sang a few more songs for
Teichiku, but none of them became a hit until I switched to Columbia and recorded Red Water Lilies.
Thanks to the success of the continental trilogy and their accompanying
recordings, military songs and Chinese melodies were becoming fashionable. Most
popu lar among them were When Will You Return? (Heri jun zai lai) and The
Suzhou Serenade. Those two numbers became Watanabe Hamakos and my
signature songs, followed by The Evening Primrose (Yelaixiang).
While When Will You Return? became a hit after it was performed by the
then-popular Chinese actress Zhou Xuan,13 it became a hit in Japan after the recording by Watanabe Hamako in August 1939. The original composer and lyricist
were said to be Yan Ru and Bei Lin, respectively.14 Its title was translated by the
poet Nagata Tsuneo into Japanese as Itsu no hi kimi kuru ya, along with a new
set of Japanese lyrics. The arrangement was by Niki Takio, and the vocalist was
Matsudaira Akira. While that version was the first made in Japan, a female vocalist would probably have been more fitting considering both the lyrics and melody:
Fleeting is the blossom of splendid flowers;
Transient is the fate of flourishing fortunes.
Heaps of sorrow shroud smiles of coquetry;
Tears of longing moisten heartstrings of love.
After our farewell tonight,
When will you come again?
Finish this glass,
Then have some delicacies.
Seldom does life present such moments of intoxicated bliss;
Do you still hesitate to embrace this pleasure?

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Chapter 7

Now, come now, come

Not another word until you empty your glass!
After our farewell tonight,
When will you come again?
I, too, was very fond of the original song and performed it on many occasions.
With Watanabes success in mind, Teichiku had me do the recording and put it
on the market the following year. Following Watanabes Japanese version, I also
made a recording of it in Chinese. The songs popularity was short-lived, however,
as both its Japanese and Chinese versions were banned. The reason given by the
censors was that such an effeminate song celebrating free love from a foreign country would surely corrupt public morals. From that time on, Japanese censorship
became increasingly severe.
On the subject of censorship, I wish to digress a little to comment on the famous case concerning Hattori Ryichis composition Farewell Blues (Wakare
no bursu).15 The reason for its ban was attributed to its unpatriotic and decadent
music that threatens to demoralize Japans fighting spirit. Hattori himself often
spoke to me about the efforts he had devoted to its composition, along with various episodes surrounding its creation. The singer Awaya Noriko turned it into a
great hit, and the number was a par ticu lar favorite among Japanese troops stationed on the Chinese continent. Soldiers often requested the song when I entertained them at the frontlines, making it a piece I will never forget.
Hoping that the lyrics would reflect the weeping sense of sorrow residing deep
in the Japanese, Hattori asked the lyricist Fujiura K to visit a red-light hangout
in Yokohamas Honmoku District frequented by Westerners; the idea was for him
to acquire some on-site experience about the wistful ambience around the harbor area. A few days later, Fujiura returned with just one line in his notes, and it
read Opening the window, and the harbor came into view. Running his fi ngers through his disheveled hair, Fujiura said, Well, how would you, my friend,
carry on after that? Hattori thundered, What you have for me is just a clich
from a crude love song! Its like saying when a dog looks toward the west, its tail
wags at the east! Thereupon, Fujiura, with a showmans flair, came up with the
phrase With the pier lights of foreign vessels. Instantly inspired, Hattori conjured up fresh images for his composition, chanting repeatedly to himself that
his piece would resemble neither American blues nor a popular song. That apparently was how he finally crafted his melodys sorrowful low-pitched prelude.
Farewell Blues was released in July 1937, just before the Lugouqiao Incident,
which would spread the flames of war across the entire Chinese continent. For
that reason, even though Columbia Recordings had been anxiously anticipating
its release, it found itself in a bind as it could not very well launch an aggressive

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

105

campaign for a song with such a decadent mood. Despite the absence of any publicity to speak of, Japanese soldiers in China began singing the song, one that reminded them foremost of their homeland.
Opening the window,
And the harbor came into view,
With the pier lights of foreign vessels.
Where will you be heading this time,
Riding the squall of love,
And the evening wind and the waves,
With your grieving heart and ill-fated love,
Along with the sorrowful notes of the blues?
The soldiers trekked from the battlefields to other towns, and from towns to seaports before they crossed the ocean and landed back in Japan. As the song gained
popularity on Japanese soil, from Shimonoseki and Kobe to Osaka and Nagoya,
its records reportedly sold at a rate of fift y thousand copies a day. A rendition by
the chorus of the Hankou troops, in their sweat- and tear-streaked faces, was broadcasted throughout Japan on NHKs radio waves, marking the first time Farewell
Blues was heard on the air.
As time passed, the song was banned, along with When Will You Return?
and others. According to Awaya Noriko, it was the most frequently requested number when she entertained troops on the Chinese front. Finding it impossible to go
against the soldiers ardent wishes, she proceeded to sing the song, realizing every
time she did so that she might risk arrest by the Japanese military police. Once she
started singing, the supervising officers would either pretend to doze off, or leave
the scene as if they had suddenly thought of something else to attend to. A dead
silence would fall upon the remaining troops as Awaya began to sing from deep
within her heart. After her performance, she herself would suppress her stirring
emotions as she rushed out into the hallway outside. There she would find the
officers still hanging around with tears brimming in their eyes, the same officers
who supposedly had had the good sense earlier to make themselves disappear.
When I met Hattori in 1985, he shared with me his reminiscences about those
prewar days. Among his many celebrated compositions, including Farewell Blues
and The Lakeside Lodge (Kohan no yado), he told me that he himself was most
fond of The Suzhou Serenade. It was, in his words, the song into which I poured
my heart and soul for the sake of Li Xianglan on director Fushimizu Osamus
request.
For the sake of Li Xianglanthose words again moved me deeply. While
China Nights brought distasteful memories when I was reminded how it had been

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Chapter 7

manipulated as an instrument for aggression, the wonderful film music did evoke
positive thoughts. Such contradictory memories have made China Nights an unforgettable film for me.
Director Fushimizu Osamu was remembered for his unique expertise in producing light-hearted musicals such as The Singing Yaji and Kita (Utau Yajikita), The
World with Songs (Uta no yo no naka), and Tokyo Rhapsody (Tokyo Rapusod), all
released in 1936, as well as The Elegant Singing Troupe (Fry enkatai, 1937), Chorus
of the Century (Seiki no gassh, 1938), and others. A good piano player himself, he
was a young director showing great promise to excel in the production of musicals,
a fi lm genre many people regarded as difficult to nurture in Japan.
The popularity of China Nights as evidenced in its record sales convinced Th
to make a film using the same name, and the company specially picked Fushimizu to be its director because of his musical talents. Since the Hasegawa KazuoLi
Xianglan duo had been gaining critical acclaim for their appearance in Song of
the White Orchid, likewise a fi lm with a continental setting, Th decided to use
the same cast in their new venture. Fushimizu quickly requested that Hattori compose the music for the fi lm, and the latter immediately agreed, saying that he already had something in mind after his trip to Shanghai.
Hattori had gone to Shanghai on his first trip abroad, accompanying popular singers and actors of the time, including Matsudaira Akira, It Hisao, Kamiyama Sjin, Akasaka Koume, and Watanabe Hamako. For four months he traveled to various places in China as a member of the Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbum
delegation to visit the Imperial Japanese troops. Among his traveling companions,
Hattori alone was neither a singer nor an actor, and he joined the group as a saxophone player, thanks to skills he had acquired earlier. Before going to China, he
had never been to a foreign country. While he had wanted very much to experience for himself the authentic music of the land, the war made it virtually impossible for a composer like him to realize his wishes. When he got wind that a delegation was about to be sent to Shanghai to visit troops, he passed himself off as
a saxophone player so that he could participate.
Shanghai in the 1930s was the music mecca where the flowers of European
and American jazz blossomed all at once. Even though the city was ravaged by
war, it was still an international metropolis where the essential elements from all
genres of Eastern and Western cultural expressions manifested themselves in crossfertilizing radiance. In the international and the French concessions, not only were
the buildings authentically Western, so was everything else: languages, lifestyles,
social customs, fashions, and music. Above all, the 1930s was a time when jazz
music was truly epoch-making. Just as the fi lm Shanghai Rhapsody (Shanhai bansukingu, [1984]) depicts, Shanghai was the dream city for Japanese jazz players longing for the real thing.16 Reflecting nostalgically on his experiences half a century

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

107

later, Hattori heaved a sentimental sigh as he said, That was my first time to be
exposed to European and American music. I was also able to learn about the richness of Chinese traditional music of which I had been completely ignorant. He
continued, After returning from Shanghai, I accepted the request [to compose
for China Nights] only because Mizu-san [that is, director Fushimizu] asked me.
I had also been thinking of writing some music that would allow the talents of Li
Xianglan to flourish after she finished fi lming Song of the White Orchid. At the
time, Saij Yasos lyrics for The Suzhou Serenade had already been written. In
one burst of energy, I came up with the melody, which was inspired by the Chinese music that I had heard during my travels there, and then tied everything up
by styling it after a sweet American love song.
With deft arrangement of the cornet and violin at the interludes, thereby accentuating the effects of its Chinese-inspired melody without tarnishing the acoustic tradition of the Chinese bowed-string instruments, The Suzhou Serenade was
well-received by its audience. Meanwhile, the melody came to be known in Europe and the United States as China Baby in My Arms. Hattori went on to say,
Although the name of the song has to do with Suzhou, I was really inspired by
the image I had of [Hangzhous] West Lake. On the other hand, if I hadnt even
laid my eyes on Suzhou itself, the sticker label would have been phony. So during
my next trip to Shanghai, I went sightseeing in Suzhou and visited the Frosty Mountain Temple [Hanshansi]. Just like its name, the temple had quite a bleak feel about
it, and while the scenery was beautiful, the place was desolate. On top of that, there
were no more Suzhou beauties to be seen. Because of the war, I suppose they had
all escaped deep into the mountains.17 Likewise, when Koga Masao wrote his
theme song depicting the Beijing scene for Red Water Lilies, he apparently also
had West Lake in mind at the time.
I myself have visited West Lakes Zhongshan Park any number of times. This
beautiful lake is surrounded on three sides by small green islands with flowers
blooming in profusion along its waterfront. It was so named due to its location to
the west of old Hangzhou city. The lake is divided into three areas by the Su Di
and the Bai Di causeways. The vicinity around Solitary Hill (Gushan) at the center
of Bai Di Causeway and a spot in the middle of the lake known as Three Ponds
Mirroring the Moon (Santan Yinyue) are the most scenic sights. During their
tenures as government officials in the region, the two great poets Bai Juyi and Su
Dongpo left a number of works praising the lakes beauty, and its causeways were
named in their honor.
In your arms,
Dreamily I listened to
The songs from the boats,

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Chapter 7

And the singing of the birds.

As spring blossoms scattered,
Along the waterfronts of Suzhou,
The willows gently wept,
As if unable to bear the sight.
Still quite sensitive about how the song was performed at the time, Hattori
thought it was a travesty that the line the singing of the birds (tori no uta) had
been altered sometime after the war to the singing of love songs (koi no uta).
He told me that the latter version only diminished the rich evocativeness of the
lyrics. People might say that I am blowing my own horn, but the arrangement of
the melody makes it neither an indigenous Chinese nor a Japanese tune. It has an
appetizingly Western feel to it, but its still an Oriental melody, wouldnt you agree?
Speaking as the composer himself, I, too, find this mixture of Japanese, American, and Chinese elements simply irresistible!
A big fan of the melody, Director Fushimizu had the song arranged in various styles and the music played for over ten minutes in the last romantic scene
until the words announcing the fi lms end appeared on screen. Shooting the last
scene was rather stress-free: all Hasegawa and I had to do was stroll arm in arm
on the location set. In some shots, we held hands, looked at each others face,
smiled, and then I would cast down my eyes in a moment of coquettish shyness.
That was my acting. Following the movement of the camera, we strolled happily around a temple, a tower gate, a small waterway, a bridge, and a park.
The recording of The Suzhou Serenade was performed by Kirishima Noboru
and Watanabe Hamako before the record went on sale concurrent with the fi lms
release, and the discs were quickly sold out. After the war, some intelligence officers of the American Occupation army came to visit me when I was staying as a
guest in Kawakita Nagamasas Kamakura residence. No sooner did one of them
take a look at my face than he yelled, Hey! Ms. Keiran! and asked to shake my
hand. Keiran was the Japanese rendering of Guilan, the name of the young
Chinese woman I played in China Nights.
Working for the Defense and the State departments, those intelligence officers were intellectual types who had graduated from universities such as Harvard
and Columbia. During the war, the Japan Division of the State Department had
recruited officers for intensive short-term training in the enemys language to prepare them to learn about the conditions of their war time adversary. Apparently,
Japanese fi lms were used as teaching materials to acquaint students not only with
the language, but also with Japanese customs and ways of thinking in specific situations; the idea was that it was quicker to learn this way than to have students
read the famous The Chrysanthemum and the Sword by the cultural anthropolo-

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

109

gist Ruth Benedict. Among the films they had chosen was China Nights, not merely
because it was a big hit. I suppose it was deemed good teaching material as it
allowed students to learn about Japanese culture and patterns of behavior by
watching such telling scenes as the one in which I was slapped by Hasegawa Kazuo.
Viewing the fi lm over and over again, those intelligence officers would familiarize themselves with the language and the Japanese people by memorizing the
fi lm script. The Japanese government, on the other hand, had a radically different approach, going as far as banning enemy vocabulary such as baseball and
the like.
Those Americans had watched the fi lm with keen attention. A Harvard man
expressed his amazement that I didnt stumble running across the burned-down
wasteland wearing high heels. A Columbia graduate surprised me with his close
attention to details when he surmised how challenging it must have been to film
the scene toward the end in which Guilan attempts suicide by slowly submerging
her body into a Suzhou creek. In fact, that par ticular scene was fi lmed not in
Suzhou, but on location in Inbanuma in Japans Chiba Prefecture, a place chosen
for its proximity to Tokyo and its similarity to Suzhous wetland topography. Indeed, the atmosphere of the place brought to mind Suzhous seemingly crystalclear waters and its reedy marshes, but only I knew from bitter experience how
different the place was from Suzhous riverbanks.
I walked from the edge of the swamp toward the pond, and as my feet sank
little by little into the water, the leeches of Inbanuma began to attach themselves
to my legs. I suppose I had them to thank if I had successfully translated my physical itch and pain into an expression of anguish on the part of the despondent
suicidal woman I was playing. Just before my character was about to be drowned,
Hasegawa rushed to her rescue, and the melodrama concluded with a happy ending, something we had already finished fi lming in Suzhou. With the sweet music
of The Suzhou Serenade in the background, the two of us embraced and then
walked away from the scene. I suppose some spectators must have been quite
amazed as they watched, as the cape I was wearing was completely dry without
even the tiniest drop of water dripping from it!
Hattori, a very congenial friend of Fushimizus, was later asked to be the musical director for such fi lms as The Vigor of Youth (Seishun no kiry [1942]). Fushimizu, on the other hand, was an impressionable young man with an already weak
constitution before he contracted tuberculosis and passed away in July 1942. His
funeral was held at the recording facility of Ths Kinuta Studio, a fitting venue
for a music-loving fi lm director. Needless to say, Hattori was the man responsible
for the music on that occasion, and he conducted an orchestra playing instruments
with muted strings. The number they played was The Suzhou Serenade, by far
Fushimizus favorite piece.

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Chapter 7

Incidentally, Iwasaki Akira also registered his impressions upon hearing The
Suzhou Serenade, in his book A Personal History of Japanese Film (Nihon eiga
shishi, 1977).18 When I first met him, he had just been released from jail after being arrested for his opposition to government legislation aimed at the fi lm industry. A year later, he was again arrested for his involvement with the Society for
the Study of Materialism (Yuibutsuron Kenkykai), an incident that landed him
in prison for about eight months. The essay from which I quote below is a sort of
prison diary reflecting on his experiences at the time:
One early evening, a song managed to waft its way into our prison cell; it must
have come from a radio in a house somewhere. . . . The tempo was quite slow,
so much so that if it had become any slower, the singing would likely have gotten out of tune. The voice belonged to that of a young woman, and it was the
first time I heard the song. A hushed silence quickly fell upon the entire cell
as I listened to it intently. The intonation in her voice and the way she carried
the melody suggested a Chinese flavor as the singing became more and more
alluring along with her long drawn-out notes. Violent and vulgar men though
they were, prisoners with stubbly faces all listened with their eyes closed; one
could even see tears streaming down some of their faces. . . . Something strange
had happened to all those intimidating and filthy characters. Meanwhile, we
were all dreaming of a world far away as our bygone memories began to stir
up bittersweet emotions within us. Even after the song ended, for a while no
one spoke a word.
That was how I first heard The Suzhou Serenade. While I was cooped
up in my cell for more than half a year, a lot of new things had been taking
place in the outside world; this popu lar song was one of those things. A late
newcomer to the cell was somebody who knew such matters, and he told us
that that was Li Xianglan singing.

Iwasaki forgot that he had met me the year before; perhaps his lapse of
memory was due to the fact that it was only a short meeting at a press conference at which the release of Song of the White Orchid was announced. Indeed, he
wrote later that he had earlier seen a fi lm starring Li Xianglan, but at the time he
simply could not remember it at all. That was Song of the White Orchid for which
he came as an observer of the stars photo shoot. Iwasaki went on to say that he
subsequently formed a new friendship, professionally and personally, with Li.
Our professional association had to do with Iwasakis work with Manei in producing My Nightingale and Winter Jasmine in both of which I played the starring role. Our personal friendship involved the assistance that I and his other
friends rendered his wife, Iku, and their son for their visits to Iwasaki in jail.

The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

111

After the war, however, it was I who was the recipient of many kindnesses from
Iwasaki.
A serious man of letters with a progressive bent, Iwasaki made a sharp distinction between public ideology and personal friendship. Evidence of this can
be seen in his following comment:
After the war, Li Xianglan resumed her Japanese identity as Yamaguchi Yoshiko. I was surprised and disappointed when she became a Diet member under the wings of the Liberal Democratic Party, even though I could have accepted it if she had at least run as a member of the Socialist Party.

On another matter concerning the theme songs for my filmI was once asked
if I had sung the theme song for Song of the White Orchid in the presence of
Emperor Puyi. I had no recollection at all that I had done such a thing, but the
questioner referred to a scene described in a book by Yamada Seizabur named
Emperor Puyi (Ktei Fugi, 1960) in which Puyi introduced a pianist he had retained along with Li Xianglan to his younger brother Aisin Gioro Pujie and his
wife at the Imperial court in Xinjing. What brought this about, according to the
book, was the fi lm Song of the White Orchid. When I got hold of that book, a
work presented as nonfiction, I came across the reference to Song of the White
Orchid in Chapter Four entitled Emperor Puyi and Madam Hiro, the latter being the wife of Puyis brother, Pujie.19 After his graduation from the Japa nese
army cadet schoolwhere he performed so well that he was given a sword by the
Japanese EmperorPujie worked with the Imperial guard unit at Manchukuos
Xinjing Imperial Household Division. The woman who was to become his wife was
a daughter of Marquis Saga Sanet, a member of the court peerage, and she herself was an accomplished graduate from Gakushins Higher Division.20 They
became a couple in 1937 through an arranged marriage.
Emperor Puyi did not produce any offspring. Suspecting that the proposition
by the Kwantung Army for an arranged marriage between Pujie and Hiro represented its plot to introduce Japanese blood into his familys lineage, he was apparently not happy about the arrangement. After realizing Hiros genuine love for
Pujie as her husband and her determination to live as a Chinese woman, however,
Puyi was able in time to develop a sense of trust for his sister-in-law. According
to Madam Hiros memoirs, The Wandering Imperial Consort (Ruten no hi, 1959),
Puyi confided to her that at one time he thought she was a spy for the Kwantung
Army, something Puyi himself noted in his own autobiography The Early Part of
My Life (Wode qian ban sheng).21 In any case, according to Emperor Puyi, the Emperor was embarrassed for having treated Hiro with such suspicion and was thinking of doing something to make amends. Knowing that she had seen the fi lm Song

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of the White Orchid, he came up with the idea of giving her a pleasant surprise by
fortuitously introducing her and her husband to Li Xianglan. The Emperor was
taking piano lessons from a young pianist from the Xinjing City Orchestra, who
also happened to be the same piano teacher for Li Xianglan.
So the Emperor invited his instructor and Li Xianglan to his court, introduced
them to Hiro and her husband, and without any prior notice, held a sort of chamber music recital in the evening. Behaving much like a mischievous child, the
Emperor was absolutely engrossed in his trick to surprise Pujies family. To be
sure, by inviting a fi lm actress to his court, the Emperor was apparently playing
a forbidden game of his own.
While Emperor Puyi depicts the event very vividly, and all the characters appear with real names, I simply cannot recall my own participation in the scene. I
have indeed met Mr. and Mrs. Pujie, and I was also acquainted with most of the
members in Manchurias Imperial family, including the Emperors second sister,
his exceptionally graceful third sister and her husband Runqi, the younger brother
of Empress Wan Rong, the Emperors fift h sister, and others. I have also sung any
number of times in their presence. But I have no recollection whatsoever that I
ever sang before Emperor Puyi in his Imperial court. Obviously, that part of the
book is fictional.
In the same book, Lieutenant General Yoshioka, a staff officer of the Kwantung Army attached to the Imperial household, appears in the role of a villain.22
Viewed in light of his official duties, Yoshioka might indeed have acted as a watchdog in the ser vice of the Kwantung Army, but from my perspective at the time,
he was not an old man with a spiteful look on his face as described in that book.
Just as the description of me singing before the Emperor was fictional, I wish to
believe that Lieutenant General Yoshiokas villainous role was fictional as well. I
suppose assessments of historical figures often diverge, depending on the time of
the appraisal and ones par ticu lar point of view.

CHAPTER 8

The Nichigeki Incident

Apparently in the last several years, the film industry and literary circles in China have shown a revived interest in Puyi (19061967), the Emperor of the illegitimate Manchurian Empire, thereby giving rise to a sort of Puyi
boom. The defunct ruler of Chinas last Imperial dynasty, the man later carried
off on a pedestal by the Japanese military to be crowned as Manchukuos Emperor,
led a stormy life. His autobiography, The Early Part of My Life (Wode qian ban sheng)
was published in 1964 and attracted worldwide attention. The translated version
in Japanese, entitled Waga hansei, was published in Daan and is currently collected in the Chikuma Selected Books Series.1 The work is based on Puyis reminiscences collected in several notebooks and written during his incarceration with
his younger brother, Pujie (currently a member on the Presidium of the National
Peoples Congress), in a Fushun prison in 19581959. Before it was published, the
complete manuscript was rearranged, edited, supplemented, and amended by Li
Wenda, a literary editor of The Peoples Publishers (Qunzhong Chubanshe). Reprinted annually thereafter, the autobiography has enjoyed lasting popularity.
I, too, read the autobiography along with The Wandering Imperial Consort
(Ruten no hi), the memoirs of Pujies wife Madam Hiro. As narratives of private
reminiscences, I think virtually all of what they had to say is factually authentic.
Both works depict Lieutenant General Yoshioka Yasunao, the attach to the Imperial household, as an agent sent by the Kwantung Army to keep a close watch
over the Emperor and portray him as a craft y instrument in the ser vice of evil.
It is true that Yoshioka was at the same time a staff officer of the Kwantung
Army, and he might have manipulated Puyi in accordance with the will of the
Japanese army. Viewed from Puyi and Pujies perspective, men who had carried
out self-criticism as citizens of a new China, this interpretation makes all the more
sense as they looked back upon their past.
I do not have the slightest intention here of defending Lieutenant General
Yoshioka. As a Manei actress, I was myself denounced for having been an accomplice in advancing Japans policy on the continent; I was even brought to trial as

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a traitor to China. There are many things in my past that I must reflect upon, and
my desire is to atone for my transgressions. That said, a person forced to tango
with the megalomaniac politics of an era must consider herself fortunate if she
can still reflect upon her past and explain her circumstances after the nightmare
is over. Lieutenant General Yoshioka did not have that luxury. After the war and
his internment in the Soviet Union, nothing was known about him for a long time.
It was not revealed until 1962 that he had died in a Moscow hospital on October
30, 1947. One other theory had it that the year of his death was 1949.
While various memoirs have painted him in a villainous light, the Yoshioka
I knew as a private person was a good-natured elderly gentleman, even though he
was also a typical military man from the Meiji era. When I returned to Xinjing
after my location shootings or performances in various places in Japan and China,
I often stayed with the Yoshiokas just like a member of his family, and for that
reason, I was able to catch a glimpse of his human side.
He was chosen to head Li Xianglans fan club because among the group, he
was the most advanced in age, and as an outgrowth of that relationship, he and
Mrs. Yoshioka were good enough to take a liking to me. Their elder daughter,
Yukiko, was about the same age as I, and we became very good friends. Kazuko,
Yukikos younger sister and seven years my junior, also became my playmate just
like a real sister. As a constant traveler drift ing from one place to another, I suppose I deeply yearned for the family atmosphere their home provided.
Lieutenant General Yoshioka, like my father Yamaguchi Fumio, was a Kyushu
man. While Father was a civilian with a nationalistic bent and the Lieutenant
General a military man to the core, as simple, rustic youths from the Meiji generation, they both had an aspiration of realizing their dreams on the Asian continent.
It was rare for me to have the opportunity to return to my own family in Beijing,
and whenever I returned to Xinjing where Manei was headquartered, my feelings
for Yoshioka and his two daughters often led me to return to the warm embrace
of their family rather than staying in an upscale place like the Yamato Hotel.
Many guests came to parties at the Yoshioka residence, including Pujie and
his wife, the Emperors second younger sister, Runqi, the younger brother of the
Empress and his wife (the Emperors third younger sister), the Emperors fi ft h
younger sister, along with the Premiers youthful-looking seventh wife. Surprisingly, polygamy was still practiced among a segment of the Chinese upper class,
and Premier Zhang Jinghui was a typical example with as many as eight wives.2
Mrs. YoshiokaHatsuko was her namedidnt totally rely on the familys
cooks on occasions attended by members of the aristocracy and government ministers. She would herself take part in preparing the food in the kitchen, and I, along
with Yukiko and Kazuko, would help pluck feathers out of petrel nests with tweezers. Along with bears palm, petrel nests are among the most highly treasured

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delicacies in Chinese cuisine, an indispensable item at a formal dinner banquet.

They were originally a product from southern China, and in those years of privation, even the Imperial court was beginning to have difficulty procuring them. Yet
for the Yoshioka family, this never seemed to be a problem. From time to time,
the supplies were sent from the place of origin through military delivery ser vice
by General Yamashita Tomoyuki, a man who had been with the Kwantung Army
before he assumed duties in South Asia.3 The nests always came bountifully in
two separate straw bags originally meant for packaging rice, one to be offered to
the court of Emperor Puyi, and the other sent to the address of Lieutenant General Yoshioka.
There is a telephone call for Officer Yoshioka from the Imperial Household
Agency. The way the Chinese secretary conveyed the message made it clear that
it was the Emperor himself on the line. Even in the midst of party revelry, Yoshioka would start telling a joke, saying, Pity the servant of the Imperial court who
never had a moment of peace! before he changed into a Chinese silk dress and
nonchalantly took his leave. His outfit was a gift from the Emperor so that he would
have something comfortable to wear while he was called in for an imperial audience in the evening.
After returning from the court, the Lieutenant General said, What the Emperor wanted was to hear the recitation of a poem, and so I delivered one. Wouldnt
you like to hear it? That said and without further ado, he would begin his recitation with his thunderous voice. His favorite song was called Act like a Man!
(Otoko nara). In the version in which it appears in popular enka anthologies, the
song, composed by Kusabue Keiz, with lyrics by Nishioka Suir, was sung by
Mizuhara Hiroshi. The lyrics go:
If you are a man, a real man, why do you still have such lingering
attachments?
Come, pound your chest with manly vigor and rid yourself of your useless
tears!
Do it if you call yourself a real man!
Yet the piece was originally a farewell song to send off members of the Special
Attack Unit (tokktai) before they went to battle. When I visited a tokktai airbase in Shimonoseki on my return trip from Japan after a fi lm shooting, I heard
young men singing the song before they began their attack missions. The lyrics
then were:
If you are a man, a real man, cast off your worldly attachments!
As the cherry blossoms scatter, what matters is a mans courage.

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Now hold the flag close to your heart!

If you are a real man, go now and prepare to perish in battle!
When Yoshioka heard the song before the suicide pilots went into battle, he
was quite moved by it and requested it on many other occasions. He himself went
on to sing it with great earnestness. But because he couldnt quite remember the
whole song, Yukiko and I came up with a notation for him as we played it on the
piano. After I returned home to Beijing, the Lieutenant General still practiced
the song every day with Yukiko on the piano. At the end, he was able to remember the entire song and would apparently perform it before any visitor. By word
of mouth, the song achieved a degree of popularity, and Manchiku (Mansh
Chikuonki Kabushikigaisha, or the Manchurian Gramophone Company) was
asked to produce a recording using, naturally, a professional singer. Whenever I
hear the song, still widely sung in Japan today, I am often seized with complex
emotions.
Yoshiokas other talent was ink painting. He would gather his thoughts before
a piece of washi paper the size of a tatami-mat, narrow his eyes in what must have
been to him a moment of keen delight, and then engage his brush in a slow flowing movement. Before anyone could tell, he would proclaim his masterpiece finished, saying, with an air of self-satisfaction, How about it? Not bad, hey? And
yet no matter how hard I scrutinized his work, I couldnt come up with the foggiest idea as to what he had actually painted. Any failure to pay tribute to the artist,
however, would only incur his displeasure. While I struggled to find a fitting
compliment, he would become impatient over my hesitation and utter something
like, You see, thats an image of a clear stream crashing on the rocks and breaking up into the heavenly sky! Ha! Ha! Ha! Total detachment from mundane
thoughtsnow, thats the soul of painting, and the brush is just gods will, got
it? Oh well, if you looked at his painting that way, I suppose that was not a totally implausible interpretation.
In fact, he was not just interested in painting himself; he also seemed to have
a good eye for art and was closely acquainted with many Japanese painters who
came to Manchuria as visitors, men like Kawabata Ryshi, Kobayashi Kokei, Fukuda Heihachir, Yasui Star, and Fujishima Takeji. Kawabata in particular was
a very good friend of his.
While the temperament of the Lieutenant General was often given to gallantry,
he once told me in an extraordinarily somber voice, His Majesty the Emperor is
a fine gentleman. I feel sorry for him now that the Empress has fallen into madness due to her opium habit. He must feel awfully lonely.4 Mindful of the Emperors frail physical condition, Yoshioka suggested that he take up sunbathing
and invited him to do such exercises as skating. The faint-hearted Emperor, on

The Nichigeki Incident

117

the other hand, was feeling too anxious even to venture onto the skating rink,
though he apparently often played tennis. According to Yoshioka, the Emperors
tennis skills were so marvelous that the two of them were equally matched. One
night at a party, the Emperors third sister let me in on a secret. The tennis match
between Yoshioka and her brother was, in her own words, a succession of wacky
plays. According to her, that was why neither of them would even consider playing in public view.
I think that Lieutenant General Yoshioka was genuinely concerned about the
family of Emperor Puyi and his brother Pujie. Needless to say, since the Lieutenant General was at the same time a member of Kwantung Armys General Staff,
he was not in a position to go beyond the armys policy parameters. Yet it seemed
to me that for that very reason, he was often distressed when squeezed between
the wishes of the army and the Imperial family. Apparently, on many occasions,
he revealed to Hatsuko and Yukiko how he sympathized with the Emperor. I heard
that he sometimes sighed deeply while alone in the middle of the night.
In 1929 when Yoshioka went to take up his new position in Tianjin,5 the deposed Emperor Xuantong was in exile in Lingyuan in the Japanese Concession.
That was when they first met. Afterwards, Yoshioka registered all his experiences
in his diary, saying that he would sooner or later show the information to the writer
Yoshikawa Eiji, with whom he had been closely corresponding, so that the latter
could produce an official history of Manchukuo.
In his autobiography, Emperor Puyi pointed to a number of Yoshiokas evil
doings. One of them was his political scheme to have Pujie marry a Japa nese
woman named Saga Hiro.6 Hoping that his brother would take a Chinese bride
from an upper-class Beijing family, the Emperor naturally saw the arranged marriage involving a Japanese woman as a political ploy. On the other hand, when he
was studying at the armys Military Academy, Pujie apparently knew and trusted
his instructor Yoshioka so well that he referred to the latter as oyaji.7 Indeed, Hatsuko remembered Pujie as saying that, circumstances permitting, he himself would
like to marry a Japanese woman even though he could not very well articulate his
wish directly to the Emperor. Later, Pujie himself acknowledged how happy his
marriage was and how Hiro devoted herself as his wife rather than to her role as a
Japanese woman.
On August 9, 1945, when the Soviet army began its drive into Manchuria, Pujie
and his wife visited the Yoshioka residence the night before the Imperial family
was about to escape from Xinjing. At that time, Pujie tried to kill himself with a
pistol in the familys bathroom. According to Hatsukos testimony, it was Yoshioka who noticed something was wrong, immediately rushed into the bathroom,
and prevented the suicide. Huisheng, the eldest daughter of Pujie and Hiro, was
expected in time to work for the sake of Sino-Japanese friendship. Unfortunately,

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after the war in 1957, while studying at Gakushin University, she was brought by
her boyfriend at gunpoint to Izus Mount Amagi where she was killed at the young
age of nineteen. As for Hiro, she was reunited with Pujie in 1971 after he was given
a special pardon. The couple lived peacefully in Beijing until June 20, 1987, when
Hiro died at the age of 73, ending a most dramatic life.
On another matter, Emperor Puyi was likewise suspicious of Yoshiokas involvement in the death of an Imperial concubine from the Tatala clan. The Emperor had been married to Empress Wan Rong at a very young age.8 Wan Rong,
however, had been wasting away both physically and mentally as a result of her
opium addiction; the couple had not been intimate as man and wife. In the Qing
court, the ranking order following the Empress was the Imperial Court Consort
(Huang Gui-fei), the Court Consort (Gui-fei), and the Imperial Concubine (Pin
and Gui-ren). With his homosexual inclinations, the Emperor had not even
been on friendly terms with his Empress; that was said to be the reason for her
opium addiction.
At the time of the Emperors marriage at the age of sixteen, Wan Rong and
another woman named Wen Xiu were respectively given the titles Empress and
Imperial Concubine. At age twenty-five, the Emperor divorced Wen Xiu; in fact,
the latter was driven out of the Imperial court by the Empress herself. In 1937, following the advice of those close to him, the Emperor took in another imperial concubine by the name of Tan Yuling, a seventeen-year-old from the Tatala family.9
In his The Early Part of My Life, Puyi wrote that she, too, was merely a wife in
name. I kept her at court until her death in 1942 just as I would have kept a pet
bird. Moreover, he revealed that as far as I am concerned, the cause of her death
remains a mystery. Puyi disclosed his murder theory after she caught typhoid
fever, saying that Tan Yuling was in the care of Japa nese physicians under the
supervision of Yoshioka, but astonishingly, she died the day after she had received treatment.
On this matter, I have to say that this was a total misunderstanding on the
Emperors part. It is impossible today to recover the circumstances around a strange
death that occurred on the Chinese continent forty-five years ago as if in a detective story. Yet the Emperor repeatedly spoke of his suspicions of Yoshiokas involvement during his appearance on the witness stand at the Tokyo Trials and
later in his autobiography. On the other hand, one would arrive at a different conclusion if one were to look at all the views of concerned parties. Convinced that
such suspicions were based on a complete misunderstanding, Yoshiokas surviving family members explained the situation in the following manner:
While the Emperor was not sexually intimate with the Empress, he was very
fond of his imperial concubine Tan. In 1942, after she was examined by Yamaguchi Shimpei, Chancellor at Xinjing Medical University, it was determined that she

The Nichigeki Incident

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was in fact suffering from stage-three tuberculosis. This discovery came much too
late, unavoidably, due to the manner in which medicine was practiced at the Imperial court. Following Qing conventions, the patient was not given the benefits
of modern medicine; instead, she had nothing to rely on except Chinese-style
prayers, her traditional Chinese doctors, and Chinese herbal medicine.
The Emperor was at a complete loss as to what to do when her condition failed
to show the slightest improvement. Unable to stand idly by, Yoshioka made repeated recommendations that Tan be examined by Dr. Onodera Naosuke, Head
of the Xinjing First Hospital. The Emperors own close advisors were reluctant,
but since the Emperor himself expressed the same wish shortly afterwards, the
doctor was brought into the Imperial court by Yoshioka. But Tans condition had
become worse, and nothing could be done. Dr. Onodera, a professor emeritus from
Kyushu University, was regarded as Manchurias foremost physician. His examination revealed that the illness was not typhoid fever as diagnosed by the Chinese court doctors, but meningitis developed as a result of miliary tuberculosis
and that it was too late for treatment. As an emergency measure, he could only
give Tan an injection and left her room.
Yoshioka was further criticized for his domineering role in the selection of a
new imperial concubine to replace Tan, but his surviving family likewise strongly
denied the charge. At first, the Lieutenant General consulted with the Emperors
close advisors, suggesting that the selection be made from among students or graduates of normal universities who typically came from respectable Manchurian families. For his part, the Emperor apparently indicated his preference for a relatively
young woman regardless of her education or family background; he himself would
like to tutor her in court. With that, over a thousand photographs of candidates
from Manchu elementary schools all over Manchuria were assembled, and the Emperor himself picked a fourteen-year-old girl named Li Yuqin. For a short while,
the Emperors second sister took Li into her personal care in her own residence
and prepared her for the occasion before bringing her to court as the Imperial
Concubine of Prosperity (Fu Gui-ren).
*

With the arrival of 1941 came a sudden flurry of travels to various locations for
my performances and for visiting troops at the front, making it impossible for me
to spend leisurely days at the Yoshioka residence or at my own Beijing home. I
had to labor under a hectic schedule, not just to make battlefront visits but also to
answer the heavy demand for my appearance in various Japa nese cities. Work
seemed endless, leaving me with scarcely any breathing space. As I was given train
and plane tickets from left to right, I was told that my frantic activities were all
for the sake of Japan or for the sake of Manchuria. At times, it reached a point

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where I didnt even know where or what I was supposed to perform or sing until
I actually arrived at the location.
Now I find it quite amusing that I myself did not fully experience the riotous
confusion surrounding the Nichigeki Incident, an affair that prompted all those
aforementioned activities. Early in 1941, I was ordered to go to Tokyo as Singing
Ambassadress for Japanese-Manchurian Friendship. What we celebrate today on
February 11 as our National Foundation Day was then called Kigen setsu, a
national holiday based on the mythology of Emperor Jimmus unification of
Yamato. In celebration of the event, I was scheduled to give a weeklong show at
the Japan Theater (Nihon Gekij or Nichigeki) in Tokyos Marunouchi beginning on February 11.
I had already appeared twice at the Nichigeki, albeit playing only minor roles.
That time around, I was supposed to do the real thing, a solo performance. Although I debuted as a singing actress, I was still having operatic and other singing lessons from Ms. Miura Tamaki in Tokyo. The order to perform, however, came
from Maneis main office in the name of Japanese-Manchurian friendship. The
year before, a large-scale commemoration of 2,600 years of imperial rule had just
taken place, with Emperor Puyi visiting Japan for the second time and praying
for the fortunes of Japan and Manchukuo. My performance as a singing ambassadress was also being publicized to offer our gratitude to our injured and
brave warriors and to Japanese-Manchurian friendship; the general tenor of the
show can be surmised from the fact that it opened with Manchukuos national
anthem.
Following instructions from Maneis main office, I checked into the Imperial Hotel after arriving in Tokyo in early February. When I went to a planning
session at Th, I found an angry Shigeki Kyhei, President of Maneis Tokyo
branch office. Its outrageous to fi nalize decisions with Th without going
through the Tokyo branch office! I am going to report this to Mr. Amakasu and
ruin your plans!
A graduate of Waseda University, Shigeki became a Tokyo city councilman
in his twenties and served as the editorial bureau chief of the newspaper Yorozu
Chh. Due to his ideological affinities with Captain Amakasu, he was scouted to
serve as a Manei executive director and the head of its Tokyo branch. A paternalistic, macho-type ultranationalist not uncommon in those days, he was a complete contrast to the refined, left-wing intellectual type such as Iwasaki who worked
under him as the Deputy Chief of the Tokyo office. Even to this day, I cannot believe that the two in fact worked together within Manei; this certainly had to be
a result of personal connections unique to the Amakasu-Negishi duo.10
Shigeki used to boast about his venture of secretly entering into the Soviet
Union alone to meet with Lenin and bring back a large sum of money to support

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121

a right-wing revolution. The thrills and humor with which he recounted his exploits reminded one of a captivating old-time kdan storyteller. He also appeared
in Ozaki Shirs novel The Theater of Life (Jinsei gekij) as the eccentric Katczinsky (that is, Natsumura Taiz).11 As he spoke at the Th meeting, his small frame
shook with anger as he pounded on the table, I will put a stop to Li Xianglans
Nichigeki performance even if I have to call in the gangsters!
Nichigekis officials, including Director Hata Toyokichi and Manger Mikami
Ryz, had absolutely no idea what to do when faced with such ferocious outbursts
from this notorious figure. At that point, I boldly chimed in, The order from
Maneis main office is the same as the order from Executive Director Amakasu.
Since this matter has already been decided upon, I must go through with my performance no matter how I will be lambasted. Thereupon, Shigeki stared at my
face and then broke into a smile, saying, Hey, what an interesting girl we have
here! All right, tell you what, you can go on with your performance! Th can go
to hell, but Ill let off Li Xianglan!
While this was how quickly the matter was resolved, I think the background
to it had to do with Maneis opposition to Ths contractual monopoly over Li
Xianglans activities in Japan. It was Yamanashi Minoru, originally a Th employee before becoming Maneis General Affairs Manager, who had served as the
intermediary in arranging Ths exclusive rights, and all such arrangements had
taken place before Amakasu and Shigeki joined Manei. Th is was the same Yamanashi who was later kicked out of Manei for having incurred Amakasus displeasure. This deteriorating relationship between Manei and Th was certainly
a factor in explaining Shigekis hostile behavior.
At the time, Maneis Tokyo branch office was situated diagonally across from
Hibiya Park in the neighborhood where the Press Center Building (which houses
the Japan Press Club) currently stands. It was the private residence of former Minister of Railways Ogawa Heikichi, the maternal grandfather of Finance Minister
Miyazawa Kiichi. It was a smart-looking, two-story structure built of reinforced
concrete, and a place frequented by right-wing figures such as Tyama Shz. In
accordance with the wishes of Amakasu in Xinjing, Shigeki appeared to serve as
the manager of political funds streaming out of Manchuria.
While Shigeki allowed my performance to go forward, he appeared to have
subsequent clashes with Th, making the latter rather ner vous. The fact that I
was later given the protection of a professional security guard was the result of
Ths apprehension that Shigeki might in fact call in the gangsters.
During the week before my show began, I recorded songs for Columbia at its
main office at Uchisaiwaich while rehearsing, in my free time, for my Nichigeki
performance. One day, Nichigekis manager, Mikami Ryz, telephoned me to say
that he would immediately dispatch a male security guard for my protection

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until the end of my show to prepare for any contingencies. He would ask the
guard to come over right away; I was told that I should wait for him and not return to my hotel after my rehearsal. Mikami further instructed that from then
on I must be accompanied by the guard wherever I went.
After finishing work, I waited somewhat absentmindedly in a corner of a vacant room, but after some time had passed, nobody resembling a security guard
showed up. As I looked around, I saw another young man in the waiting room
standing near the window with his back to me. I waited and waited and no one
came. While thinking of returning to my hotel, I thought Id better call Mikami
from the waiting room just in case something had happened.
I am afraid nobody showed up. I felt that my voiced betrayed my edginess.
Thats strange. His name is Kodama, a tall guy.
Mr. Kodama?
At that point, the man standing by the window approached me and said, Oh,
so youre the person waiting for me? Ive also been waiting for you. Just as Mikami said, he was tall with a slightly dark complexion, someone who looked like
a nice young man.
I was feeling exhausted after having been kept waiting for so long. On top of
that, he never spoke to me even though he knew all along I was in the waiting
room. My anger must have manifested itself in my irritated facial expression. Similarly without smiling, he stammered, So you are Miss . . . ? When I told him
who I was, he merely nodded without offering even a word of apology.
Starting the next morning, this taciturn young man would arrive at nine
oclock at the Imperial Hotel and take me to Columbias studio. Until I fi nished
my recording or rehearsal, he would wait in the same waiting room by the window and look at the scenery outside. One time, he did go into the rehearsal
room, a visit that prompted Koga Masao to comment, What a wonderful young
man! Is he a Th actor or is he your boyfriend? Later, Koga would frequently
praise Kodama, saying, He is a nice guy, the type other men would find appealing as well.
Kodama and I would then commute from Columbias main office to Nichigeki. While I was being instructed on stage performance, Kodama would attentively observe my rehearsals. He went everywhere I did; we had lunch and dinner
together, and he even went shopping with me and accompanied me to my meetings. At night, he would escort me back to my room at the Imperial Hotel.
As we were together much of the time during the few days before my actual
performance, I began to appreciate an indescribable air surrounding this unsociable and presumptuous young man. While he was a person of few words, there
was a refreshingly masculine quality about him. That said, he was capable of paying unobtrusive attention to things around him. For his part, he also seemed to

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have formed a new impression of me as someone quite different from a typical

star. In any case, the range of my activities included my trips from the hotel to
Columbia, Nichigeki, or else Maneis Tokyo branch in Hibiya. The only long distance travels I made were infrequent trips by car to my teacher Miura Tamakis
residence for my musical lessons. Having to listen to my vocal practices from morning to night everywhere we went, Kodama must have been bored to death!
In time, I began to have bits and pieces of conversation with him, only to discover that there was good reason why he had acted with such aloofness on the
first day we met. He had just joined Ths Arts Division a year before in 1940,
and at the time was preoccupied with preparations for the original production of
the musical Hyga, the script he had written as his debut work.12 Kodama was a
native of Takachiho in Miyazaki Prefecture, and the revue was based on the myth
associated with the place and conceived as a burlesque performed by Nichigekis
dancing teams. The expectation was that, when performed during the Kigensetsu
celebrations, with Emperor Jimmu at center stage of the fitting story about the
founding of the country, it would be a big hit. And then, all of a sudden, his longcherished plan was dropped and replaced by a singing performance of a Manchurian girl named Li Xianglan. To further add insult to injury, a big, proud
Japanese man like himself was then ordered to serve as a guard to protect that
same Chinese girl. After listening to his story, I could well understand his impertinence when we first met in Columbias waiting room. We reciprocally apologized for our behavior that day, and the occasion gave us the opportunity to open
up to each other.
It was only after the next day that I became fully aware of the circumstances
surrounding the Nichigeki Incident. On that day, I was totally engrossed in
making sure that I did not make any mistakes during my first solo performance.
I miss Nichigekis white cylindrical structure which has now been transformed
into Yrakuchs fashionable Mullion Building, but at the time, it was a famous
attraction in the area, along with Asahi Shimbuns company building, the Sukiyabashi Bridge, and other sites. The stage was customarily set up in such a way
that it could serve both to screen movies and to put on live performances; at the
time it was screening a long documentary called Explorations in Dutch Indo-China
(Ranin tanbki) and Island in Morning Glow (Shima wa asayake), a mid-length
Japanese fi lm. As for the live show, its program (directed by Shirai Tetsuz) was
called The Singing Ambassadress Li Xianglan: For Japanese-Manchurian Friendship in Commemoration of our National Foundation Celebrations. There were
three per formances a day and the ticket price was uniformly set at eighty sen,
tax included.
When the day came, on February 11, even I who grew up in Manchuria could
feel the chill in the air. At nine in the morning, Kodama came to the Imperial

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Hotel to fetch me. While the show was set to begin at nine-thirty, there was first
a film screening and the live performance did not start until eleven, giving us plenty
of time. And so, I didnt set my hair or put on makeup, but instead wore a cloth
mask to keep myself warm and bundled myself up in a fur overcoat before venturing out on the streets of Yrakuch with Kodama.
When we approached Nichigeki, we found throngs of people. The day was a
Tuesday, but since it was a national holiday, we expected a sizeable audience. But
of course as the performer myself, I had no idea how many the attraction would
bring. Director Shirai said that while on stage I wouldnt be able to see much of
the dimly lit seating area, and that I should feel free to sing in the same way as
I did in my rehearsals without getting too distracted. I should have followed
his advice.
Swarms of people resembling black mounds gathered around the theaters
three ticket windows. Since the entrance to the dressing room could be reached
from Yrakuch Station, we tried to get closer by going around the cylindrical
structure, only to find ourselves tightly squeezed into a complete standstill. Thinking that a national holiday had caused such hordes of passengers to congregate at
a train station, I muttered, Tokyo is so jam-packed! With a ner vous look on his
face as he surveyed the unusual scene, Kodama didnt answer me but held firmly
onto my arm so that we wouldnt be separated from each other in the crowd.
Despite our hope to reach the dressing room, the wall of humanity in front
of us made any such attempt impossible. We shouted and pleaded with them to
let us pass, only to be yelled at by the angry crowd, now forming multiple columns
as they queued up.
Hey! This is the line for those with tickets. Go to the other end if you want
yours. Queue up from the back!
Dont cut in from the side! Dont push!
Hey! Let us in quickly! Weve been kept standing since seven in the morning! Quickly open the door! The atmosphere was getting so ferocious that it would
not have been surprising if the crowd turned riotous.
There isnt going to be any show if you dont let her in! Kodama shouted
out to the crowd once or twice, but nobody paid him any attention. On the other
hand, all hell will break loose if they find out who she really is! he mumbled. Even
though he tried hard to shove forward with his own body, the human wall failed
to budge at all.
Resigned to the situation, Kodama said to me in a low voice, You stay here!
Dont move! before quickly leaving the scene. Soon, he came running back with
four or five security guards from the theater, who proceeded to pick me up on their
shoulders in a team relay, knocked open the door to the dressing room, and carried me inside.

The Nichigeki Incident

125

The stagehands there were already saying things like, Gee! Those people are
already making three and a half rounds! I finally realized what they were saying, that those waves of people queuing around the theater in circles were none
other than fans who came to see Li Xianglan. Getting ner vous again, I told
myself that I must do well in my singing so that I wouldnt disappoint them. At
the same time, I simply couldnt suppress my excitement at having just overcome
the formidable human blockade to get to where I was.
While I was the sole stage performer, I also had to be aware of the shows overall dramatic effects, act my part, and speak my lines. Even when I was making up
my face in front of the mirror, I became quite fretful and apprehensive that I might
forget my song lyrics or my lines. When eleven oclock came around, the first stage
performance was set to begin. Preparing to make my appearance from stage right,
I asked Kodama to tap me on the back so that he would in effect jostle me onto
the stage. In fact, in my subsequent performances, whenever Kodama was around,
I always asked him to do the same. Incredibly, his action calmed my nerves.
The curtain stayed down as the Th Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by
Ueno Katsunori played the overture That Lovely Star. Wearing a purple velvet
Chinese dress with a white cape across it, I came into a silver horse-drawn carriage in the middle of the stage and waited in the darkness. As the overture was
nearing its end, the curtain went up smoothly and the spotlight focused directly
on me. As the illumination began to spread out across the stage, the audience could
see me emerge from the luminous glow as I stood inside the carriage. With that,
the audience erupted in a roaring cheer that shook the theater.
With bells ringing in the background and wearing a continuous smile, I
began to sing, The horse carriage went and went, in the evening breeze . . . Meanwhile, my head was inflamed with excitement at the extraordinary frenzy of the
audience. As I stepped off the carriage and walked toward the front of the stage
during the songs interlude, the crowd greeted me with applause. They did so again
as I bowed during the refrain with the sound of the bells receding into the background. As the lights on the stage grew dimmer and the curtain was being lowered, the fans roar faded into a strange silence.
I had a quick change of costume on stage right before I hid under the leaves
of a banana tree which had been placed at center stage. I covered my face with a
large feather fan and waited again in the darkness for my next appearance. The
melancholy tune of the erhu became progressively louder as the orchestra accompanied it; what they were playing was the prelude to The Suzhou Serenade. The
spotlight first fell on the fan concealing my face which I proceeded to reveal strategically as I began to sing, In your arms, dreamily I listened . . . The audience
burst in a tremendous uproar and started to applaud, only to settle down instantaneously into an incredible hush. Every change in my pose onstage would inspire

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the fans applause. Mr. Shirai Tetsuz had choreographed every movement I made;
I simply acted and sang as I had been instructed. After singing The Suzhou Serenade, I retreated behind the stage, only to find Kodama waiting anxiously.
The excitement from the audience continued unabated until the very last song.
During my performance of China Nights, we recreated the scene from the fi lm
by having a shabbily clad Chinese girl stumble onstage after she was roughly shoved
by a Japanese. After launching a lengthy volley of curses in Chinese at the perpetrator, invisible though he was to the audience, she picked herself up and, with
her posture slumping, began to sing. Moments later as the violins were playing a
long drawn-out prelude, the rotating stage ushered in the same girl, now dressed
totally differently in a gorgeous Chinese-style dress to sing the next song. And then
for the presentation of Red Water Lilies, I changed into a Chinese dress with a
red flower pattern and performed a simple Chinese dance.
My next routine was a sweet chanson, which I sang wearing a white evening
dress as I leaned against a black grand piano. Synchronizing my lyrics with the
piano, I began singing in French, Parle moi damour, followed by Japanese, Kikaseteyo! Yasashi ai no kotoba! (Come now, let me hear your sweet words of love.)
Again following Mr. Shirais instructions, I spoke to the audience coquettishly during the songs interlude, Tell me, why are you so quiet? Why are you not saying
anything? Thereupon, I sang the lyrics again: Come now, let me hear them, your
sweet words of love.
My last number, delivered in a wine-red evening dress, was The Drinking
Song from La Traviata, an opera in which I had been taking lessons as late as
the day before. As soon as a chorus from a contingent of Th vocalists joined
me following my solo performance, the fans all rose to their feet, locked each
others arms, and gave off an unexpected chorus so loud it rocked the theater.
They probably all knew the music quite well from watching Deanna Durbins big
hit One Hundred Men and a Girl.13
With The Drinking Song as its finale, my show ended with the presentation of a bouquet to me from a young girl, a disciple of Miura Tamaki-sensei.
Kodama held me in his arms as we walked down a narrow fl ight of stairs leading
to the dressing room. There, we found the place so packed, not only with staff
members and other stagehands but also with police officers, that we could not
even find a place to stand. There were all kinds of rumors flying around, such as
They have called in the fire engine! and The mounted police are now dispersing the crowd! I, for my part, had absolutely no idea what was happening. In any
case, it appeared that the area outside the theater was very crowded. I didnt venture out for safetys sake, but stayed behind in the dressing room to prepare for
my next performances.

The Nichigeki Incident

127

It was not until seven in the evening that the third run of my performance
came to an end. It was a long day, and I was glad it was over. Completely exhausted,
I just wanted to lie down in my hotel room rather than to think about dinner. Fortunately, the Imperial Hotel was just ten minutes away on foot. As I threw on my
coat and was about to leave the dressing room, Kodamas face turned pale as he
stopped me in my tracks, Dont you just walk out so nonchalantly! You would
either be crushed by the fans or be besieged by reporters!
I am not sure what exactly happened, but the story was that a number of vehicles belonging to the Asahi Shimbun Company, next to the Nichigeki Building,
had been smashed up. Indignant over its damages, the paper had, I heard, requested
a one-on-one interview in order to uncover Li Xianglans Japanese identity. Dreading that scenario, Th seemed reluctant to allow any meeting between me and
the reporters. To conceal Li Xianglan from their eyesthat was Kodamas job for
that day.
Picking up a dirty overcoat from the wardrobe in the dressing room, he put
it over my head on top of my fur coat. Just like a detective escorting a prisoner, he
dragged me down to the basement where an emergency ladder allowed us to climb
up. Clutching me at his side, he began to go up the ladder and emerged in what
appeared to be a dancing studio. From there, we went down a ladder on the opposite side. As I had a fear of heights, I cried out, No, no, I cant do it! frustrating
Kodama in his efforts.
We finally managed to get out of the building through a rarely used emergency exit. In the vicinity of the theater, despite the late hour, there were still lots
of people jostling one other, and police officers were attempting to bring some
order to traffic. Our great escape to the Imperial Hotel finally succeeded. Without going through the main entrance, we went into another room different from
the one I had the day beforeKodama probably had made such arrangements in
advance.
Always stay in your room and dont step outside at all! Please take your meals
inside for the time being. If something should come up, contact me by telephone.
You must be tired. Go to bed early!
To him, it was also a day of confusion. He appeared agitated and looked
exhausted.
It was not until the next morning that I learned the full story of the incident from the newspapers. All reported the great commotion associated with the
event. Perhaps out of spite due to the damages it had suffered, the Asahi Shimbun
in par ticular came out with the caption Unruly Fans Tarnished Auspicious Occasion along with a harshly critical report. Its preachy tone was already apparent from the beginning:

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Chapter 8

We note with regret the messy pandemonium displayed by members of the

audience before a certain movie theater in the Marunouchi area in our empires capital on the morning of our Kigensetsu Day celebrations on the 11th.
It was a misfortune to have to witness such a blatant display of our fl ippant
national morality, still unaltered to this day, on the part of a segment of our
citizenry and the laxity of their discipline. It is sad to have to write about such
matters, but our report also wants to convey the wish that this is the last time
we will ever see such chaos again.

It continued:
Mindful of the shows opening at nine-thirty in the morning, the fans had already been gathering in front of the building around eight oclock. In the blink
of an eye, the jostling fans had flooded the square in front of the building and
the surrounding roads. The crowd didnt bother to queue up or do anything
of the sort. The swarming scene of tens of hundreds of people wrestling one
another to be the first to get to the two or three ticket booths then turned into
scuffling brawls. Women screaming with cuts on their foreheads, students still
maddeningly pushing ahead, undeterred by the sight of blood, vehicles rocking left and right as they were being shoved by the crowd in the square. The
situation developed to the point where some women and children, unable to
withstand the maddening confusion, decided to climb up onto the roofs of
the cars.

Sat Masami, Manager of Nichigekis Underground Theater and one of Kodamas close friends, was on night duty the day before and could remember the
scene well:
Before six in the morning, a security guard woke me up and reported an unusual situation developing outside. As I looked down from the roof, I found
that there were already about five hundred people gathering around the ticket
windows even though the show wouldnt start until nine-thirty. Since Nichigekis capacity was three thousand, I expected that from then on, the congestion was going to get quite bad. At eight, the fans had formed a long queue
encircling the theater two times before the line was about to form the third
ring. Seen from the roof, it was very clear to me that waves of fans were coming all the way from the square before the Imperial Palace; visitors celebrating the national event there were streaming right into Nichigekis direction.
Li Xianglan and the Kigensetsu festivitynow what kind of connection did
they have? The year before, the Emperor of Manchukuo had visited Japan to

The Nichigeki Incident

129

commemorate the two-thousand six-hundredth anniversary of Imperial rule.

Mongolias Prince Demchugdongrub also came to Japan that year, but I was
not sure whether that had anything to do with Japanese-Manchurian friendship. At a little past nine oclock, just before the show was scheduled to begin,
I looked with amazement as I saw the river of humanity had been split into
two major directions like uncontrollable floods that had just broken the
levees. One was running from the neighboring Asahi Shimbun building toward the Yomiuri Shimbun building past the Sukiyabashi Bridge; the other
was pouring out of Yrakuch Station toward the Tokyo Nichinichi Shimbun building under the railroad bridge. Meanwhile, automobiles owned by
the Asahi Shimbun were just being tossed sideways one after another.

In 1985, I gave a talk in Mitaka City in Tokyo, and at the tea reception afterward, an elderly woman told me that she had gone to the Nichigeki that day and
had an awful experience. Water was thrown at her, and she ended up with her
clothes torn and her footwear missing. When I apologized, she said with a smile,
Oh no! I am still thankful for having gone to the Li Xianglan show. When she
was pushed to the ground by the crowd, a young man was good enough to drag
her into an automobile parked in front of the Asahi Shimbun building. Until the
police came to rescue them, they sat close to each other inside the car, breathless
while the mayhem outside continued. That young man is now my husband!
At ten in the morning, the Marunouchi Police Station mobilized more than
twenty police officers to maintain order, along with the mounted police, but
still they could not control the unruly crowd. The report in the Asahi continued
as follows:
Loud warnings alone were completely ineffectual. Then, the fi re hose was
brought out, but when it was seen as nothing more than an empty threat, that
effort was again rendered futile.14 Finally, the police put up a sign in front of
the building saying that todays show had been discontinued. Still, some fans
failed to disperse, and those had to be chased down the street from the theater building one block at a time to be constrained. On the ground where the
crowds had gathered were numerous geta and sandals which had gone astray
from their owners feet. Also scattered around on the ground were red scarfs
worn by women.

Once the fans quieted down under police warnings, they were lined up and led to
the ticket windows by the officers. Realizing that that particular group alone would
be able to enter the theater to watch the show, the majority of the fans left behind
grew angry and began to start another commotion. The Asahi reported:

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What shameful behavior! What imprudent conduct! The fans were about
seventy percent male and thirty percent female. Half of the male fans wore
student uniforms, and the women were generally around twenty years of
age. . . . In view of the continuing disorder, at one oclock in the afternoon, the
Marunouchi Police Station sent out another contingent of more than fi ft y
police officers.

It was Lord Byron who said, I awoke one morning and found myself famous.
I awoke one morning and noticed that all the papers carried stories on the Singing Ambassadress for Japanese-Manchurian Friendship. The bellboy from room
ser vice who brought in my meal told me with excitement that a long queue had
already begun forming before seven in the morning. Yet that piece of information did not change me in the leastI was exactly the same person that I had been
yesterday. Just because I had become popular, I was compelled to isolate myself
in an inconspicuous room to eat a solitary meal.
Kodama came in with a knock on the door and a Good morning. He took
a quick glance at the papers and muttered, Thats incredible popularity! And
then, he added, Congratulations! For having a sold-out crowd, but more importantly, its your birthday! Ah yes, today was my twenty-first birthday! I had
completely forgotten about it.
Since that day, I have never again forgotten my birthday. February 11, National
Foundation Day, the Kigensetsu in the old days, the Nichigeki Incident,15 the escape I had with Kodama, and the newspaper reports the next day, February
12these items come back to mind as though in a game of word associations.
Amidst the ever-escalating tension over Japans imminent war with the United
States and Britain, the Nichigeki Incident appeared to have been a sign of the
timesthat is, a manifestation of how much our nations people needed some form
of invigorating entertainment. At the time, items such as sugar, matches, and then
rice were being rationed. Theatrical troupes had been asked to disband, and dance
halls had been closed. Perhaps the reason why I became the focus of such popularity was that no other forms of enjoyable distraction existed.
On December 8 of the same year, Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and declared war on the United States and Britain. The country was plunged into the
Pacific War.

CHAPTER 9

The Spring of My Youth

The Nichigeki Incident, involving some one hundred thousand

hustling fans, has apparently been analyzed from various angles based on social
psychology, the contemporary history of Japanese society, and the like. Learned
experts have pointed out the following:
A. After the birth of the Manchurian Empire, the governments continental policy makers promoted a successful propaganda campaign to encourage, above all, Japanese immigration to Manchuria and Mongolia by romanticizing the allure of the unknown wilderness.
B. Under the critical condition of imminent war between Japan and the
United States, stringent controls had been placed on public entertainment, beginning with the dance halls. The public was therefore desperately in need of entertainment that promised glitzy splendor and sweet
relief.
C. The date of the first performance coincided with the Kigensetsu. It was
natural that after celebrating at the Imperial Palace on a holiday, citizens
would flow into the busy downtown Ginza district, and Nichigeki was
situated right in the middle of that area.
Those overlapping circumstances were offered as explanations. To be sure,
all such analyses were made after the fact. What all the newspapers reported the
following day, on the other hand, was the controversy over whether it was inexcusable that this infortunate incident had occurred on the auspicious occasion
of Kigensetsu. Nichigekis next-door neighbor, the Asahi, a party that directly
suffered from its consequences, carried out a campaign for days decrying the
event. Because of that, the publics criticism of the incident grew stronger with
the passage of time.
The Asahis coverage began with the introduction of an admonition delivered
with great oratorical passion from Nichigekis front balcony by Chief Kanazawa

131

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Chapter 9

from the Marunouchi Police, the unit responsible for crowd management on
that day:
Gentlemen! Our nation continues to dedicate our efforts unsparingly toward
the accomplishment of the New Order in East Asia. Our loyal and brave generals and soldiers are now fighting in the wilderness on the continent. And,
with such thoughts in mind, gentlemen, what a disgraceful scene have we
witnessed. . . .

In formal police garb with a saber by his side, Chief Kanazawa lectured for about
five minutes before concluding: Now please disperse immediately before any restraining actions are taken by police officers. I wish you a rewarding Kigensetsu
celebration!
The second day of my performance fell on February 12, a Wednesday. Even
though it was not a public holiday, a large number of fans had again been gathering since the morning, while those who did not manage to get into the theater
formed a consistent overflow in the area. The next day the Asahi ran a special feature article entitled Interpreting the Madness of the Audience, opining that the
same incident can no longer be passed over simply as a street scene on a public
holiday. The first thing it reported was a sermon by a certain Mr. Kita, Director
of the Division for National Livelihood (Kokumin Seikatsu Shidbu) from the Imperial Rule Assistance Association (Taisei Yokusankai):1
I thought that the scene I saw was lamentable, an appalling sight. First, it was
the unruliness. There is nothing wrong with the working class, participating
as they normally do as productive members of society, to seek a days entertainment at the theater; after all it was a public holiday, a rare occasion. But if
only a fi xed number of fans could get in, was it really asking too much for the
rest of them to come back later? But they refused to give up and flung their
geta into the air. What did they think they were doing? The lack of discipline
among our nations peoplenow thats a subject we must ponder together a
little more. . . . I urge our deep reflection over the fact that there were many
students amongst the crowd. In fact, I went to the scene last night, sought out
the students, and gave them a good piece of my mind. In a time like this, rather
than seeking entertainment, students should return home on a public holiday and use the rare occasion to read a book. I wish to say that they should
give more thought to the historical mission that has been bestowed upon them.

On the other hand, there were contrary opinions that recognized the psychology of the masses seeking entertainment and argued that the unfortunate circum-

The Spring of My Youth

133

stances that had arisen did not justify the deprivation of healthy diversions. For
example, in the words of the writer Nogami Yaeko:2
In Italy and Germany, war was given whatever attention it deserved, but the
theaters and cinemas were witnessing even better days than during times of
peace. We must not take away entertainment regardless of whatever state of
emergency may have arisen. When you cut off one outlet, the people will look
for other smaller openings. With that in mind, our fans violent behavior apparently had complex reasons. One could feel a certain militancy and a ferociousness from the mayhem at the theater and the damage done to the vehicles. That was the manifestation of disgruntlement and discontent, or else an
expression resulting from group dynamics. Consequently, there was virtually
no self-control or demonstration of mutual consideration; the fans even allowed themselves to degenerate into shameless behavior. The Japanese who
returned home to escape from this war were saddened to fi nd that they were
treated more rudely in their own land than in any other enemy country. I suppose it is necessary to give special consideration to lessen the congestion around
the theater. It wont work with just a wooden sign saying Keep to the left
or Move strictly in only one line without giving any further thought to
crowd control.

For a time, one got the impression that the Nichigeki Incident had been used
for lectures on national morality under a state of emergency. At Tokyo Imperial
University, Watanuki Tetsuo, a professor of social psychology, asked his students
in their final examination to write about the affair. Miyazawa Kiichi, then a thirdyear law student and currently the Minister of Finance, answered It was a truly
gratifying incident that accurately demonstrates the publics psychology in its quest
for freedoma response that apparently earned him the best grade.3
With the Asahi taking the lead, the mass media became more aggressive in
its information gathering. Thereupon, Th and Manei formed a united front in
laying out serious preventive measures. During my performance, Kodama never
let me out of his sight from morning until nightfall to keep me away from news
reporters. But such efforts were not entirely foolproof. The Miyako Shimbun (currently Tokyo Shimbun), a paper strong on the arts and entertainment news, reported in a small human interest story that Li Xianglan was merely my stage name
and that I was a native of Saga Prefecture, not someone from Manchuria. This
was what it said:
Since it became known that the Manei star Li Xianglan, who had caused quite
a fuss before a certain theater, has not received her proper entertainers

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permit, all concerned parties were called to the police station and reprimanded. After a letter of apology was written, they fi nally forwarded their
application for the permit through the Omote-machi Police Station. Through
this procedure and quite by accident, it became known that Li Xianglan was
not a Manchukuo native but simply a stage name; her real name is Yamaguchi Toshiko, a twenty-two-year-old born in February 1920. Beijing was her
birthplace, but her legal address on the family registry was in Kishima in
Saga Prefecture. The official in charge was surprised too by this finding, saying, Ah, thats why her Japanese is so good!

Both Th and Manei were greatly shocked by the news, as was I. Although
the report was wrong about Toshiko and Beijing, the paper would only become more inquisitive if we asked for a correction. I had had more or less the same
experience when I traveled from Nagasaki to Shanghai the year before for the location shooting of China Nights. One has to state ones real name and nationality
on ones passport. Seeing this, the Fukuoka Nichinichi Shimbun wrote an expos
saying Li Xianglan is a Japanese born in China!
At the time, Th and Manei made a deal with the paper by supplying advertising sources in exchange for its agreement not to repeat or to carry more detailed reports in the news. Thats why the information never reached Tokyo. This
time, it was also a local paper, but one from the capital nonetheless. On top of that,
the paper had an acknowledged reputation for its reports on arts and entertainment events, making its influence impossible to ignore. The next day, a gag entitled Getting to the Bottom appeared in its comic column, The Lying Club,
mocking my stage name:
Li Xianglan: Oh, Japanese is such a difficult language!
Yamaguchi Toshiko: Really? I think yours is as good as mine!
Eventually, Th and Manei came to the decision that they would agree to
Miyako Shimbuns request for an interview and have Li Xianglan speak to the
paper about the truth. It was their assessment that rather than having the Asahi
noisily declare throughout every corner of the country that my professed nationality was a lie, this action would keep the damage to the minimum. My storys
version was as follows:
I just by chance use the name Li Xianglan; I have been misunderstood for having purposefully concealed the fact that I am Japanese until this time. I could
not have imagined the harsh criticism I have caused due to the fans congestion before the theater. And then a lot of other things have happened. During

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135

the week, it seemed as if all the things that happened to me during my lifetime all came crashing down at once.

I dont think that the Asahi or other nationally circulating papers chased
after and reported that exclusive story. Contrary to the current trend, it was not a
common practice for the mass media at that time to report with great fanfare matters related to an actress private life. There werent any newspapers devoted to
sports and entertainment then, and even the newspapers entertainment column
was very tiny. More importantly, the newspapers themselves had been cutting down
on their pages to fall in line with the current political situation. Meanwhile, the
governments control of the media was growing tighter.
The fact that I was not Chinese but a trueborn Japanese was known to those
who were in the loop, as it were, but that knowledge didnt seem to have spread
throughout the country. Subsequently, when I performed in cities outside
Tokyoin fact in Tokyo as wellthere were still many who thought that Li
Xianglan was Chinese.
*

Shortly after my Nichigeki performance, I received a fan letter. Until then, I had
never received anything like that; there had been postcards or short messages, but
not an extended letter. Perhaps my fans thought that I couldnt read Japanese. What
I received was a five-page letter of beautiful prose composed in splendid Japanese.
When I recall the letter today, I was reminded of how touched I was when I first
read it.
It began with: You must have been much distressed by the unanticipated commotion in which you were entangled. For this, please allow me to express my sympathy. It continued, And yet the worth of a human being cannot be measured
by the uproar society generates or by the fame one acquires; it is not the same as
what appears on the surface. I wonder if that was not meant as a cautionary remark to temper any puffed-up conceit I might have felt for being the recipient of
such explosive popularity. From his message, the writer appeared to be someone
who knew me.
He introduced himself as a university student who attended the photo shooting
for Song of the White Orchid purposefully atop Mantetsu Building. And then there
were these comforting words: In a newspaper interview, you explained that you use
the name Li Xianglan by chance. But you are not the one at fault, you are just beingexploited by our national policy. Then there was the following: Do take good
care of yourself. In a time like this, the individuals worth is taken lightly like a
plaything. Th is makes it all the more important that one not lose sight of oneself
lest she becomes nothing more than the pawn of the nation and the circumstances

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of the time. You have a light shining in your heart. I trust you will always cherish
it. This was how it ended. He signed his name as Matsuoka Kenichir, University Student.
I was grateful and happy that a complete stranger would earnestly give such
warm advice to a mere actress. Moved by how different this was from an ordinary fan letter, I showed it to my guard, Kodama, and quickly wrote a reply.
I learned a little later that Matsuoka was a student in the Law Faculty of
Tokyo Imperial University and the eldest son of Foreign Minister Matsuoka
Ysuke, who had signed the Tripartite Pact between Japan, Germany, and Italy
the year before in 1940. At the time I met Kenichir, the Foreign Minister was
traveling in Europe to negotiate with Stalin on the conclusion of a neutrality pact
between Japan and the Soviet Union. Meanwhile, his very son was the one who
criticized the nation and the circumstances of the time and asked that the self
be cherished.
In February 1986, after many years had passed, I met Mr. Matsuoka and
found that he bore an indistinguishable resemblance to his father. He was born
in Washington, D.C., where his father was working as a secretary in the Japanese
Embassy. Six years my senior, he went to Ecole de lEtoile du Matin4 through
secondary school, followed by Tokyo Higher School and then the law faculty at
the Imperial University.
I dont remember that I wrote about a light shining in your heart, he said
with a wry smile. But if I did, it must have been the time after the photo shooting when Mr. Isshiki accompanied you on a visit to my house in Sendagaya. I looked
into your eyes and thought so at the time. Your eyes were particularly impressive,
and I was struck by your unaffected innocence. Well, I suppose it was also due to
the fact that you were still a gullible girl not yet accustomed to things in Japan.
I have no memory of having visited the Matsuoka residence; for me, our first
meeting took place after I received his fan letter. He continued, I also saw your
Nichigeki performance and watched you sing with all your heart. But then there
were reports portraying you as the chief culprit for such pandemonium, along with
all sorts of praise and blame thrown so unrelentingly in your direction. I found
myself feeling sorry for you. I believe I wrote the letter as a result of my compassion for you and my sense of indignation at society. At the time, I was an anarchist sympathizer. And so when you were dragged out before curious eyes to perform in fi lms and on stage as a Chinese woman, all in the name of national policy
about Japanese-Manchurian friendship, I thought of you as a pitiable girl, someone at the mercy of frothy waves of popularity.
I was surprised to learn that while Matsuoka Ysuke was described as a fervent nationalist, his son was an anarchist sympathizer. The French language with
which the young man was familiar since his days at Ecole de lEtoile du Matin

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137

appeared to have planted liberal thinking in him through his years in higher school
and at the university. To be sure, I couldnt understand his abstruse thoughts at
the time even though I listened attentively to what he said; I only privately wished
that I could continue to cherish our friendship.
He also told me the following: It was true that my father was Manchurias
colonial administrator in his role as Mantetsus president. It was also true that,
as a politician, he was in favor of the Axis Powers and advanced Japans national
policy by signing the Tripartite Pact. On the other hand, there was considerable
public misunderstanding about what my fathers thinking was and what he was
trying to do. He spoke with calm composure, just as he did when he was young,
and yet it was a style that I found agreeably persuasive.
He continued, And that was my father. On the other hand, during my student days, I was fond of books and music, crazy about photography, and generally entertaining thoughts a far cry from matters of national policy. Specifically,
I believed that such establishments as nation, government, and laws were evil to
human well-being. But in the real world, one cannot do without government and
laws, and the evil they bring is probably a necessary evil. In any case, I thought
that anarchism alone was the ultimate ideology for mankind. I felt both pity for
you and anger when I saw how you had been exploited by the state and the government. But I must say that I was also influenced by the fi lm Le Bonheur with
Charles Boyer in the starring role.
Again, at that point, he had a wry smile on his face. In that film, the anarchist played by Boyer threw a rock at an actress then at the height of her popularity as a warning call to her. Thats the beginning of their love story which ends in
tragedy. I pretended that Li Xianglan from the Nichigeki Incident was the popular actress Gaby Morlay, and I suppose I myself was playing the role of Charles
Boyer!5
Matsuoka Kenichir graduated from the university in 1941 and joined the
Dmei News Agency (the predecessor to present-day Jiji Press and Kyodo News).6
While still in its employment, he was recruited into the navy and went to a school
for accounting with the goal of becoming an accounting officer. With the advent
of the Pacific War, he was immediately sent on December 18 to the Saigon Headquarters in Indochina (present-day Vietnam). At the end of 1942, he returned to
Japan before working at the navys aviation factory in Chiba Prefectures Kisarazu.
At the end of 1943, he was sent to the Navy Ministry in Tokyo to work in the Press
Division.
Of course, we met only when both of us were in Tokyo. I was traveling back
and forth frequently to the Chinese continent, and even when I was in Japan, I
was constantly busy rushing from place to place, thus making it difficult for us to
see each other. As a result, we often exchanged letters.

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In those days, I was often surrounded by fans wherever I went, and it was quite
impossible for us to find a place to have a date as ordinary people did. Yet our walks
at night within the grounds of the Aoyama Cemetery, at a time when the cherry
blossom season was nearing its end, left a deep impression on me.
We often went to Akasakas Hytei for our meals. As a rule, the room we took
was always at the very far end of the restaurant. After Matsuoka made a telephone
call to the head waitress, O-toki, beforehand, she would act, in her cleverly judicious way, to keep us away from curious eyes. On many occasions, we were joined
by Mr. Matsushiro or Mr. It, both close friends of Matsuokas. Matsuoka would
talk about the navy, and I about the scenes at my location and my new fi lms.
After our meal, we would leave from the back door one at a time. Sometimes, we
would go to my apartment, and when that happened, Ms. Atsumi and I would
prepare the food with great care.
Once Matsuoka came into the reception room, he would act with an air of
familiarity by putting a record on a hand-operated gramophone. It was always
Beethovens violin concerto. With the famous music in the background, the topics for our conversation remained focused on stories about the navy and my fi lm
locations.
And such were our dates, nothing more than trifl ing affairs, but we did have
to strain to camouflage our rendezvous.
We didnt have many opportunities to be together, but as the years passed by,
there were times when I did have some vague expectation that he might ask me
to marry him. Whenever I entertained such thoughts, however, I had a change of
mind, realizing that our positions and social standings were different and that when
all was said and done, our love would come to a dead-end. I think that Matsuoka
himself didnt know what to do, even though he had apparently been questioned
by one of his friends about his intentions. Th is was what he said: You know,
Mr. It, my good friend from Yamaguchi Prefecture who was with Manchukuos
Foreign Ministry. He encouraged me to marry Li Xianglan. He was well-known
as quite a veteran playboy, a soft y. But when it came to life, he was pretty serious.
This happened when we returned from your apartment at Nogizaka. He grabbed
me by the collar and asked me what I really thought about you; quite an interrogation he gave me. He demanded that I quickly come to a decision and brush aside
thoughts about my father and family, saying my anarchist beliefs should allow me
to be oblivious to the mundane world.
While serving in the second Konoe cabinet, Foreign Minister Matsuoka
clashed with the Prime Minister over diplomatic relations with the United States.
After leaving the government in July 1941, his chronic tuberculosis worsened, and
he was put under medical care. Meanwhile, Kenichir changed jobs with dazzling speed, from working at the navy accounting school and the Saigon head-

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139

quarters to the navy aviation factory in Kisarazu and then at the Navy Ministry
itself. As Japans defeat became increasingly imminent, I thought it was no time to
contemplate marriage.
While I did have a nebulous wish that he would propose to me, he showed
no sign that he was about to do so. Making matters worse, there were ample
indications that he might be thinking of marrying another woman. Although
I didnt show my feelings outwardly, I was quite distraught as a result of my
jealousy toward my invisible competitor. He might have rattled away about my
innocence and my shining qualities, but at times I suspected that he might in
fact have looked upon me with contempt, thinking that I was no more than just
an actress.
While he did ask young women from well-thought-of families to visit his
Sendagaya residence, he never once offered the same invitation to me. A friend of
mine, an up-and-coming writer, bragged that she had been invited the day before
as a dinner guest to the Matsuoka residence and that they spoke all alone before the
fireplace in his reception room before his departure to Saigon. After I heard the
story, I could only shed tears of mortification.
Matsuoka appeared to have taken part in multiple marriage meetings, and
he would sometimes say how perplexed he was at the experience. While I would
respond with, Oh, is that so? and a laugh, I was feeling miserable for not knowing what his true feelings were. He had a wonderful smile, but the more cheerful
his smile, the more heartbroken I felt. In Japan, I had no one to talk with when it
came to such a private subject, and on the night when I told Yukiko all about it in
her house in Xinjing, I started to cry to my hearts content.
I remember that the first time I was invited to Matsuokas Sendagaya residence
was after the war, in 1948 or thereabouts. It was the fi rst time I was introduced to
his mother and sister. Due to the air raids in May 1945, the vicinity had been reduced to ruins; the only structure left on the grounds of the residence was a large
mud-walled storehouse. That was what the whole family called home.
For a time after the war, Matsuoka Ysuke, who had left the government after his clash with Prime Minister Konoe, was recuperating from tuberculosis in
the Shinsh area. When the General Headquarters of the Allied Forces issued a
warrant for his arrest in November, he returned to his Sendagaya home, where he
was under the care of Kenichir and his secretary Hasegawa Shinichi. On December 6, when the order came to put former Prime Minister Konoe along with eight
others into mori Camp, Konoe responded by committing suicide. Matsuoka, on
the other hand, said, I will not commit suicide. Suicide is a cowardly act. I will
appear in court and testify that Japans diplomacy which I conducted was not
wrong. The ensuing story was that Kenichir, who couldnt bear to watch the
arrest and execution of his sick father by the Americans, secretly handed him

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some potassium cyanide, only to have it rejected by his father, who said he had
no use for such a thing.
Meanwhile, the self-justifications in the Konoe Notes left behind by the thendeceased Prime Minister began to take on a life of their own. In opposing Konoes pacifism, Foreign Minister Matsuoka was being labeled a supporter of an
ideology of aggression. Lying on his sickbed inside the warehouse, Ysuke asked
Kenichir to come to his side to take notes while he dictated in English his Clarifications to the Konoe Notes. When the task was finished toward the end of January 1946, an American army doctor came ostensibly to take the former Foreign
Minister to a hospital to be treated, but that was just an excuse to prevent him
from committing suicide. Matsuoka was subsequently held at the Sugamo Prison
even though he was still a sick man.
In May, the International Military Tribunal for the Far East began. When asked
how he would plead as a Class-A defendant, Matsuoka Ysuke answered not
guilty with such a force hardly imaginable from a very sick patient that he surprised the whole court. That was his last public pronouncement.
On May 10, his condition deteriorated, leading to his hospitalization in a
U.S. army hospital. In June, a communication arrived requesting that the patient be taken away from the U.S. military. Kenichir implored his friends,
successfully, to allow his father to be hospitalized in Tokyo Universitys Sakaguchi Internal Medicine Unit. On the 27th, Matsuoka Ysuke died at the age of
sixty-six.
Kenichir brought his fathers body back to his Sendagaya home. [Franklin]
Warren, Ysukes American defense counsel, cried as he held on to the body, saying, You are not guilty. Basing his argument on Clarifications to the Konoe
Notes, Warren set out to prove that the Foreign Minister had not participated in
the decision to commence the Pacific War. After Matsuokas death, he worked very
diligently to influence the General Headquarters (GHQ) to delete the formers name
from the indictment, but such efforts were not recognized by the International
Military Tribunal for the Far East.7
Under GHQs orders, the Dmei News Agency for which Kenichir worked
was split into Jiji Press and Kyodo News. Former Dmei employees generally chose
to work in one or the other establishment, but Kenichir decided to join Sun
Picture News, newly founded by his senior colleague Okamura Niichi, the former
president of Tokyo Times, and others. When I met him after the war, he was already taking charge of the company.
Juggling our schedules, we met again two or three times; by then, we no longer had to worry about attracting curious attention. One time, all of a sudden, he
said something to the effect that to overcome the tempestuousness of life from
then on, he would need to have a companion such as me. I was happy when he

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141

said that. But even though I had been longing to hear such words for eight years,
my mind was surprisingly unflustered. I still held dear the first letter he sent and
his pictures, and I continued to respect him the same way as before. But having
just been repatriated to Japan after escaping a death sentence, I was not quite the
same person I had been in the past. If he had spoken those words before the war
ended, I probably would have accepted without hesitation. But at the time, I myself had to worry about the turbulent waves heading my way.
I decided that I would begin a new chapter in my life as an actress. In addition, after my parents and my siblings were repatriated from Beijing, the responsibility of caring for this big family also fell on my shoulders. This was exactly the
time when Matsuoka hinted about his proposal. The time had come for me to decide whether I wanted marriage or career.
I picked career.
For his part, Matsuoka left Sun Picture News to work in the world of television. After serving for a long time as Vice President of Asahi Television, in 1985
he became the President of Japan Cable Television and is currently working actively on the cutting edge of the media world.
*

Another person important during the bloom of my youth was Nichigekis Kodama
Eisui. I had long been hoping to have more information about him, and hearing
in 1986 about the existence of the Takara-kai, a gathering of former Nichigeki employees and old boys from Th, was an extraordinary piece of good fortune. In
particular, I was able to learn much from three menSat Masami, Sait Ichir,
and Sugano Toshioall close drinking friends of Kodamas, who told me virtually everything Id never known before about Kodama.
He was the eldest son from a wealthy family in Miyazaki Prefecture. In 1939,
no sooner had he graduated from Hsei Universitys Faculty of Literature than
he was conscripted to fight at Nomonhan on the Manchurian-Mongolian border.
Narrowly escaping death, he survived the war as the year came to an end.
He was interested in drama when he was at the university, and for that reason he joined Nichigeki (Th) in 1940, thanks to an introduction from an acquaintance. Everyone could tell that he was tall, handsome, and dark-complexioned,
a manly Kyushu product with a frank disposition. His penchant toward reticence
and the vague nihilistic air about him were probably the result of his experiences
in the Nomonhan Incident.
According to his colleague Sat Masami, he was an army sergeant at the time,
defending a grassy knoll as the squad leader in a storming party. Under attack
from Soviet tanks, he lost all his men. He himself was injured, lost consciousness, and was rescued by an army corpsman. He didnt talk to me much about

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the battlefield, but I did remember him mumbling about having died once before
and how a real war was hell.
The Nomonhan Incident occurred between May and mid-September of 1939,
when the Japanese and Soviet armies clashed in a regional war over border conflicts in Nomonhan on the Hulunbuir Plain.8 The Japanese army, which had proudly
won the Sino-Japanese and Russo-Japanese wars, was thoroughly crushed; the
Twenty-Third Division of the Kwantung Army and Manchukuo forces were overwhelmed by the modernized tank attacks from the joint Soviet and Outer Mongolian forces. A cease-fire was signed on September 15 after a complete disaster for
the Japanese. Casualties, including persons unaccounted for, were numbered at
17,405.9 According to the Soviet Unions history of the Second World War, 19,000
Japanese soldiers died and 26,000 suffered injuries. The combined casualties for
the Soviets were reportedly 9,800.10
To cover up the Japanese armys miserable fiasco, some survivors of the Nomonhan Incident were shipped to the southern front, and the soldiers who did
return to Japan were asked to observe strict secrecy. But stories of the wretched
conditions of the war still traveled from person to person. Kodama was amongst
those who had seen its hell.
Nichigekis heavy drinking buddiesKodama and Sat includedwould begin their after-work hours in twos and threes, first at Yrakuchs New Tokyo in
front of the theater. While Nichigekis cylindrical-shaped white hall no longer exists, New Tokyo still stands on the opposite side of the street; its beer garden on
the roof is now a famous place of interest in the Ginza District in the summer.
The group also included the judo expert and comic chat artist Ishiguro Keishichi
and the baritone singer Maki Tsugundo,11 and they apparently had a jolly time
together every day. When the group showed their faces, the waitresses at New Tokyo knew exactly what to do: each guest would receive a bill with only the words
one large draft beer, but was allowed to drink as much as he pleased. If sake happened to be the drink of the day, the slip would say First Class Kikumasamune.
Exactly one-g,12 and again they were allowed to drink to their hearts content.
Sat wondered whether the special ser vice was the result of the waitresses taking
an active interest in Kodama. Sait offered another theory, saying that the women
often received Nichigeki tickets as presents from them. Thereupon, Sugano reminisced that they could often drink on credit at Kamehachi, the sushi house next
door. Even though it was war time, those were the good old days!
The Nichigeki office had a small staff, led by Mikami Ryz, the manager, with
six others working in the arts and the general affairs sections. It had a long narrow room crammed with seven chairs for them to sit in a tight row. According to
Saits recollections, whenever I came to visit, Mikami would rise from his chair
next to the door and invite everybody else to tea. I later learned that it was his

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143

clever way of leaving Kodama and me alone in the room, although at the time I
was hardly aware of this arrangement.
Given Kodamas masculine appeal, women must have been falling all over
him; I thought he must have had a lover or two. But Sat denied it with a serious
look on his face. It was true that he was popular among women. But he was the
bashful type, and far from being a playboy, he tended to avoid them because of
shyness. In any case, he had a very good sense of discretion. For instance, he would
always come to work ten minutes early with a Good morning! no matter how
terrible his hangover was. With women, his behavior was strictly honorable, and
there was never any romantic gossip about him.
At the time, there was in Shibaura a machiai called The Peony, a favorite
lovers hangout among those connected with Nichigeki. One of the pretty geishas
there happened to have fallen head over heels in love with Kodama. With the
help of Sat and others, she managed to get Kodama as drunk as a lord. The story
I heard was that the next morning, instead of being able to seize the occasion to
care for Kodama while having her way with him, she found that he had performed a disappearing act from under his futon, leaving her stamping her feet in
frustration.
With Kodama, I felt that I could comfortably talk about any subject. He was
the kind of man who, after an absence of as long as six months, would still greet
you with the same nonchalant air as though you had just said goodbye to him the
day before. On a postcard he sent to my Beijing home were the words: Whenever
I see you, I worry that you might get hurt if I dont protect you. I will gladly be
your security guard whenever you need me. Availing myself of his kindness,
I always paid him a visit at Nichigeki whenever I was working in Japanthat was
my date with him. Sometimes, he would visit me in Nogizakas Imperial Apartments, which I shared with my attendant Atsumi Masako. One time, during
Fathers business visit to Tokyo after a long absence, I was unfortunately involved
in a location shooting in Shanghai. During the whole week, Kodama was kind
enough to volunteer to be Fathers guide, taking meticulous care of him and showing him famous sites such as the Yasukuni Shrine, the Ginza, and Asakusa.
Now heres a good man, someone even other men could love, Father said
the same thing as Koga Masao. And so what are your feelings about him? I answered that he was a very nice person, and that I liked him very much. That was
the extent of my feelings for Kodama at the time. In fact, I told him about my tormented first love for Matsuoka, and I also showed him the letter I had received
from Saigon. What I did must have made him uncomfortable. Meanwhile, I did
not have the luxury to speculate what Kodama himself might have felt about me.
One night, Kodama happened to drop by my Nogizaka apartment. He was
quite drunk, and his tall body wobbled from side to side. When I asked him what

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had happened, he promptly came to attention, made a salute with his right hand,
and said in a soldierly tone, Kodama Eisui will be getting married. When I offered my congratulations, he said, Of all people, I must have your blessings. Thats
the reason I came. Somehow, I had the feeling that he was not his normal self.
In a jolly mood, he told me, I myself have always wanted to have a great marriage, but I will follow my parents orders. Thats the sadness of being the oldest
son. As the marriage proposal has been agreed upon, I was toasting to myself just
before I came! Masako took out a beer we kept for a special occasion, and the three
of us again raised our glasses. His face unusually aglow with excitement, Kodama
left a barely consumed cigarette resting on the ashtray and busily began lighting
up another. Before we knew it, he quickly stubbed that one and hurriedly picked
out yet another from the pack. Masako and I could only look at each other as this
was going on. Since it was getting late, we had Kodama stay in a room next to ours.
The next morning, he enjoyed a bowl of miso soup with wheat-gluten tidbits, although he looked dejected, probably from a hangover.
Two or three days later, his letter came:
I dislike making excuses for myself, but this time alone, Ill offer my reasons.
My apologies for having embarrassed myself the other night. I hope youll forgive me. Ill be going to the Philippines as a member of the armys news crew.
By the way, about the marriage proposal I talked to you about, I have rejected
it. It is self-deception after all to marry someone without love, someone whom
I have seen only in a photograph. It would also be an act of disrespect for the
other party. On the day I returned home after you served me the delicious miso
soup, I spent the whole night thinking about the matter. I decided to write to
my father in Miyazaki to tell him that I will reject the proposal. It is a wicked
custom to have the oldest son chained to the feudalistic system we call the family. A marriage without love can even be called a sin. It was shameful of me as
a man to have to go back on my word, but besides my father, I have only you
to tell the story. I, Kodama Eisui, have been working as a security officer since
the Nichigeki Incident. This time, on orders from the state, I will defend my
country by going to the Philippines. My state of mind now reflects that of the
sakimori border guards during the time of Manysh: From this day on, without looking back, I set out to be a humble shield for my emperor.13 If I manage to return to Japan safely, I wish to protect you again. Before my departure, I thought to send you a few words of farewell.

One dark night a few days later, Kodama came to see me during the blackout. We faced each other in a moonlit room. Ill send you letters from the Philippines. Suddenly, I found it hard to part with him, and proceeded to take him all

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145

the way to the vicinity of Roppongi. I think you should go back now, he said.
But the moon was very beautiful that night, and I wanted to take him to whatever place he wanted to go. Kodama lived in an apartment near the Soviet Embassy in Mamiana.14 I havent yet arranged my books on my bookshelves, he said.
Please take whatever you wish to read.
I helped him organize the books in his apartment and took away about twenty
of them for memorys sake. He tied up ten each in a bundle with straw rope, spread
their weight evenly on his shoulders, and took me back home. We walked in silence in the blackout hours to and from Mamiana to Nogizaka; there was hardly
another soul on the streets.
Feeling tired as I walked, I staggered and was about to fall. Kodama quickly
supported me with his hands. That was only the second time I held his hand; the
first was during our escape from the theater. His big, warm hands seemed to
have folded me around him. Somehow, we both felt a little romantic and continued
walking while holding hands. Suddenly, a policeman leaped out from his police
box and yelled, Hey, you! What do you two think youre doing, a man and a
woman walking hand in hand in this time of emergency!
The next day, I was again caught, this time by the railway security police inside Tokyo Station, where I had gone all by myself to see Kodama off. Saying that
Japan was at war, the authorities did not allow those who came to see people off
to enter the grounds of a train station. But I had managed stealthily to sneak onto
the platform of the Tkaid Line. That was where I was caught and questioned. I
begged the policeman to let me see a close friend off before his departure to the
front, and the policeman was good enough to turn away, lean against the other side
of the pillar, and pretend not to see what I was doing.
The train for Shimonoseki started to move. Bending his head so that it wouldnt
bump against the roof of the train compartment, Kodama held a purple cloth bag
with his military sword in his left hand.
In the early summer of 1945, a letter came to me care of the main office of
Shanghais Huaying Films. It came from Kodama and was mailed from Manila.
Japans defeat looked imminent, and correspondence with the south was about to
be broken off. Manila had been taken back by the United States, and everybody
said that it was a miracle that the letter reached me. But the postmark showed that
it had been mailed in October the year before, and the envelope was all wrinkled
and dirty as a result of having been sent to and returned from various locations.
Kodama wrote:
Here, the most popu lar figure is President Laurel,15 and the second most popu lar is Li Xianglan. Wouldnt you consider coming to the Philippines while
youre enjoying such popularity? I offer to be your security guard again. I was

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very happy to learn about your fine reputation in such a faraway place. You
must come, and Ill make the arrangements.

Enclosed with the letter was a photograph showing him with a safari-look in a
jeep. Suddenly, the thought of going to Manila came to my mind. But with the
conditions of the war, that was far from a practical proposition; Manila had already fallen into American hands.
After my postwar repatriation to Japan, I attempted to get as much information about Kodama as I could from various sources, but all my efforts were in vain.
And then, a magazine scheduled a conversation between me and the writer Kon
Hidemi16 in connection with the fi lm The Shining Day of My Life (Waga shgai no
kagayakeru hi) directed by Yoshimura Kzabur.17 I had met Kon before in Beijing along with Kume Masao. Later in Xinjing, we also had a meal together with
Director Amakasu.
In the middle of our conversation, brought on by some cue, Kon suddenly
said, You know Kodama Eisui, dont you? He saved the lives of many of us Japanese, you know. Quite a man, a good guy. I went to Manila in 1944, and Kodama
at the news crew helped me out a lot. After he heard somewhere that I was acquainted with Li Xianglan, he came to visit me at my lodging with some whisky
and beer. And every night, wed talk about Li Xianglan as we had our drinks . . .
Keeping his promise that I shall return, General MacArthur landed in
January 1945 at Lingayen Gulf on the island of Luzon as the Supreme Allied Commander of the South West Pacific Area and began his march on the capital. In
central Manila on the edge of Roxas Boulevard is the historical Manila Hotel.
Across the street from the hotel is the Rizal Park where one can fi nd Intramuros, a fortification built by the Spaniards. That area is referred to as Manilas Old
Walled City.
At the time of the Japanese defense of Manila, Intramuros was their last stronghold. On February 3, 1945, the American forces began their assault. Rear Admiral Iwabuchi, Commander of the Naval Special Base Force, refused the armys
recommendation to withdraw and barricaded his naval brigade inside Intramuros. On February 26, Iwabuchi committed suicide. By the beginning of March,
all his naval defense forces had perished. Kodama seemed to be working with
those men at the time. When I received his letter in Shanghai, Kodama had been
dead for several months already.18
It was in October of 1944 when General Yamashita Tomoyuki arrived in Manila as Commander of Luzons Fourteenth Area Army. Astonished to learn that
there were still Japanese residents in the city as the American forces made their
approach, he was reportedly infuriated that they still had not been asked to leave.
He immediately gave orders that all Japanese civilians within Manila evacuate at

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once. Kodama and others were given the responsibility to secure their retreat, and
when it became clear that virtually all of them had done so, Kon asked Kodama
to return to Japan with him. Kodama responded that he would organize a group
of storm troops and stay until the bitter end to share his fate with Rear Admiral
Iwabuchi. Despite Kons tenacious urging, Kodama stubbornly stuck to his position like a Kyushu man, saying, I will fight to the end in Manila, and if I survive,
I will return. He then took off a small locket hanging on his chest and showed it to
Kon.
With his eyes closed, Kon reminisced about the scene at the time. For a really tough guy like Kodama, I was quite surprised that he should wear such a thing
as a locket next to his skin. But let me tell you, inside the locket was your photograph. He was wearing a rising-sun headband and the locket on his chest as he
stormed his enemies through the burning streets of Manila!

CHAPTER 10

The Two Yoshikos

Although arrangements for my exclusive affiliation with Manei

remained unchanged after 1941, the fi lms in which I appeared from then on were
almost all Japanese; indoor shooting at Maneis Xinjing studio was becoming extremely rare. After I finished the first stage of my location shootings and troop
visits, I was often able to return to my parents home in Beijing instead of staying
in Xinjing where Maneis headquarters was located.
Since Yamaga Tru was still with the Press Division of Beijings North China
Area Army, he often came to visit my family. But he was no longer the same knight
in shining armor as before. In the past, he would listen to all my troubles and
advise me on all kinds of trivial matters. Before I knew it, however, our roles were
completely reversed. Even though I was younger, it was I who was becoming his
consultant on matters of love.
Yamaga was definitely not the good-looking type, but his style and demeanor
made him a charming man. The smile on his face, displaying a sense of unperturbed composure, brought to mind the dignified manners of a distinguished Chinese gentleman. As I think back on our long friendship, I have almost no recollection of seeing him in military uniform. Perhaps due to his role as an intelligence
officer, he either wore a specially tailored suit or a classy Chinese outfit. He didnt
trim his hair like a soldier, but wore it long and parted it smartly. Handicapped
from typhoid fever, he often walked with a stick.
Even though he was a Japanese soldier, he never acted with boorish arrogance
or made a noisy fuss or impossible demands. I suppose that was why he was a favorite among women. Every time he sought consultation with me, it was always
about his affairs with the opposite sex. I dont quite understand why he chose to
consult me on such matters, considering my young age and my lack of experience
in that area. But behind his problems was always a common thread involving
a mutual friend of ours, Kawashima Yoshiko. I suppose that might have been
the explanation.

148

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149

He had been a student on consignment from the army at the Tokyo School of
Foreign Languages (present-day Tokyo University of Foreign Studies) and was later
initiated into Chinese by Kawashima Yoshiko while he was with the Matsumoto
Regiment. He went on to pursue further studies in Beijing, polishing his Chinese
language skills in a manner that set him apart from other Japanese. Normally, in
our conversations we used a mixture of Chinese and Japanese, but when we discussed his romantic affairs, we used only Chinese.
He had a habit of saying, Japanese women have no appeal for me. They are
always fidgeting about this and that, and Im totally at a loss as to what they may
be thinking. Indeed, his romantic partners were always Chinese women. In fact,
in both his public and private life, he had more Chinese acquaintances than Japanese; he even seemed to be deliberately avoiding the latter.
He was married once and had a child, but his wife had died a long time ago.
With no apparent desire to remarry, he had a good time being a bachelor and proceeded to earn a scandalous reputation from his affairs with various attractive
ladies. I wonder whether their being exclusively Chinese had anything to do with
the fact that his first love, Kawashima Yoshiko, was a Chinese woman. Apparently,
their love-hate relationship dragged on for a long time. He told me, There is just
no telling what this woman Yoshiko will do. When I returned home from the command post, it was all empty. She came when I was out and just took everything away
in a car. It was not just the expensive cameras he was so proud ofhis Contax and
Leicashe took everything, from his Western-style clothes to his underwear.
Well, I guess its not too bad as I can buy these things again. Thanks to her, I now
have a new suit and new shoes, he said with a bitter smile. I heard that similar incidents happened quite often. If he found himself at his wits end and ended up
going to Kawashimas place to get his things back, he would just play right into her
hands; she was not going to let go of his possessions, or his body, so easily.
During my stay in my parents home in Beijing, I would meet with friends
from my schoolgirl days and go out shopping with my sisters on Wangfujing and
Qianmen streets, but I almost never went to nightclubs or dance halls. I also rarely
attended parties hosted by local luminaries for fear of meeting Kawashima Yoshiko. She misunderstood my relationship with Yamaga and was spreading rumors about me in nightclubs and parties. Blending truth with fiction, she would
apparently tell stories like these about me:
That bitch Li Xianglan! She has the audacity to betray me after I took such
good loving care of her ever since her schoolgirl days! I bought her a piano,
I even built her a house! And now that she is a star, she doesnt even look at
me. That woman became an actress only because I asked Yamaga to get her

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into Manei. That ungrateful wretch! She knows damn well my relationship
with Yamaga and now she steals him from under me! Biting the hand that
feeds her, thats what it is!

Town gossips had it that Kawashima was particularly skilled in babbling the
first thing that came into her head in order to patch things up for the moment. In
fact, many rumors had been circulating to the effect that she was utilizing her past
relationship with such top army commanders as Lieutenant General Tada Hayao
to swindle money. It was true that when I spent my summer vacation in Tianjin
as a young student, Kawashima was quite fond of me, calling me her Yoko-chan.
But all I had gotten from her, as I mentioned earlier, were two Chinese dresses.
My relationship with Yamaga was a total misunderstanding on her part. As I
talked with him about his love affairs time and again, I came to understand the
reason for such a misunderstanding. Yamaga had been having an intimate relationship with the Manei actress Li Ming. Upon hearing rumors about a certain
Manei actress named Li, Kawashima quickly jumped to the mistaken conclusion that that person was Li Xianglan.1
In 1937 when Kawakita Nagamasa of the Twa Trading Company was making a fi lm called Path Toward Oriental Peace (Ty heiwa no michi, scripted and
directed by Suzuki Jkichi), he was thinking of using only Chinese actors recruited
in Beijing for its leading roles. Out of three hundred applicants, six were chosen.
Two of them were femalesLi Ming and Bai Guang. Because Li was able to speak
the Beijing dialect, she was scouted by Manei and came to Xinjing. Standing nearly
at five feet, ten inches, she was a glamorous woman with translucent skin and a
frosty beauty. She walked with slight difficulty, and when shooting running scenes,
we always used a stand-in.
As both Li Ming and Bai Guang lived in Beijing, both of them were regular
guests at the residence of Yamaga, who was responsible for operations with the
local media such as newspapers and films. In time, Li and Yamaga became lovers,
and Kawashima must have heard rumors about them.
When Kawashima became emotionally agitated, there was no telling what she
might contrive to do. Without ascertaining the truth of the matter, she went ahead
and secretly informed the military police that Major Yamaga and Li Xianglan
are having a scandalous affair.
One day, after having a little chitchat with Father at our house, Yamaga brought
me out to Wangfujing. Ordinarily, he would have talked fondly about his love affairs while sipping his laojiu,2 but on that day, he looked a bit depressed.
To tell you the truth, the military police called me in today. When I got there,
there was a preposterous secret report saying that Li Xianglan is having an

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intimate relationship with Yamaga to fish out secret information about the
Japanese army and pass it on to Chinese operatives. Just complete nonsense!
The military police also thought it was a prank against me and didnt take it
seriously. But I was tartly told to be careful as there are all kinds of rumors
about me flying around. Judging from the persons handwriting, it was from
Yoshiko!

The military police undoubtedly knew that Yamaga was living with Li Ming and
that the secret informant had made a mistake in her smear operation. Furthermore, after investigating the matter, the military police apparently also found out
that the informant was Kawashima Yoshiko. In time, this episode also reached
the ears of Lieutenant General Tada Hayao, Commander in Chief of the North
China Area Army.3
Lieutenant General Tada, Kawashimas patron, had appointed Jin Bihui as
Commander of the Rehe Pacification Army (Ankoku-gun) and built the House
of the Rising East (Dongxinglou) in Tianjin for her hideout.4 Then, rumors began
to circulate that Kawashima, calling the Lieutenant General Papa, had been
using his authority to her own advantage. By this time, as far as Tada was concerned, Kawashima Yoshiko was turning increasingly into an inconvenient irritant in both their personal relationship and in his efforts toward promoting continental strategies for the Japanese army. At last, he gave a top secret order that
Kawashima be eliminated.
From around 1940, Kawashima Yoshiko spent her unhappy days going back
and forth between three different locationsTianjins Dongxinglou, her Beijing
residence, and Hakatas Hotel Seirys. She would ordinarily have someone take
care of Dongxinglous management and retire to her Beijing home. The reason she
periodically visited Fukuoka was to meet with right-wing bigwigs such as Tyama
Mitsuru of the Black Ocean Society (Genysha). It appeared that this was also
the time that she began her association with Sasakawa Ryichi, head of the Great
Japan National Essence Mass Party (Dai Nippon Kokusui Taisht).5 When I
met Kawashima in Hakatas Hotel Seirys, she said, Sasakawa-onii-chan6 and
I are forming a new political organization. Wont you join us, Yoko-chan?
According to Yamaoka Shachis The Unprecedented: Sasakawa Ryichi the
Man (Hatenk: Ningen Sasakawa Ryichi, 1978), a depiction of the dramatic first
half of Sasakawas life, Kawashima flew all the way to Kyushu to meet Sasakawa,
the man she adored for having rescued her from Tadas assassination orders. But
the story I heard directly from Yamaga was a little different:
Yoshiko wrote a letter criticizing the actions of the Japanese army on the Chinese continent and had it disseminated among Japans political and military

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big shots such as Tj Hideki, Matsuoka Ysuke, and Tyama Mitsuru. While
making an appeal for a peaceful engagement with Chiang Kai-shek, she also
spared no efforts in condemning Tada. Part of that was due to her personal
grudge against the Lieutenant General for having turned a cold shoulder on
her, but the letter was also fi lled with her own disenchantment with the Japanese military. In any case, if Tada didnt act, things would only get thornier
for himthats why he decided to dispose of Yoshiko. Thereupon, he gave
me the order to do it. He knew about my past with Yoshiko, and I think he
did it half out of spite.

At the time, Kawashima had already been separated from Tada, and gossip
had been swirling about her affair with a certain member of the general staff named
Tamiya. There were also rumors that she was a double agent, making her a source
of headache for the Japanese North China Area Army, and particularly for Lieutenant General Tada. If her direct appeal was taken seriously by army headquarters in Japan, he himself could be directly implicated. I suppose that was why he
thought of taking her out.
Yamaga continued his story:
She was just stirring up too much trouble for the army. Personally, I myself
have suffered quite a bit because of her. But I couldnt bear to carry out the
order to eliminate her. I had known the woman for a long time, and she was,
even if for a short while, the princess from the house of Prince Su of the Qing
Dynasty and a relative of the Manchurian Emperor. So, I took full personal
responsibility by ordering her temporary deportation out of the country to
Japan. Now, I am sure she is resting quietly in Unzen in Kyushu.

That came as a surprise to me: Are we to believe that in order to dispose of a former mistress who had now turned into a nuisance, Lieutenant General Tada was
ordering the man who had been her first love to be her assassin? The ironic twist
in the plot was truly more bizarre than fiction.
According to Yamaokas aforementioned book, however, the order to carry
out the assassination was given to Major General Yuri from the military police.7
Then, which version was true? Perhaps both were. Regardless of what channel it
went through, Tadas order for the assassination of Kawashima came from the top
down. As far as the Lieutenant General was concerned, whoever the executioner
might be, he didnt care as long as someone removed his obstacle.
According to Yamaokas account, in June 1940, Major General Yuri, the commander of the military police, visited his old acquaintance Sasakawa who was
then staying in Beijing. He told Sasakawa that he had been ordered by the Com-

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153

mander of the North China Army to assassinate Kawashima. Unable to bring

himself to dispose of a woman who already had been exploited to the full by the
military, he asked if something could be done. Sympathetic with Kawashimas
predicament, Sasakawa met with her, then under house arrest, and ascertained
her desire to flee. He then took her to Dalians Hoshigaura Hotel, and there, the
two became intimate. Afterwards, Kawashima allowed her yearnings for Sasakawa
to grow, calling him affectionately her dear brother (onii-chan) and following
him everywhere through Kyushu, Osaka, and Tokyo. When the busy Sasakawa
couldnt pay her sufficient attention, Kawashima would send him a telegram
announcing, Yoshiko dying. Once Sasakawa was shocked into returning,
Kawashima would cling to him with tears and thwart any attempt on his part
to leave. When the two got into bed, Sasakawa was not allowed any sleep for the
entire night.
I think it was around this time that I, too, ran into Kawashima at Hotel
Seirys. Having finished shooting in Tokyo, I went to Hakata for a flight to Shanghai. In front of the hotel vestibule was a large gathering of people. From the crowd,
I heard a voice calling me, Hey, Yoko-chan. Ive been waiting for you because
they said youre coming. She was wearing a kimono made of fine linen fastened
with a heko-obi,8 and her hair was cut short just as before. I was astonished but
pretended to be calm.
Exactly at that moment, without any warning or hesitation, Kawashima rolled
up the skirt of her kimono and exposed her naked thigh, revealing a fresh scar
and injection marks. See, this is how Ive suffered, she said. See what terrible
things the Japa nese army did to me after what Ive done for them! Th is scar is
the evidence!
I was totally taken abackadding to my surprise of abruptly running into
somebody I didnt expect to see was the unanticipated sight of a raised kimono in
plain sight of everyone. As I was with my attendant, Ms. Atsumi, and my accompanying staff, I left the scene with a quick goodbye.
Kawashima showed up in my room before dinner. She told me that she had
read a short report in the local paper that I would be taking a flight from Hakata
to Shanghai and took the trouble of coming all the way to Hakata and taking a
room at the same hotel. She also said the following:
The mother of Kawashima [Kawashimas adopted father] is getting a little
funny in the head and is now resting in Unzen. I am here to look after her.

(Not aware that I knew that she had received her deportation order in Beijing
and was secretly hiding in Unzen, she was making up the story at the spur of
the moment.)

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Look at you, youve become a really popu lar star! There are plans to make a
fi lm called The Story of Kawashima Yoshiko (Kawashima Yoshiko den), and I
want you to play me in the leading role.

(That was the first time I heard about such a plan.)

Right now, I am making plans for a great national enterprise that will become
a legacy for future generations. I, Kawashima Yoshiko, will join hands with
Chiang Kai-shek. Sasakawa Ryichi and I have formed a new political organization, and Matsuoka Ysuke and Tyama Mitsuru will offer their cooperation. Now, I am asking you to join us!

(I declined on the excuse of being too busy.)

Ive done something bad to you, Yoko-chan, like suspecting you were with
Yamaga. The other woman was apparently Li Ming. Even so, Yamaga was unforgivable! Yamaga, Tanaka [Takayoshi], Tada [Hayao]. . . . Shame on all Japanese military men!

That was the only explanation and apology she gave for smearing me.
At that point, Atsumi came in to let me know about a staff meeting. After
telling me only what she wanted to say, Kawashima left the scene. That was the
last time I saw her.
It might have been around three oclock in the morning. I was awakened by
a rustling sound outside the mosquito net. There seemed to be someone out there,
and the net was trembling. I jumped out of bed and looked around but found not
a soul. At my bedside was a thick envelope. Inside was a letter containing probably thirty or so pages densely written with purple ink. I remember that the handwriting was good, although the crudely composed prose differed little from colloquial Japanese. Yoko-chan, I was happy to see you after such a long while. From
now on, I dont know whats going to happen to me. Th is may be the last time we
see each other. The tone of the letter was subdued.
Come to think of it, what does my life mean after all? I feel very empty inside.
Let me tell you, as long as people praise you to the skies, those are the best
days. But at a time like that, people who want to use you just come swarming
around. Dont let those guys drag you by the nose. Do what you think is right.
The best time is right now, a time to say whats really on your mind. Do what
you really want to do. If you want a good example of someone who was used
and dumped like a piece of garbage, look closely at me. Im offering you this

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155

advice from my own bitter experiences. Now, I feel like Im standing in the
vast wilderness and staring at the sun going down. I feel all alone. Tell me where
I should go by myself!

I was stunned. This was a letter from someone who had been at the center of so
much fanfare, a woman looked upon with as much admiration as disdain as
the Mata Hari of the Orient and the Joan of Arc of Manchuria. Th is was the
fi rst time that I was impressed with Kawashimas human qualities to this degree.
She continued:
Although you and I were born in different countries, we have many things in
common. We even have the same name, and youre always on my mind. I
often listen to your records, particularly songs like China Nights, which
Ive heard hundreds of times to the point where the surface of the record has
turned white.

It was true that I sang China Nights in the film itself, but the recording was done
by Watanabe Hamako. Even when Kawashima was expressing her deep emotions,
it was quite characteristic of her to somehow make things up for the moment.
Kawashima Yoshiko witnessed the end of the war in her home in Beijing. I
have heard that she had approached Mrs. Tj Hideki, by whose good offices she
was allowed to return from Kyushu to Beijing, but I am not sure if that was true.
But if Lieutenant General Tada had known that General Tj was behind her, it
would most likely have been impossible even for him to impose his will and carry
out his assassination plan. Together with her beloved monkey, Kawashima seemed
able to enjoy a transient moment of peace in her Beijing home.
On October 10, 1945, Kawashima was arrested in her own home and incarcerated in the First Beijing Prison to await trial under the charge of treason to China.
On October 22, 1947, she received a death sentence, and on March 25, 1948, she
was executed before a firing squad on the execution ground of the same prison.
Details of her life, including circumstances of her trial and her execution, can be
found in such books as [Watanabe Rysakus] Kawashima Yoshiko: Truths and Mysteries in Her Life (Kawashima Yoshiko: Sono shgai no shins to nazo) and Kamisaka Fuyukos The Beauty in Male Costume: A Biography of Kawashima Yoshiko
(Dans no reijin: Kawashima Yoshiko den, 1984).
The Rinzai Sect priest Furukawa Taik from the Myshin Temple had the dead
body cremated.9 A week later on March 31, the remains were placed in Guanyin
Temple in Beijings Dongdan region. A small funeral was held with the attendance
of fourteen to fifteen concerned Japanese whom he had invited. Priest Furukawa
had wished to have as many Japanese attendants as possible, but the confusion

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associated with the postwar period, along with perhaps a fear of future repercussions, led to the participation of only a small number of Japanese.
My sisters Etsuko and Kiyoko happened to visit the temple right after the funeral and heard from the priest a detailed account of the ceremony. Placed before
the memorial tablet with Kawashimas posthumous Buddhist name, Aishin
Hekitaimyh-daishi,10 were her Chinese dress and trousers worn in prison and
such items as her hot water bottle. Especially eye-catching was an apparently unworn white formal habutae kimono, her best dress. When asked before her execution if she had any final wish, she reportedly implored that she be allowed to
die not in a prisoners uniform but in a kimonoreferring to the white habutae; her wish was not granted.
Since the corpses face was completely shattered beyond recognition by bullets, there came into being a popu lar story according to which a switch had taken
place between Kawashima and the deceased body of another female prisoner, a
pickpocket. It was said that the real Kawashima had bribed the prison chief with
gold bars to secure her secret escape and that she was still alive. Hushed ghostly
rumors were told that night after night a Japanese woman in an elegant white silk
kimono was haunting the vicinity of her Beijing home.11
Born on May 24, 1906, Kawashima was exactly forty-one years and ten months
old at the time of her execution. That her age was alternatively given as thirty or
thirty-one in certain foreign-language reports was the result of her own bogus
claims. She also reportedly lied to Sasakawa that she was ten years younger, an
act emanating, I suppose, from her womans heart. But declaring an age younger
than her own before a court was Kawashimas last desperate strategy for getting
a verdict of innocence or a reduced sentence. Realizing that she would be treated
as a person under age if she had been under sixteen at the time of the 1931 Manchurian Incident, she proceeded to make herself younger by counting backward
and stated her birth year as 1916. She was prosecuted as a traitor to China, but it
must have occurred to her that if her acts had been committed while under age,
she would be eligible for considerations of extenuating circumstances.
Furthermore, if she could prove on the family register that she was the adopted daughter of Kawashima Naniwa, thereby establishing her Japanese status,
she could perhaps be absolved of her crime as a traitor to China itself. Being a
hanjian meant having committed a treasonous act against ones own country,
as in a Chinese betraying China. In China, that crime was inapplicable to a Japanese person.
With that in mind, she attempted to obtain a copy of the family register that
could provide proof from the village office in the suburbs of Matsumoto in Nagano Prefecture, the legal address of Kawashima Naniwa on the register. During
her trial and while in prison, she repeatedly requested her adopted father to

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157

send her such a copy, with due revision made about her age to make her ten
years younger.
What she did receive by mail from Japan, however, was simply one statement
from Kawashima Naniwa, first explaining that his copy of the family register was
lost in the fire following the Kant Earthquake and was no longer in existence. It
went on to state in effect that Kawashima Yoshiko was born as the fourteenth
daughter to Prince Su of the Qing Dynasty and that Kawashima Naniwa, himself
childless, adopted her as his daughter in October 1913 at the age of seven, thereby
making her Japa nese. The declaration ended with an authentication from the
village head under his hand and seal.
In reality, Kawashima Yoshiko, who everyone thought was Kawashima Naniwas adopted daughter and Japanese, hadnt had her name entered into the Kawashima family register. In other words, from the legal point of view, she had been
Chinese since birth, and China was, in name and in fact, her own country. She
herself was ignorant of this fact until death. She had been expecting her release
as a foreigner, but if one applied the definition of a hanjian as a Chinese who has
betrayed her country, she fully qualified. A copy of a family register, a mere scrap
of paper, indeed determined life or death.
*

At the end of January 1950, two years after the death of Kawashima Yoshiko, Yamaga Tru killed himself in the mountains of Yamanashi Prefecture. Both had
been involved in intelligence and conspiracy operations on the Chinese continent
while maintaining their love-hate relationship. One died by execution and the other
committed suicide; nothing could have anticipated such violent ends.
Yamaga Trus family house is in the city of Shizuoka. According to his niece,
Yamaga Chika, who is currently working for the Education Committee for Shizuoka City, Yamagas family could be traced to a hatamoto lineage in the direct
ser vice of the Tokugawa government, in a post that had been transferred to Suruga (present-day Shizuoka) from Kfu.12 His father, Kenjir, worked in the production and export of tea, the traditional local industry. Since he had also lived
in the United States, he was regarded as a yk-gaeri, a returnee from the West
and someone who was in the vanguard of his time. After his return to Japan, he
taught English in Shizuoka Secondary School under the old system while serving
as a Christian minister. Even though certain biographical accounts describe him
as a diplomat and Tru a product of a mixed marriage between Kenjir and an
American woman, that is incorrect.
Tru was the oldest son, and had a younger brother and two sisters. After graduating from the old Shizuoka Secondary School, he entered the Army Academy
and graduated as a low-ranking officer (rikushi) from the Thirty-Third Class. A

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few years later, he entered the Tokyo School for Foreign Languages as a student
on consignment. Since he said he was studying Chinese and Mongolian there, it
was likely that he had already decided that the Chinese continent was to be the
arena of his activity as a military man. That he met Kawashima Yoshiko while
serving as a lieutenant in the Machine Gun Division of the Fift ieth Matsumoto
Regiment was a result of his connections with Kawashima Naniwas ManchurianMongolian lobby group.13
Yamaga served as the standard-bearer for the Matsumoto Regiment, a highly
regarded position. In 1927, after his ser vice ended, he went to Beijing to become a
research student in languages and flawlessly mastered Mandarin in just about two
years. Calling himself by his Chinese name of Wang Jiaheng, he became active in
intelligence, propaganda, and pacification operations as a member of the Press
Division.
It was during this time, in 1930, that he fell passionately in love with Kiyoko,
the only daughter of a Japanese newspaperman whom he befriended in Beijing.
Despite the birth of their daughter, Hiroko, in 1933, he left his wife in his parents
home in Shizuoka and went to work in Fengtian by himself. It was in those days
that Yamaga became a frequent visitor to our house.
His married life ended in five short years; indeed, his days together with his
wife totaled no more than just a few months. In 1938, his wife, already in delicate
health, passed away; his life as a widower began the year I was scouted as a Manei
actress. His chaotic sexual liaisons and his downfall induced by alcohol and opium
were probably not unrelated to the resumption of his relationship with Kawashima Yoshiko immediately after the untimely death of Kiyoko.
After his transfer from Manchukuos Fengtian Press Division to Beijings Press
Division for the Japanese North China Army, he was engaged in cultural operations in northern China from his base, the Yamaga Residence in the Nanchizi
area.14 His main mission was the publication of a Chinese language paper called
Report on Martial Virtues (Wudebao), along with the organization of a new-style
drama troupe and the supervision of the production, distribution, and screening
of fi lms. He was soon promoted from major to lieutenant colonel.
One tendency arising from his many work-related acquaintances with Chinese journalists, intellectuals, and those in the drama and fi lm circles was the increasing flamboyance of his lifestyle. There were always beautiful women around
him, and there was alcohol, and then narcotics. I wonder whether his glitzy romantic liaisons were a result of Yamagas exploitation of the actresses for the purpose of intelligence gathering, or whether it was the actresses themselves who
sought fame or more desirable movie roles by prostituting themselves to the top
operative in the game of cultural propaganda. I suppose both dynamics were at
work. People currying favor with the powerful often stirred up ugly competitions

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159

and slander. Naturally, scandalous rumors were flying wildly all over town.
For example:
Yamaga Tru was the man behind the founding of the all-Chinese New Peoples Drama Guild (Xinmin-hui), and there wasnt a single female performer in the group with whom he hadnt taken liberties.
In order to receive a special allotment of printing paper, a certain Chinese
newspaper organized a beauty contest around the Qianmen Street area
(Qianmen Dajie).15 The Chinese girl chosen as Miss Qianmen Dajie was
duly presented to Yamaga as a human sacrifice.
A picture published in propaganda leaflets to inspire enemy surrender with
its depiction of outrageous epicurean and sexual abandon was an exact
replica of a night scene at the Yamaga Residence.
After making the Beijing actress Li Ming his mistress, Yamaga exerted pressure on film producers to have her star in leading roles. At the same time,
he had sexual liaisons with Lis rival, Bai Guang, in order to fan competition between the two for his favor.
Naturally, those rumors were exaggerations, and yet they were not entirely baseless. For instance, his relationships with Li Ming and Bai Guang were true.
In 1942, Yamaga was transferred to the armys Nanjings Press Division. Thereupon, it was rumored that Li Ming promptly followed him all the way there while
trying to break into Shanghai fi lm circles by using Yamagas behind-the-scenes
influence. When I was traveling from Beijing to Shanghai for the shooting of Glory
to Eternity,16 I stopped over in Nanjing to pay Yamaga a courtesy call. Not having
seen him for quite a while, I thought he looked a little gaunt.
While we were driving toward the Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum in the city suburbs, Yamaga led off by saying, You know the actress Bai Guang, dont you?
I thought to myself, Ha-ha! This must be a continuing chapter in the series
of his love troubles. Yamaga went on: Just a while ago, Bai Guang came to tell
me that Li Ming had a young Chinese boyfriend. She said that Lis willingness to
be my mistress even though she had her own lover was due to her desire to exploit the Press Divisions influence to get herself introduced to famous directors
in the Shanghai fi lm industry, that Li simply wanted to use me for that purpose.
Apparently, the monthly allowance Li Ming got from me all went to her loverboy. Now, Yoko-chan, what do you think about this matter?
I wasnt quite sure what I could possibly say by way of a response. I knew Bai
Guang well; she was a luscious type of actress. Just as rumors had it, it was probably
true that she was trying to edge out Li Ming so that she herself could stand in Yamagas favor. The story that Li Ming had a young lover was probably also accurate.

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What do you think of Bai Guang? I asked.

I suppose you could say shes a little more honest than Li Ming. She said that
she felt sorry for me after seeing what Li Ming had donegetting pretty angry
herself! For goodness sake, those two had been good friends and made their debut at the same time! Now they dont even speak to each other. Just cant figure
out women!17
While I could understand Yamagas bewilderment, it was a luxury few could
afford. In the end, he was just telling me about another one of his amorous conquests. Yet from the way he narrated the story, I could tell that he was beginning
to shift his affection from Li Ming to Bai Guang.
Yamagas ser vice in Nanjing lasted for only a few short months, after which
he began working in Shanghai. I continued to hear stories about his romantic
adventures there. When he came for a visit to my room in Broadway Mansion right
after his transfer, he showed up as quite a dandy. Smartly dressed in a stunning
pure-white sharkskin jacket, he had a vivacity of spirit a world apart from his former self in Nanjing.
Wasting no time, he proceeded to relay his new story: Let me tell you, I finally left Li Ming. Oh, it was a big, miserable mess! There was crying, shouting,
yelling, and pleading. And at last, in a rage, she said that shes going to kill Bai
Guang. After giving his full report on his breakup as if it had nothing to do with
him, he simply said, Im now living with Bai Guang.
That night, I was invited to a party held at his room at the Cathay Hotel. It
was thrown for those associated with Chinas new theater movement, and I was
told that it would be to my advantage to meet the scores of invited guests affiliated with the fi lm industry. But the real purpose, it seemed, was for me to meet
Bai Guang so that I could have a chance to get acquainted with her.
Bai Guang was her usual glamorous self. Her demeanor clearly revealed her
adoration and love for Yamaga. In contrast to Li Ming, she was unreservedly goodnatured and cheerful in spirit.
The party was quite a gathering. Despite recurrent anti-Japanese terrorist acts,
I was impressed by what Yamaga had accomplished; he was perhaps the only one
capable of throwing a party with exclusively Chinese guests. As could be expected
from those associated with the new theater movement, many of whom held radical ideas, much of their conversation was about the anti-Japanese movement. I was
stunned by the fact that nobody seemed to have any reservations as to what the
authorities might do to them as they self-assuredly leveled their bold criticism
against Japan. While the host himself was the top man in the Press Division of
the Japanese army, he looked more becoming in his Chinese dress than his Chinese guests themselves as he weaved his way around a wave of people with his walk-

The Two Yoshikos

161

ing stick in hand and a constant smile on his face. At times, he would stop to join
in a little chitchat and laughter.
The only good thing that has happened to Shanghai after the Japanese occupation is the presence of a powerful military police here. Now, the citys law and
order have much improved, a young stage director named Cao commented to
Yamaga. While the sentiment was halfheartedly felt by Shanghai residents, the
statement was also a sharp sarcasm directed against the Japanese. To this Yamaga
casually responded, Much obliged for your kind words.
After the party ended, Yamaga took me to a well-known gambling spot at
the edge of the French Concession. Once we stepped inside the vestibule where
patrolling guards walked back and forth with pistols in their hands, there was a
sweet, soporific smell in the air. Having once served opium smokers in the Pan
household, I realized immediately that there were opium dens at the far end of the
premises. Yamaga, too, had been an opium addict, and his house was fi lled with
a similar scent.
In the saloon with a high ceiling adorned by a glittering chandelier, all eyes
were transfixed on the rotating roulette wheel and the movement of the dice. There
were white, black, and yellow-skinned peoplethe place resembled an exhibition
of the worlds races. The night atmosphere befittingly reminded one that we were
in the international metropolis of Shanghai, the so-called city of evil.18 What
was surprising to me was just how amazingly well-connected Yamaga was in that
gambling spot. People whom he met and people who just walked past all nodded
in recognition of him. Holding a vodka cocktail and looking outside the window,
Yamaga surveyed the night scene below where boats were moored along the river
banks. Then, he turned to meor rather he turned to himselfand muttered:
The Japa nese have no idea how much they are loathed when they try to act
big and holler at people with all their military talk. For the time being, the
Chinese under the occupation just play along by following orders from the
conquering Japa nese, but nobody believes in any of the stuff about JapaneseManchurian or Japanese-Chinese friendship which the Japa nese military
has been talking about. Now I am beginning to be repulsed by the Japanese myself.

Then one day in 1943, Yamaga was suddenly summoned to return to Japan. He
immediately departed for Tokyo, but it was not a simple arraignment or a temporary recall. When he appeared before the Ichigaya command post, he was arrested
on the spot, taken into custody, and interrogated. He was then indicted for more
than ten offenses, including treason, divulgence of national secrets, infringement

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of military discipline, and use of narcotics. Next, he was to be court-martialed. The

most convincing theory for his recall was that Kawashima Yoshiko had directly
informed against him to Tj Hideki and Tjs wife.
According to his niece, Chika, Yamaga always maintained his silence over
this matter, but his mother, Yama, did say that Kawashima Yoshiko had secretly
informed on him. Earlier, Yamagas misconduct had already become a matter of
contention within Shanghais Press Division, and after Kawashimas report on his
enemy connections, it appeared that plainclothes military police began digging
into both his public and private lives. It was at this point in time that Kawashima
again secretly informed against him, charging that he was a spy and reporting
his relationship with Bai Guang. Furthermore, she didnt deal with the local military police, but directly with Army Minister Tj. I wonder if Kawashima was
aware that Yamaga had been her savior from Lieutenant General Tadas order for
her assassination, or whether her hatred for him prevailed even though she knew.
At the time, I had returned to Tokyo for my fi lm shooting, and one day, quite
without anticipation, Bai Guang came to visit me at Nogizakas Imperial Apartments, carrying with her a letter from Yamaga asking me to Take care of Bai Guang
in case something should happen. Bai Guang told me that she and Yamaga flew
to Japan together after he had been summoned from Shanghai and that she was
currently living with Yamagas parents in Shizuoka. She also said that she wished
to testify as a witness to Yamagas innocence. The two of us visited the army
prison several times, though we were not given permission to meet with Yamaga
even once.
After a short while, the verdict came: Yamaga was given a ten-year prison sentence. Thereupon, Bai Guang, her body trembling, yelled frenziedly in tears in my
apartment. She believed that Li Ming was behind Yamagas current predicament
and that it was she who had secretly informed on him. Perhaps Yamaga was the
common object for both Kawashimas as well as Lis acts of vengeance. Like a
woman possessed, Bai Guang gritted her teeth in furious rage as she unleashed
her curses at Li. Ill kill that bitch! Oh yes, Ill kill her! But just killing her will
not be enough for me! Ill torture her to death slowly, inch by inch, a piece at a
time. See if anybody can recognize her when Im through! Ah yes! Ill tie her up,
put her on a railroad track, and have her legs sliced off first. Then, itll be her arms.
I wont let her die, but make her live on like a caterpillar! The seething words she
delivered like a madwoman reminded me of what the late Qing Empress Dowager
Cixi had done to an imperial concubine of the fift h rank: she had had her rivals
body immersed in a water-filled vat while keeping her alive in that state.19 I can remember how horrified I was at the extraordinary intensity of her vindictiveness.
Yamaga served his sentence in an army prison in Nagoya. While living in Shizuoka with his parents family, Bai Guang went to Nagoya from time to time with

The Two Yoshikos

163

Yamagas daughter, Hiroko, and his niece, Chika, but permission to see him was
never granted, not even to his blood relatives. Disappointed, Bai Guang ended up
returning to Shanghai.
I think the first and final time I saw Yamaga after the war was in November
1949. The last time I had seen him in China was in 1943, and so six long years had
come and gone. One day, he suddenly showed up at my Tokyo home in Asagaya.
By chance, I was at home at the time, and when I went to the vestibule to meet my
guest, I had no idea at first who the man standing before me was. His cheeks, once
tautly stretched out, had sagged to the point where the profi le of his face seemed
to have disappeared. He had a receding hairline; his once lengthy and smartlyparted hair had been cut short. He had a stubble of beard, and the clothes he was
wearing looked worn-out. Then he told me his story:
Well, many things have happened to me since we last met. Lifes been tough.
Its frightening how vindictive Chinese women can be! On the other hand, I
havent been a paragon of good behavior myself. As an army man, I was too
friendly with the Chinese, and apparently they wanted to send a message to
the China lobby with me as an example. Punish one and let a hundred take
noticethat was the message. And so I was made into a big criminal, courtmartialed, and thrown into the slammer. Then the jail was bombed in the air
raids. I escaped during the confusion and lay low until the war ended.

To be sure, he wasnt just hiding from the Japanese army; his fear that he could be
sent back to China for trial as an accused war criminal also explained his temporary evaporation from public sight. He told me that he had been working in the
publishing business, but that this had failed and now he found himself in a terrible bind. Wont you be good enough to lend me two million yen? If I dont pay
it off by tomorrow, I might have to go back to jail. This was a time when the monthly
salary for the Japanese Prime Minister was fift y thousand yen, and he was asking
for two million.
The following is a February 26, 1950, report from the journal Weekly Asahi
on how Yamagas business failure totally sapped him of life before driving him
to suicide:
After resting at his hometown of Shizuoka, Yamaga came to Tokyo in 1946.
With his former subordinates from the Press Division, he formed a publishing company in the basement of the Maru Building and brought out a gravure journal called Massezu on the trade union movement. Next, he published
Screen Digest, but both ventures failed after a few issues. Then, he started a
publishing firm called Daihsha in Kayaba-ch. The payments he received,

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however, turned out to be nothing but dishonored checks, thus driving him
into immediate debt for several million yen. He had already borrowed as much
as he could from his relatives and former classmates, and by then he had nowhere to turn. . . . Driven into a corner, he concocted a bogus company called
Japan Labor Supplies, and this time he himself began to issue bad checks. The
police at Nogata Station began chasing him down on suspicions of fraud. He
conducted his businesses in the old, incompetent ways reminiscent of the postRestoration samurai entrepreneurs, and his former subordinates were no
longer willing to sacrifice themselves for him as they had done in the past;
the postwar zeitgeist had completely altered their sense of devotion. Every
one of his endeavors ended in failure, and he had lost all hope.

This was the man who had once commanded such a dignified presence in his
elegant Chinese attire, the same man who once frequented posh nightclubs in
his tailor-made sharkskin jacket. And now with only shabby clothes on his back,
he had to bow his head to ask for a loan. This was the time when I was making a
comeback into Japanese movies, starring in a series of fi lms such as The Shining
Day of My Life, The Passionate Mermaid (Jnetsu no ningyo [1948]), The Shooting
Star (Nagareboshi [1949]), The Human Condition (Ningen moy [1949]), and Homecoming (Kikoku [1949]). Yamaga said he saw me in the fi lm posters and thought
of coming to me for a loan.
Since I owed him a heavy debt of gratitude, I wanted to help him financially
in some way. But in those days, even the source of immediate living expenses for
my family was by no means guaranteed. I had to take out a loan before I could
purchase my home in Asagaya, and paying the school expenses of my brothers
and sisters was about as much as I could manage. The burden of supporting eight
family members, including my parents, had fallen entirely on my shoulders.
When I frankly told him my situation, he said, I understand. Its difficult
for me to say this, but, instead of a loan, may I ask you to take temporary care of
my daughter Hiroko? There is just some business I have to take care of far away.
I wish I could take care of her, but at her age I think she herself should take
some responsibility, considering how my family now lives from day to day.
She is a pretty stubborn girl, and wont listen to what her mother says. She
has admired you since she was quite young, and I hope you can take care of her
for me.
Yamaga had a second marriage with a distant relative immediately after the
war. Hiroko, at the susceptible age of sixteen, didnt seem to be able to get along
very well with her stepmother. Yamaga didnt go into any more details about this
matter before he left. I looked at him from behind, noticing his drooping shoulders and how lonely a figure he had become.

The Two Yoshikos

165

Two or three days passed. When I returned home one day, I found in front of
my house a two-wheeled cart packed with things like chests of drawers and bedding. Sitting in the living room was a young girl in a middy blouse and skirt. She
had a lovely round face, but something about her features betrayed an air of loneliness. My name is Yamaga Hiroko. It is very nice meeting you, she said, greeting me calmly with good grace.
Seeing her with her happy face convinced that she would be allowed to stay
made it impossible for me to return her to her family. When she told me that she
was sixteen, I was reminded of the days when I, at about her same age, took up
residence with the Pan family in Beijing, away from my parents. Fortunately, she
was the same age as my sister Seiko to whom she seemed to have taken a liking.
So, I decided to put an extra bed for her in Seikos room. From our Asagaya house,
Hiroko began to go to the Ty Eiwa Girls Academy in Roppongi.
Two months later on January 28, 1950, I was shooting a Kurosawa Akira fi lm
called The Scandal (Shbun) at the Shchiku funa Studio with Mifune Toshir.
It was already past ten at night. I was staying at the Osaragi Ryokan in front of
funa train station and was told that a telephone call had come for me from the
society desk at the Mainichi Shimbun.
Do you know a man named Yamaga Tru? the voice on the other end
abruptly asked.
Yes, I know him very well.
He just killed himself in the mountains of Yamanashi Prefecture.
What?
A double suicide with his wife. It seems that the two of them tied themselves
around a pine tree before each taking a whole bottles worth of crushed sleeping
pills. They had mixed them with juice before they drank the whole thing. The
voice went on, Six suicide notes have been found. Five of them are for the police
and their creditors expressing their apologies. One other note was addressed to
you, asking you to take good care of their daughter, Hiroko.
The reporter continued with his questions on the telephone. What was the
nature of your relationship with Yamaga?
Well, he was a helping friend when I was in China.
A helping friend?
He knew my father, and I, too, was a recipient of his many kindnesses.
A recipient of his kindnesses. Hmm, would you mind giving me a little more
detail about your relationship with him?
When it came to that point, it occurred to me that the reporter had misunderstood our relationship as one of a romantic nature.
Soon, the reporter arrived in person. Just as I thought, he suspected that while in
China, I had had a relationship with Yamaga and that Hiroko was my illegitimate

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child. After I explained the situation in detail, he said, Oh! It was my fault. If
that were true, it would mean youd given birth at the age of thirteen! Thereupon, he called his papers society desk and shouted, Kill the morning edition
headline Suicide after Entrusting Child to Yamaguchi Yoshiko!
The next day, a short accompanying piece Laudable Story about Yamaguchi
Yoshiko appeared in the paper. Yet, due to the rather shocking nature of the main
storywhich was the important partI made sure that for the next few days Hiroko did not have a chance to look at any newspapers. The shock came from the
extraordinary conditions of the two bodies. The aforementioned Weekly Asahi had
the following to say:
Fourteen-year-old Misa-chan from next door came running with a frightened
look on her face, crying, Its terrible! A dog is eating a human head! The time
was eight oclock in the morning on January 25, when the charcoal inspector
Onsen Hideo was about to leave home. Surprised, he followed Misa and found
a reddish-colored wild dog chewing on a mans head in the compost inside a
pigpen. There was only a speckling of three-and-a-half-inch-long hairs at the
back of the head. The area around the face and the neck had been devoured
by the animal, leaving no trace of what could properly be called human flesh.
To the small isolated mountain village of Nishiyama in Minami-koma
County in Yamanashi Prefecture, that was a big incident.
A search was quickly launched to find the missing body, but initial efforts were unsuccessful. Finally, on the morning of the third day, a headless
corpse reduced to white bones and tied to a tree trunk with a hemp rope was
found in the pine forest at the entrance to the villages irrigation pond. The
location was atop a bluff with a swift-flowing stream, the kind of place where
ordinarily nobody would go. Near the vicinity of the body were a black-leather
briefcase and a handbag. Inside were six suicide notes, and other items such
as sleeping pills and documents.
According to the suicide notes, the mans name was Yamaga Tru (53)
who lived at 836 Yoyogi-honch, in Tokyos Shibuya Ward. Since one end of
the hemp rope extended to the edge of the bluff at a fast-flowing stream nearby,
it was determined that the deceased female body found late last December
about ten miles downstream was his wife, Kazue (44), mentioned in the suicide notes. She must have taken the sleeping pills, writhed in pain, and fallen
into the stream.

When I was spending time in the United States in 1950, I met a sculptor in
New York and married him the next year. As we lived in a rental teahouse in funa
owned by Kitaji Rosanjin,20 I seldom returned to my own home in Asagaya.

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167

Iwas, however, glad that Hiroko had successfully graduated from the girls academy and had started working. When I returned home after making the film House
of Bamboo for Twentieth Century Fox,21 I discovered that Hiroko had left home
and was working as a hostess in the Mandarin Club in Roppongi, which was
patronized by American military officers. The manger of that classy club was Bai
Guang, Yamagas last lover. After the war, Bai went to Hong Kong where she married an American officer. After she became a successful nightclub manager there,
she brought her business to Tokyo. I had no idea where or under what circumstance Bai and Hiroko met again, but of course what they had in common was
their relationship with Yamaga.
Bai Guang had come to Tokyo with Yamaga when he was recalled in 1943 to
report to the army headquarters of the military police. As she had no acquaintances in Japan, for a time she stayed with the Yamaga family in Shizuoka. It was
then a five-member household, with Yama, Yamagas mother; Sue, the widow of
his younger brother, Ch; their children, Chika and Kichi; and Hiroko. The men
in the Yamaga household had died young, leaving it a matriarchal family. They
were then joined by Bai Guang; the six of them lived together and communicated
with each other in broken Chinese and Japanese. I heard that Yamagas family was
quite fond of Bai, affectionately calling her Hakk-san.22 It was at that time that
Hiroko first got to know her fathers mistress.
Eventually, Hiroko became a Mandarin Club hostess. She was popular among
U.S. military men because of her ability to speak English. Then, for some minor
reason, she quit her job there and took another at the Ginzas Odette.23 In the early
1950s, Japan was still a poor country, but life at the posh nightclub in the Ginza,
patronized by U.S. military personnel and people on company business, was a different world from that of ordinary citizens who often had to sell their personal
belongings to eke out a living.
Before long at Odette, Hiroko met and fell in love with a drummer of a jazz
band, and the two got married. While they did have a marriage ceremony, the mans
former wife never consented to a divorce, rendering Hiroko unable to put her name
on the mans family register. As the situation remained unresolved, the two split
up, and then a new lover appeared.
For a time, Hiroko found a patron in the head director of a major credit association. Shortly afterwards, she fell in love with a broadcast reporter from
Radio Kant and was seriously thinking of marrying him. Thereupon, she ended
her life as the bankers mistress before becoming engaged to the reporter. At the
time, I was living in the United States, but according to the reminiscences of my
younger sister, Seiko, Hirokos roommate, Hiroko was prepared, this time round,
to settle down to lead an ordinary life. She even happily showed off to Seiko her
engagement ring made of Mexican opal.

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A few days after the meeting between the two, however, Hiroko committed
suicide in her apartment in Aoyamas Takakich; she had discovered that the reporter to whom she was engaged already had a fiance. When Seiko rushed to the
scene after receiving a telephone call from someone identifying herself as Hirokos distant relative, she found that many Ginza hostesses were already gathered
around Hirokos dead body, lamenting Hirokos passing in a farewell drinking
party.
Even today, Minobe Ayako, the madame at Odette, still remembers Hiroko
as a gentle, beautiful girl whose popularity was unsurpassed, but also as someone
with a strong melancholy streak. Especially after the death of her grandmother,
Yama, who had taken care of her since she was a child, she blurted out that she
didnt want to go on living anymore. She attempted suicide every time she was
betrayed by a man. She finally succeeded the fourth time.
After taking sleeping pills, Hiroko turned on the gas in an airtight room. She
had crushed a bottles worth of sleeping pills, mixed them with juice, and drank
up the whole thing, the same way her father had killed himself in the mountains
of Yamanashi Prefecture.

CHAPTER 11

Two Phantom Films

Yellow River and
My Nightingale
In the summer of 1942, the train carry ing our film crew was on
its long southward journey from Beijing to Kaifeng in Henan Province. An ancient walled city situated to the west of Xuzhou, Kaifeng prospered along the Yellow River.1 Our location shooting for a semi-documentary fi lm The Yellow River
(Huanghe) was to take place in the citys suburbs in the war zone of Liuyuankou
on the river bank.
Until then, the fi lms in which I had appeared were all sweet love romances
heavily marketing the allure of the Chinese continent, and I was beginning to feel
guilty about how my performances had after all been fantasies far detached from
the realities of the continent and how the Chinese people actually lived. I couldnt
recall how many times a fi lm like China Nights had been the object of scathing
criticism by my Chinese friends. I also realized that the films dedicated to so-called
Japanese-Manchurian Friendship ended up satisfying none other than Japans
egotistical needs. Such frustrations prompted me to jump at a chance to play a
rather unprepossessing role (yogore-yaku) in an independent Manei production.2
The Yellow River had been the brainchild of the Chinese fi lm director Zhou
Xiaobo for three years; he himself was the scriptwriter for this serious work.3 All
the film staff was exclusively Chinese with the exception of cameraman Tanimoto
Seishi; all the cast except me were also Chinese. As a matter of fact, very few people
in China knew that Li Xianglan was in fact Japanese.
I played the role of a daughter from a farming family that had been living for
generations along the bank of the Yellow River. Declining fortunes had forced the
family to mortgage its wheat field to the landlord. While the storys drama unfolds
around the struggle between the family and the landlord, this semi-documentary
actually focused on the misery of the rural village, which had been a battleground
in the Sino-Japanese War, and the farmers fight against Yellow Rivers catastrophic
flooding. The familys eventual cooperation with the Japanese army had been written into the script, but Director Zhou Xiaobos aspiration was to depict, with a
pulsating sense of immediacy and a realistic touch, the wars horrors and mans

169

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Chapter 11

precarious existence in the face of natures untamed ferocity. His sense of purpose behind this endeavor was exceptional.
The Huanghe, truly the yellow river, has fittingly been compared since ancient times to a colossal dragon, tossing and turning its body as it meanders through
the Chinese continent, a river that carries with it nothing less than Chinas own
eternal history and culture. I was quite accustomed to the sight of the Yangtze,
having lived for about two years in Shanghai before and right after the war, and
I have been deeply impressed by how remarkably different those two rivers are as
they flow eastward across the Chinese continent. Resembling a scene from a Southern School painting, the Yangtze evokes the image of a sailboat carry ing passengers leisurely cruising downstream against a landscape of lush pasture. On the
other hand, the Yellow River with its loess-filled torrents had the feel of a monochrome ink painting executed with ravaging fury. This was especially true around
the river basin near Kaifeng, where great floods had devastated the area, relentlessly sweeping away trees and human dwellings. Since historic times, the Yellow
River had on many occasions produced colossal floods, thereby instilling fear
among local farmers about the curse from the dragon god. But great floods were
not just natural calamities; sometimes they were the disastrous results of deliberate human actions. The fi lm we were venturing to make during an extended
period of location shooting was one set against the background of such a manmade tragedy.
In 1938, a year after the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War, a flood
had occurred in Huayuankuo upstream from Liuyuankou in the suburbs of Kaifeng, the location where we were doing the shooting. In an attempt to prevent the
westward advance of Japanese troops after its capture of Xuzhou, the Chinese Nationalist army judged that it had no choice other than to blast the dikes at three
different locations, including Zhaokuo on the south bank.4 Owing to the onset of
the rainy season just then and the subsequent rise in water level, muddy torrents
overwhelmed the plains with ferocious swiftness and caused flooding in the three
provinces of Henan, Anhui, and Jiangsu. The inundated areas measured 54,000
square kilometers; flooded villages, flood victims, and deaths numbered 3,500,
12,000,000, and 900,000, respectively.5 The torrents gushing southward triggered
a chain of additional floods as the Yellow River ended up rushing into the Huai.
By the time we were shooting the fi lm, four years had passed since the great
destruction of the dikes, and construction work on the new embankment walls
had already been completed. The wheat fields had begun to turn golden in harmony with the color of the Yellow River, returning to the scene a pastoral calm.
It was the world of Wheat and Soldiers (Mugi to heitai), the famous work by Hino
AshiheiTo Xuzhou, to Xuzhou, the troops and the horses, advance!6 Since the
outbreak of the war, however, the area around the river basin with its wheat fields

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

171

had been reduced to a battleground between the Japanese and Chinese armies.
Already for four years, they had each taken hold of and retreated from their positions time and again with only the river between them. In fact, during our location shootings, we had no idea when or where bullets might fly our way. With the
outbreak of the Pacific War, followed by the deployment of the main Japanese forces
to the southern seas, the local strategy on the Chinese front repeatedly took the
form of punitive expeditions carried out intermittently with incessant troop movements back and forth.
In the area around Kaifeng at the time, a strong Communist resistance was
beginning to develop, replacing Chiang Kai-sheks Nationalist forces and launching attacks on the Japanese in many different areas with formidable effectiveness.
Even though the Japanese army held on to the cities they occupied and communication lines, their inability to maintain control over the areas in between was
becoming a source of anxiety.
*

Our train had passed Baoding and was making its approach to Zhengzhou. As it
continued south, the suffocating heat became more horrendous, and the glaring
sunlight started to scorch the skin. Under this oppressive heat, my companion,
Atsumi Masako, and I could do hardly anything except to pant in exhaustion inside the compartment. The color of the landscape outside the window began to
turn more monotonous; the grassland and groves gave way to a succession of barren rocky hills. After a while, wide stretches of a bone-dry land painted in a light
yellow were all the eye could see. Once having been flooded, the earth burned under the peculiarly sultry Henan sun, cracked, and was finally reduced to unsalvageable badland. Even the sound from the trains wheels seemed lifeless.
There were several chairs along the passageway outside the compartment, and
there we could see the sweaty back of a Japanese soldier exposed to the sweltering
wind. From the faded colors of his shirt, it was obvious that the smell of his sweat
came from real battle experiences. Atsumi was the first to notice him, murmuring cheerfully how more secure we could feel now that a Japanese soldier was by
our side.
From time to time, a huge cloud of sand dust rising from the other end of the
horizon would come our way and blanket the entire train. Trying to avoid the blowing dust, the soldier took off his military cap and swift ly turned his back. Without thinking, I let out a loud cry, Arent you Mr. Tamura?
Yes, it was him. The soldier was Tamura Taijir.
It was a completely fortuitous meeting. Standing before us, the writer with
his long hair and pale skin whom we had known earlier during his debut was now
a soldier with a crew cut and a face sunburned into a reddish brown.

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Chapter 11

I couldnt believe our accidental encounter on a sweltering train, nor could I

find the right words to say by way of exchanging greetings. I was clearly quite emotional when I saw him, and Tamura himself also fell into speechlessness and deep
thought. Perhaps my stirring emotions led me to ramble on without end; I can
hardly remember what I actually talked with him about.
As I recall, Private Tamura didnt mention anything about the hardships he
had experienced at the battlefront; he simply explained that he was returning from
an assignment to deliver certain orders to the troops at the upper course of the
Yellow River. Then he told me, snapping out his words as he spoke, that his unit
had been holing up deep in the mountains of Zhengzhou for as long as three years.
What a repulsive war! What a repulsive army!
The railway coiled through folds of mountains upon mountains on its way
toward the interior. Tamura got off at a small, nameless station and said, Well,
lets say goodbye here. I guess nobody in my unit would ever believe that Ive just
met Li Xianglan. Can you give me something as proof?
Those were his parting words, uttered half-jokingly as a request for a favor of
me. I gave him several pictures of me that I carried, after putting my signature on
them. As the train started to move, Tamura said, as if the thought had just come to
him, You asked Heri jun zai lai [When will you return?] in your song. Well, we
did meet again, didnt we? Zaijian! I hope well see each other again! And I would
love to hear you sing! As the train was moving away from the station on a vast
open field, his retreating figure in army uniform became smaller and smaller as he
walked toward the hills, and finally the yellow sand dust totally swallowed him.
A trucks journey from Kaifeng to the Yellow River took twelve hours.
Before our departure, each of us was given a hand grenade for protection in case
of emergency. Just feeling its rough surface made me tense all over. Before departure at six in the morning, the only two women in our partyAtsumi and I
had already transformed ourselves into coolies by washing off our makeup, rubbing our faces with charcoal, and putting on blue cotton trousers. Once outside
Kaifeng, wed be entering guerilla territory.
We rode in three separate trucks in the midst of heat and dust. The area didnt
have the luxury of roads; you might say we simply plunged ahead across the golden
wheat field between tall ridges. We passengers were constantly jolted into the air
from our seats, and if we didnt hold tightly to the rim of the luggage-holding area,
we could easily be flung out of the truck onto the ground below.
We were wrong to expect any cooling effect once the vehicles started to run.
Traveling against the scorching headwind intensified the heat and burned our skin.
Tiny grains of sand blown by the wind on already sun-burned skin caused a throbbing sting, only to be exacerbated by the relentless heat. After a short time, the
features on all our faces were rendered unrecognizable, like a row of rice cakes

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

173

dusted with yellow soybean flour. Once somebody opened his mouth, the roasting air and sand dust would cling to the throats mucous membrane. Both the sky
and the earth were being scorched. The trucks were virtually turning into blast
furnaces, and soon smoke blew out from their overheated engines.
Making haphazard stops of our vehicles would be dangerous. We were told
that no water was available until we reached a village, which in any case was likely
to be a hideout for a tenacious Communist guerilla force that lurked in the area.
After being given thorough instructions that all the farmers we saw should be considered members of the guerilla force, we couldnt help thinking that the peepholes we saw on the village walls were in fact loopholes through which guns could
be pointed at travelers. Perhaps it was just the way we felt, but the farmers we saw
along the way with hoes and spades on their shoulders seemed to be looking at us
with unusual intensity.
When the big red sun began its incline toward the horizon over the wheat
fields, we finally reached the bank of the Yellow River at Liuyuankuo, a Japanese
army garrison. Our schedule was to shoot on location for two months under the
armys protection, and during the shooting, we would prepare our own meals. A
young platoon leader came out to greet us.
More than anything else, water was what we wanted, and what we got was
tepid and oddly sweet, but I drank it in one gulp. That our request for drinking
water was made with considerable audaciousness only dawned on us when the soldiers were making preparations for our bath. They had to scoop up muddy water
in buckets to fi ll a drum container. We were told that there was no water on location and that the soldiers had to get it from the Yellow River.
Drinking water was stored in a big vat. When the water from the river collected one bucket after another was allowed to sit for a whole day, eighty percent
of its contents would sink to the bottom as mud while the other twenty percent on
top became clear. The latter was then boiled and fi ltered through gauze before it
was used for drinking. When we expressed surprise upon seeing bugs swimming
on the water surface inside the vat, the platoon leader explained that the insects,
by virtue of being alive, served to prove that the water was safe. For the first time,
I realized just how precious even a drop of water was on the frontline.
When Atsumi and I were taking our bath, our bathroomthat is, the drum
was surrounded by a screen made of towels. The water very quickly turned our
facecloth from white to brown. We couldnt use soap because of the hard water, but
no one was making any more complaints. After our skin dried from perspiration,
we discovered on its surface particles of yellow dust like grains of golden powder.
Pattering it off briskly was to become our after-bath ritual.
We were assigned lodging in dwellings vacated by local inhabitants who had
escaped the turmoil of war. The tattered houses had mud walls that threatened to

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collapse at any time, and candles were our only source of light. There were geckos
crawling about on the ceiling, a fact that the platoon leader again used to reassure us that it was a good house. For dinner we had big fish caught from the Yellow
River. The platoon leader muttered that wed find it tasty once wed gotten used
to it. But for those of you coming from big cities, perhaps youd fi nd the meat of
geckos more to your liking.
After dinner, I changed into a Chinese dress, washed and combed my hair,
put on some makeup, and visited the soldiers quarters with the platoon leader.
Even after sunset, the air was still muggy due to the lingering heat from the day.
Soldiers wearing hardly anything were either reading or writing letters under the
dim candlelight. Then came the announcement: For the next two months, a film
crew will be shooting on this location. Please assist them by playing the role of
extras. During the fi lm shooting, those who do not take part in enemy raids will
protect the crew as an additional responsibility. Tonight, Ms. Li Xianglan will
sing for us. Now, go and put on your uniforms and assemble at the square in
thirty minutes!
And so we had a summer-night concert outdoors. Even so, we couldnt bring
out the candles; the Chinese army was stationed just across the river. But we had
the stars and the moon in the night sky.
I thought of singing Going Out to Sea (Umi yukaba) and asked the soldiers
to join me in a chorus. However, in order not to agitate the Chinese army on the
other side, the platoon leader cautioned his men not to sing too loudly. From the
moonlights reflection on the Yellow River, we could see golden ripples gently making their way to the shore.
After I sang the first stanza in a low soprano voice, the soldiers joined in with
a chorus, sending their subdued voices rippling across the land. The night air descending upon us brought a cool breeze across the wheat fields. While Going Out
to Sea was a favorite navy song,7 it was a fitting choice against the torrential flow
of the Yellow River. Along the banks of this sea of water, fighting men, Japanese
and Chinese alike, died every single day. Come to think of it, since ancient times,
how many hundreds of thousands, or indeed millions of peasants living in its basin had vanished after being swallowed by its floods?
Going out to sea, I die as a water-soaked corpse,
Going out to the hills, I perish as a skeleton among the grass. . . .
The only stage illumination in the wild fields was the moon and the stars that filled
the night sky, stars that one could almost reach with outstretched hands. The solemn singing served only to accentuate the hushed silence of the area.

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

175

I went on to sing a few more songs, including The Moon over the Ruined
Castle and The Suzhou Serenade, followed by folksongs performed with local
pride by the soldiers. We sang the last number together, called Comrades (Seny),
which began with Here, how many hundreds of leagues from home.8 The male
chorus on the bank of the Yellow River created beautiful music and was in no way
inferior to any large concert chorus. When I close my eyes today, I can still hear
the lingering notes at the end of our songs amidst the silence of the night.
Our filming continued with the protection of the platoon. There were instances
when sunlight alone, striking reflectors, would lead to mortar fire from the other
side of the river. Even fi lm canisters were good targets for enemy fire and could
not be carried around carelessly. As there was no telling when wed be under sniper
fire from machine guns, a scout was always dispatched to reconnoiter shortly
before filming began. Once both sides started shooting at each other across the
river, we would throw ourselves on the mud, the noise of cannon fi re reverberating heavily against our chests flat on the ground. I wonder what the thoughts of
our Chinese staff were when the sound of cannon fi re came from the other side
of the riverbank.
Every morning, I would see off soldiers on attack missions, and there were
only a few times when they all managed to return. As the days went by, we were
seeing fewer and fewer of those with whom we had grown familiar; they were disappearing as if they had been spirited away. At night, as individual faces began to
float in my mind, geckos made their appearance crawling on the ceiling. Sometimes, a scorpion would fall onto my blanket. Countless stray dogs greeted nightfall with an exchange of howls into the wilderness. But those were not my only
horrifying experiences.
One time, after returning from a days fighting, a drunk soldier banged on
the door of our lodging and shouted, Please open up! I suppose he was acting
in desperation after having spent so much time on the battlefield and seeing his
comrades die every day. Atsumi and I could only react by holding our breath after
bolting our door tightly shut. Although the platoon leader had told us to report at
all times any offensive acts from the soldiers, we decided to keep quiet about the
incident until the end.
The fi lming involved heavy labor. Playing the role of a poor peasant girl, I
struggled with the Yellow River with water rising all the way to my head. Covered with mud, I crawled about in hot sand. After fi lming the scene where I had
to run around in a wheat field to make my escape, my hands and legs were covered
with cuts. The soldiers were engaged in a desperate fight, and I, too, was determined to outgrow my former self by devoting myself totally to my acting during
the two months of shooting.

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Chapter 11

On my way back to Beijing, as if mercilessly pursued by a tenacious enemy,

I was again made aware of the dire suffering on the frontline. From Kaifeng, the
train traveled northward on the Jing-Han Line for a while before it arrived at a
station called Xinxiang, where for an instant, I thought that I saw a profusion of
dark red flowers ahead of me. But my illusion turned into a scene of mountains
upon mountains of injured soldiers and the blood they were shedding. Until Beijing, two trains for carrying the injured were linked up before they were connected
to the rear of our train. When the train stopped at Shimen Station midway between Xinxiang and Beijing, a conductor came and requested that the lower berth
of our sleeper car be used by injured officers. Of course, we agreed.
A young officer with blood-soaked bandages on his head was carried in and
cared for by a private with an injury to his right leg. We were told that the young
officer was a platoon leader with a bullet penetrating his left temple and suffering
from loss of memory.
Inside the compartments carry ing the injured was a picture of hell. Soldiers
without their hands or legs were merely rubbed with iodine as they groaned in
pain in their last moments. Some had wounds infested with maggots. We were
told by the medic that that was caused by germs; maggots would eat away the suppurated tissues and decomposed wounds. We also found a soldier using a soda
bottle as his pillow as whatever remained of his severed leg was hanging from the
ceiling with a straw rope. Whenever the train shook, the compartment would be
fi lled with groans and cries of pain from the heavily injured: It hurts! I cant
stand it! Give me water! I want my mother!
Only one medic was there to take care of several dozen men. When we offered to help in looking after the wounded, the conductor said, Much obliged
with a bow.
Atsumi and I began to devote ourselves to the work. As the medic couldnt
take care of everything, we helped to change the bandages and wipe away the
sweatonce we started to nurse the wounded, there was no end to it.
Because guerilla forces were active along the tracks at night, the train made
a stop in the middle of the wild fields at around midnight with all electricity turned
off. Then we waited until the coming of dawn. We and the soldiers were able to
restore a bit of our energy by taking naps.
After a while, all the healthier soldiers began to ask me to sing something.
Even the badly wounded begged for Japanese songs. This time, I thought, Id truly
be singing to bring some comfort to the troops. Jumping down from the train car,
I ran under the moonlight to a spot in the wheat field where the passengers in the
two medical trains could see me. I began by saying, Please keep up your spirits!
Keep them up, and I hope youll all get well soon! and then proceeded to sing
The Moon over the Ruined Castle. But just then, I realized that I had lost my

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

177

voice. My throat must have been completely dry due to fatigue. I quickly drank
some water, practiced my breathing, and started over again, this time with some
success. With the banks of the Yellow River in mind, I also sang Going Out to
Sea, followed by Setting Sail (Defune) and such Japanese songs as they came
to mind.
The young man with fi ne features who was carried into our compartment
joined the army immediately after his graduation from the Law Faculty of Tokyo
Imperial University. He had just become an officer and was in command of his
men during fighting. He was injured when a skirmish developed into a fierce
full-scale battle. Even though his temple had been perforated, he appeared like a
healthy normal person except for the bandages around his head. The private told
us that the lieutenant had suffered a complete loss of memory. No matter what he
heard, he simply tilted his head. The private frequently asked me to speak to him,
thinking that when spoken to by a young woman, he might be able to remember
something.
When I asked the young man things such as his name, his whereabouts, and
where he came from in Japan, his previously unruffled features became sad, but
he offered no reply.
Okaasan [your mother] is in Japan, right?
O-ka-a?
Okaasan, your okaasan!
The lieutenant responded by uttering, O-ka-a-sa-n, one syllable at a time
as if he were carefully meditating on every sound. But eventually, all this young
army officer could say was those syllables. Until he reached Beijing, he was unable to recover his memory.
The reason Im able to remember my experiences on the medical train so
precisely was that after the war, I had an accidental encounter with that very
private who accompanied the young officer. As a matter of fact, I was embarrassed that I myself had forgotten so much about them, but Mr. Asai Takeshi, the
former private, was able to remember our encounter on the train in great detail.
The aforementioned episode was a reconstruction of events made by pooling
our recollections. Mr. Asai is currently serving as Director of the Asai Academy
in Sapporo.9
The Yellow River became critically acclaimed as an ambitious semidocumentary film, one described as a masterpiece by the Manei Director Negishi Kanichi, a man who in previous years before Manei had produced various
celebrated films from Nikkatsu. Thinking that it would be a fine idea to release
the film in Japan as well, Negishi had Japanese subtitles superimposed before he
negotiated with Shchiku and Th, but to no avail. By that time, Japans continental boom had receded, and perhaps the depiction of wretched peasant life and

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Chapter 11

of the difficulties Japan faced on the battlefield contributed to its apathetic reception as well. In the end, it became a phantom semi-documentary with its reputation known only to a segment of the Japanese film world.
*

One more phantom film, likewise produced by Manei but never publicly screened
in either China or Japan, was My Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu, 1943).10 Even
though this fi lm may very well have deserved special mention as Japans fi rst
authentic musical, regrettably the name of the masterpiece does not even appear
in the annals of Japanese fi lm. Could that be due to the fact that it was produced
in the defunct Japanese empire of Manchuria?
Even though it was designated a Manei film, in substance it was a Th production from Japan. While it was produced by Maneis Iwasaki Akira and its principal cast, the Harbin Opera Troupe and Li Xianglan, was supplied by Manei, Th
arranged all the other important personnel. The original work by Osaragi Jir was
called The Songstress of Harbin (Harubin no utahime), the director and scriptwriter
was Shimazu Yasujir, the photography was by Fukushima Hiroshi, the music was
by Hattori Ryichi, and the dance choreography was by Shirai Tetsuz. The origins of the fi lm could be traced to the performance in Japan of the Harbin Ballet,
which so impressed the Director Shimazu that one evening he shared the dream
of making a musical with his close friend, Iwasaki Akira.
Due to the extraordinary circumstances of the time, however, there was little chance that they would be given permission to go ahead. Then a Th production executive named Mori Iwao, who had been acting as their patron, applied
his political influences to lobby both Th and Manei. Thereupon, apparently even
the authorities turned a blind eye to their plans so long as the film was made under
Maneis name.
From its planning stage, my esteemed producer, Iwasaki, and the director,
Shimazu, had been thinking of having me play the leading role, a young girl named
Mariko (her Russian name was Mariya).11 I was grateful to them and was fully
prepared to do whatever was necessary to satisfy their expectations of me. I was
also happy to be recognized as a vocalist good enough to perform with the internationally known Harbin Opera Troupe. For my sake, Hattori Ryichi composed
the music for My Nightingale (Solovej moj), a theme song with a Russian flavor.
After practicing the song over and over again, I decided to sing it in the style of a
lyric soprano.
Heres a brief description of the story. In 1917, the October Revolution drives
a group of White Russian opera singers from the Russian Imperial Theater to flee
from Siberia to Manchuria. While in exile, they are saved by the family of the
branch manager of a Japanese trading company named Sumida, a role played by

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

179

Kuroi Jun.12 When fighting spreads to their town and the singers and the Sumida
family escape in several horse-drawn carriages, Sumidas carriage falls behind,
leading eventually to his separation from his wife and their young daughter, Mariko,
played by Chiba Sachiko and Li Xianglan, respectively.13 Fifteen years pass, with
Sumida searching in vain for his family in different parts of China. As it turns
out, his wife has died, and their daughter, living in Harbin, has been adopted by
an opera singer named Dmitrii,14 played by Grigorii Saiapin. While performing
at the Harbin Opera, Dmitrii gives Mariya singing lessons, and the young woman
soon makes a successful debut in a Russian concert singing My Nightingale.
Just then, the Manchurian Incident breaks out, and the city of Harbin falls
into chaos.
When the situation calms down, Dmitrii falls ill and loses his job. To support the family, Mariya entertains in nightclubs with such songs as Ochi chyornye (Kuroi hitomi).15 A friend of Sumidas, an entrepreneur (Shind Eitar), discovers Mariya and helps to arrange a meeting between father and daughter. Yet
in consideration of Dmitriis feelings, Sumida decides not to take Mariya away
from him. After Dmitrii decides to return to the opera, Mariya falls in love with
a young Japanese painter by the name of Ueno (Matsumoto Mitsuo). Just as the
family is beginning to regain their happiness, Dmitrii collapses on stage after
giving a passionate performance of the last scene of Faust. As Mariya visits Dmitriis grave at the Russian cemetery with Sumida, Ueno, and others, she sings My
Nightingale and earnestly prays for the soul of her adopted father.
To the extent that this film could be seen as a Russian production, both its
form and content reminded one of a European fi lm. Not only did the story take
place in Harbin, an international city built by Imperial Russia, but all the actors
sang in Russian. The music running through the entire fi lm was Russian, and all
the dialogue was given in Russian as well. Japanese appeared only in the subtitles. Outsiders would most likely have thought that it was a European fi lm imported into Japan. Naturally, Shimazus screenplay was first written in Japanese,
but it was immediately translated. Maneis Ikeda Tadasu served as one of the assistant directors, but Li Yushi, a man who could speak Russian, Japanese, and Chinese, was also chosen for that role. In addition, two White Russians were employed
as expert interpreters.
Grigorii Saiapin, an internationally known baritone who played my adopted
father, was head of the Harbin Saiapin Opera. Nina Engelhardt, in the role of Madame Anna Stepanova Mirskaya, was the troupe leader of the Harbin Engelhardt
Opera. V. I. Tomskii, playing Count Razumovskii, headed the Harbin Tomskii Theater. Also participating in the film were the Harbin White Russian Artists League
and the Harbin Ballet. The music was performed by the Harbin Symphonic Orchestra, said to be the best in Manchuria.16

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The metropolis of Harbin was built by Imperial Russia in 1898. After the RussoJapanese War, this so-called Little Paris of the Orient, reminiscent of an authentic European city, was the gathering place of White Russians fleeing the Russian
Revolution. Given those assets, the top performing talents from old Imperial Russia had converged in the city, all of which were channeled into the making of
My Nightingale.
While I had the good fortune of working among such distinguished company,
I had no idea how I, a Japanese woman, should go about playing the role of a Russian mans adopted daughter. After a while, the thought came to me to model my
role after Liuba, the Russian girl who was my close friend during my Fengtian days.
Liuba was good in Japanese, and her predicaments were similar to those of Mariko.
Once the decision was made to fashion my demeanor, movements, and thinking
process thoroughly after Liuba, all my uncertainties vanished. I recalled her everyday mannerisms and incorporated them in my acting: how she held the teapot as she poured tea from the samovar, how she crossed her legs in her unique
style of skating, how she winked as she whispered something to me in confidence,
and how she put her finger to her lips to give a shh. . . . I even patterned my hairstyle after hers, wearing it in three long braids with small ribbons on each end.
The film shooting spanned two calendar years and totaled sixteen months.
Our location shootings in Harbin continued intermittently throughout the four
seasons, but I think the majority of our shots were winter scenes.
Harbin in the Manchu language apparently means a place for drying fish
nets. It began as a small fishing village on the Songari, or Songhua, River before
it gradually prospered into a large metropolis in conjunction with Imperial Russias southward advance. Most of its architectural and decorative designs were
Russian-inspired, as could be seen in the citys shops, offices, temples, hospitals,
hotels, schools, parking lots, parks, and graveyards. In addition, there were influences from the Greek, Renaissance, Gothic, and Art Nouveau styles, along with
Chinese and Japanese designs, all contributing to the citys unique flavor as an
international metropolis. The liveliest downtown area was along the cobblestoned
Kitaiskaya Boulevard on the north side of Harbin Station, with rows of upscale
restaurants and boutiques advertizing in three languages, Russian, Chinese,
and Japanese.17
Harbin had much more severe winters than Fengtian or Xinjing. Snowfall began toward the end of October, and drift ice began to float along the Songhua River
in the suburbs in November. Predictably, for five months from around November
10 until April 10, the river was completely frozen. For this reason, the paddlewheeler, Harbins special attraction, could navigate on the river only from April
for six months during the year. When the river was frozen, the typical winter scene
was of a maqiao, or horse-drawn sleigh, running swift ly on the icy snowy plain.

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

181

Until the temperature reached forty degrees below freezing, we could still cover
the camera with a cloak, but when it got down to minus forty-five degrees, the
camera would no longer run. Even when that happened, filming could not be suspended; the staff simply took the camera next to a stove to warm it up before it
was brought back into ser vice.
On an occasional holiday, we would go riding in sleighs. Kuroi Jun was famous for his equestrian skills and would always enjoy himself by taking longdistance rides with Shind Eitar, Ikeda Tadasu, and others.
Street scenes were mostly taken from Kitaiskaya Boulevard, and theater and
nightclub scenes were exclusively shot inside Modern Hotel Harbin.18 After the
shooting, the fi lm crew and cast members would patronize a tearoom on Kitaiskaya called Victoria; I myself loved the lemon tea and Russian cakes there. In 1943,
food had become scarce in Manchuria. But wherever the fi lm crew went, we were
always greeted with hospitality, and fans would also send us various food or drink
items. Even such sweets as chocolate and jelly were quite readily available.
The film cost about 250,000 yen, about five times the production cost of an
ordinary film. The length of the film was 11,000 feet with a screening time of about
two hours. On a page of assistant director Ikedas pocketbook dated March 24,
1944, were the following words written in large characters: Filming ended for My
Nightingale. All completed.
With the Russians, the Japanese, and the Chinese showing no racial prejudice, all the actors sang and danced and gave the best performance they could. In
broken Russian, the former Shingeki actors Kuroi Jun and Shind Eitar enthusiastically exchanged views on performance with such renowned actors as Tomskii.
There was also something extraordinary about Director Shimazus passion for the
film; he and Iwasaki and others often spoke of making an art film the whole world
can appreciate. There were also times when the unusual sternness with which he
directed my acting caused me to burst into tears in spite of myself.
This film turned out to be a truly incredible cosmopolitan musical. Since prewar Japan had no such word or concept for a musical, it was called an ongaku
eiga, a music fi lm. By whatever name, it could be described as the first authentic
expression of that genre in the history of Japanese fi lm. It was inconceivable that
a Japanese studio at that time could have made a fi lm that managed to incorporate such an extravagant display of the enemys music from the West. I suppose
that was precisely the reason Shimazu and Iwasaki made it in Manchuria, away
from the watchful eyes of the Japanese authorities.
The White Russians were among the ethnic groups that made up the people
of Manchukuo, supposedly a land of harmony among the five races, and they gave
Harbin the city they created its European ambience. Meanwhile, Shimazu and
Iwasaki were admirers of such Austrian and German musicals as Der Kongress

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Chapter 11

tanzt (The Congress Dances [1932]),19 and I suppose their appreciation for such films
coincided with what they saw in the manners and customs of Harbin, a piece of
Europe within Asia. Iwasakis enduring emotional bonds with My Nightingale
were to fi nd expression in his postwar Shchiku production Here Is the Fountain (Koko ni izumi ari [1955]), a masterpiece Japanese musical directed by Imai
Tadashi.20
According to the critic Sat Tadao, the very act of making such films as My
Nightingale could be interpreted as a desperate act of resistance against the currents of the time. While pointing out problems with the plot, Sat focused his attention on the fi lms production crew, men whose work manifested the precariousness with which liberals in war time Japan lived their lives:
Along with the original author Osaragi Jir, these men, to my knowledge, were
the most liberal individuals within the world of Japanese fi lm and literature
during the war. As a left-wing fi lm critic, Iwasaki Akira opposed the militarization of Japanese fi lm until the very end before he was thrown into prison.
When he found himself with absolutely nothing with which to fight his battles, he sought a Manei position for the sake of his livelihood. On the other
hand, while Shimazu Yasujir had the reputation as a workmanlike director
who would jump at making what appeared to be a commercially successful
fi lm, he never did make even a single belligerent war fi lm. In Osaragi Jirs
case, in pointing out the mistakes of the French military by publishing such
historical books as The Dreyfus Affair (Dorefyusu jiken) and The Tragedy of
General Boulanger (Branje shgun no higeki), he was by implication condemning the failings of the Japanese military.21

Liberals represented not only the film staff but included Kuroi Jun and Shind
Eitar in the cast. Both stage actors, Kuroi was affi liated with the Tsukiji Theater
Troupe (Gekidan Tsukiji-za) and Shind with the Comrades Theater Group (Gekidan Dshi-za). It was after the war that they both became active as screen actors.
Changing his stage name to Nihonyanagi Hiroshi, Kuroi played heroic roles in
Daieis gangster films, holding a Colt in one hand and wearing his porkpie hat
pulled low to the level of his eyes. Shind Eitar appeared in Teis period fi lms
playing the behind-the-scenes villain in internal feuds among samurai. His halfcovered face revealing only his large, angry eyes, he was always finished off at the
end by the mighty sword of justice. I heard that both of them were Shingeki actors
with very progressive thinking. Come to think of it, they were also quite good
in Russian.
During the fi lming, we had two White Russians working as our interpreters.
It became known recently that one of them, a bearded young man called Alek-

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

183

sandr, was a spy dispatched by the Soviet government to Harbin. He had an accidental meeting with Takeuchi Rinji, a Manei employee in its music department,
who had been interned in a Siberian detention camp after the war. At the time,
Aleksandr was wearing the uniform of the military police when he came to
interrogate Japa nese prisoners-of-war. Th is was what he purportedly revealed
to Takeuchi:
I was working as a spy with the mission to investigate the background and
actions of Li Xianglan. I knew everything about her, that she was a true-bred
Japanese called Yamaguchi Yoshiko, and that she had learned Russian from
Liuba and Madame Podlesov. I hopped from Beijing and Shanghai to Xinjing
just to cover her tracks. When I worked as the interpreter for the fi lm, she was
my target.

I was stunned to learn, albeit belatedly, that I had been the target of Soviet spying
activity. Later, another stunning fact was revealed, that I was also being spied on
by Japanese intelligence.
In June 1986, My Nightingale was screened for the first time in Shinjukus
Yasuda Seimei Hall in Tokyo. On that occasion, End Homare of Hitotsubashi
University, a woman who had written Qiazi, her memoirs about her flight from
Xinjing,22 introduced me to Takenaka Shigetoshi, formerly associated with Japanese intelligence.
Immediately after his graduation from Manchuria National Universitys Harbin Academy, Takenakas potential usefulness with his proficiency in Russian was
recognized before he was conscripted into the Harbin armys spy apparatus, a unit
within the Kwantung Armys main intelligence establishment. He was assigned
to the Conspiracy Planning Group staffed by many graduates from the armys
Nakano School (Rikugun Nakano Gakk), a place for the training of future spies.23
His first mission after this assignment was to investigate the conduct and actions of the cast members of My Nightingale. Under orders from his superior, Lieutenant Colonel Yamashita, a high-level staff officer, Takenaka began working with
another spy who had set himself up as a member of the Harbin Tomskii Theater
Troupe. Their duty was to put a tail on the main cast members, Saiapin, the baritone, and Li Xianglan. Starting with Iwasaki and Director Shimazu, Japanese
intelligence had apparently marked virtually everyone associated with the fi lm.
Now a professor at Dait Bunka University, Takenaka nostalgically said,
after watching the first screening of My Nightingale, that he could vividly remember every single location shooting of the fi lm. He also briskly added that
neither Saiapin nor Li Xianglan spoke or behaved in any suspicious way while
under his watch.

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Chapter 11

While on the subject, I wonder if the Soviet and Japanese spies knew one another as such, and whether some werent double agents. In any case, what had the
world come to when agents from both Japanese and Russian intelligence had me
under surveillance? To be sure, Harbin was an international metropolis where a
bewildering profusion of ideologies and ethnicitiesJapanese, Russian, Chinese,
Korean, and Mongoliancoexisted, a place well-suited for clandestine operations.
Such activities and tactics of international spies are described in detail in Flower
in the Wilderness (Kya no hana, 1978) by Ishimitsu Makiyo, the pioneer Meiji
spy active in Manchuria and Mongolia.24
In the end, My Nightingale was never publicly screened in either Manchuria
or Japan proper. According to Nishikubo Mitsuo, Editor-in-Chief of Monthly Musical, which published in 1985 a special edition on this phantom-like musical,
the Kwantung Armys Press Division decided against public release on the assessment that the fi lm had neither enlightenment nor entertainment value for the
people of Manchuria and that it did not follow the directions of our national
policy. Likewise, from its coproducer Ths point of view, even if an attempt was
made to screen it in Japan, the fi lms content could hardly qualify it as a cinematic
exaltation of Japans fighting spirit, making it virtually impossible to pass the
censors at the Interior Ministry. For these reasons, it was not released. The war
situation had become increasingly difficult, and with people suffering from food
shortages, it was certainly no time for a musical.
Why then did Iwasaki and Shimazu venture at this critical juncture to make
an elegant musical epic after the European model? Their spirit of resistance as liberals did not fully explain the extraordinary discrepancy between the fi lms content and the actual political situation at the time. For a long while, this question
never left my mind.
On December 7, 1984, NHKs News Center at Nine reported that the famous
phantom fi lm My Nightingale had been discovered in Osaka. The broadcast reporter, Date Munekatsu (currently a professor at Chky Womens University),
was kind enough to make arrangements for me to see the films videotapes. The
fi lm was discovered by Osakas Planet Film Resources Center (Puranetto Eiga
Shirykan), headed by Yasui Yoshio. In June 1986, the Alumni Association of the
Harbin Academy released the fi lm for public screening for two days at Tokyos
Yasuda Seimei Hall, an initiative funded privately by Asada Heis, a Harbin Academy graduate and the public-spirited owner of a Russian restaurant called Chaika
in Shinjuku.
Even for me in the leading role, it was my first time watching the film. It was
unfortunate that the title was changed to The Fate of a Songtress (Unmei no utahime) and that the original, an elaborate two-hour production, had been cut to
one hour and ten minutes. But the discovery of the fi lm provided the opportu-

Two Phantom Films: Yellow River and My Nightingale

185

nity for me to be reunited with the assistant director Ikeda Tadasu, and it was he
who provided the answer to my long-held question.
I learned from him that one night, in a room in Hotel New Harbin, Shimazu
told him the following. I cant really make a loud pronouncement for everybody
to hear, he began before making a very loud pronouncement. Japan will certainly
be defeated in the war. Precisely because of this, I must leave behind a good art
fi lm. By the time the American army comes to occupy Japan, which will happen
soon, I wish to leave behind evidence that the Japanese havent made just war films,
but also superb art fi lms, ones that are in no way inferior to those produced in
Europe and the United States.

CHAPTER 12

Glory to Eternity

It is impossible to speak about the early half of my life without

mentioning Kawakita Nagamasa, the now deceased president of Th Twa Film
Company, Ltd. For Kawakitas relationship with Chinese fi lms, I refer readers to
such specialized publications as Sat Tadaos Cinema and Cannon Fire (Kinema
to hsei, 1985) and Shimizu Akiras Zhonghua Dianying [China Film Company]
and Kawakita Nagamasa (Chka Denei to Kawakita Nagamasa, 1986).1 Kawakita
established the China Film Company in Shanghai in 1939 around the time I was
working on Song of the White Orchid, Maneis joint venture with Th.
At the time, led by Director Amakasu Masahiko, Manei had already been
established in Manchurias Xinjing making national policy fi lms. Beijing had
Huabei Dianying (North China Film Studio), an establishment linked to Manei.
But in Japan-occupied territories in central China such as Shanghai and Nanjing,
there was still no national policy establishment to advance Japans cultural
agenda.2 With that in mind, the Japanese army in central China specifically picked
Kawakita as Japans representative to create a new company.
Until then, Kawakita and his wife, Kashiko, had been in charge of Twa Trading Company, importing European productions as well as producing and exporting Japanese fi lms.3 As the fighting intensified, the armys control became more
stringent, and the quota for imported films was reduced. It was at that point in
time that they were asked to participate in this new venture in Shanghai.
When the military sounded for opinions from fi lm circles, all its leading figures recommended Kawakita for the job. Not only was he experienced in the management of international films and extraordinarily knowledgeable about both the
Japanese and the foreign fi lm industries; he was also the only person in the business who was fluent in Chinese, English, German, and French. Indeed, Kawakita
had a cosmopolitan sensibility rarely seen among the prewar Japanese. On the other
hand, he was not an over-zealous occidentalist blinded by his admiration of imported cultures; he was a citizen of the world with the heart of an Asian. A man
of refined cultivation, his understanding and affection for China and the Chinese

186

Glory to Eternity

187

in par ticular ran deep. The fact that his company and his daughter were named
Twa (Eastern harmony) and Kazuko (child of peace), respectively, reflected his
desire for peace and harmony between the East and the West.
In this, the influence of his father, Kawakita Daijir, was considered extremely
important. A graduate of the Army College, Daijir was active during the RussoJapanese War as a captain in the artillery. After the war, he was invited by the Qing
government to teach warfare at the newly created Baoding Military Academy,
which was established in an effort to modernize Chinas army. Apparently enjoying full respect and complete trust from the Qing army, he was also admired by
all the cadet officers. At General Yuan Shikais request, Daijir alone remained in
Beijing after the end of his tenure to serve as a military advisor for the training of
Chinas elite officers. Shortly afterwards, he was shot and killed by an unknown
assassin in Beijing. At the time, his son Nagamasa was five years old.
To find out the truth surrounding his fathers death, Nagamasa traveled alone
to China during his summer vacation when he was a third-year secondary school
student. There, he sought to meet Duan Qirui, then Premier and former head of
the military academy. The meeting did not materialize, but Nagamasa did receive
a gracious reply. In it, Kawakita Daijir was described as Chinas great benefactor, and should Nagamasa come to China, the Premier was said to be happy to
consult with him on his personal questions.
Nagamasa subsequently studied at Beijing University. Like his father, he
thought of dedicating himself to working toward Sino-Japanese friendship, but
anti-Japanese sentiments from the May Fourth Movement were still smoldering
at the time. Finding it difficult to continue his studies under such circumstances,
he decided to cut short his stay and went to Germany instead. Upon his return to
Japan, his experience inspired him to venture into the business of importing European fi lms. Meanwhile, after learning by accident that the Director of Aviation
General Ding Jin was a close friend of his fathers, he visited the general in Beijing
and learned for the first time the truth about his fathers death.
The story is as follows. Preparing to spend the rest of his life in China, Captain
Kawakita Daijir remained in Beijing and became a naturalized Chinese citizen.
His work training an elite group of Chinese military officers, however, incurred
the suspicion of Japan, leading to the intervention of the Japanese military police
and his subsequent assassination.4
To Kawakita Nagamasa, the China with which his family had been so closely
associated for two generations was his second home. One statement he often made
was that the war between the two nations was so personally painful that it threatened to tear him apart. Now the Japanese military was about to create a company
to promote its national policy while entrusting him to the job. He was at a loss as
to what to do.

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Chapter 12

In My Life History (Watakushi no rirekisho, Nihon Keizai Shimbun, 1980),

he wrote, If I didnt do it, someone else would. If that someone had no sense of
conviction or understanding about Sino-Japanese relations, he would act only according to the armys wishes and fail miserably. That would not be in the best interest of either Japan or China. He finally accepted the armys request after much
consideration, but with one condition: the army would have no say in the companys management in which he himself would be given total control.
With the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War, a number of Shanghai
filmmakers promptly offered their services to the Communists, while others moved
to Chiang Kai-sheks power base in Chongqing or fled to the British colony of Hong
Kong. The majority of them, however, stayed behind in Shanghais international
concessions to continue their fi lmmaking. At the time, Japan was still not at war
with the Allied Powers. The International Settlement of Britain, the United States,
Japan, France, and Italy, along with the exclusive French Concessionthose weaponless solitary islands of resistanceserved as expedient bases for Chinese patriots to engage in anti-Japanese operations. To be sure, this period lasted only until
December 8, 1941, when Japan declared war on Britain and the United States.
Likewise, to Chinese fi lmmakers, those international concessions served
as solitary islands of resistance. With the exception of Xinjings Manei and
Beijings Huabei Dianying, all the fi lm companies and studios on the Chinese
continent could be found on these solitary islands, then referred to as Chinas
Hollywood. Audaciously, Kawakita established Zhonghua Dianying, a company
under Japanese control, in one of those locations. If he had founded it in the Japanese residential quarters of Hongkou,5 an area guarded by the Japanese army, he
feared that the new establishment would simply be seen as a natural extension of
the Japanese military. In other words, he wanted to provide the first proof that
Zhonghua Dianying was in the same company as other Chinese fi lmmaking studios by establishing its headquarters in that precise location.
Yet, it was, after all, an establishment to promote Japans national policy and
was hardly in any position to participate in anti-Japanese cultural activities. On
the other hand, should it engage in any obstructionist tactics against resistance
operations by Chinese film companies, the Shanghai art world would simply turn
its back against it. Thus, Zhonghua Dianying did not function in the same capacity
as Manei by producing propaganda fi lms reflecting Japans continental policy.
Instead, it specialized in the selection of Chinese-made fi lms deemed acceptable
to both Japan and China before distributing them to and screening them at
Japanese-occupied territories within China as well as in Japan proper.
That said, it was exceedingly difficult to differentiate between a fi lms antiJapanese sentiments and its artistic representations. For instance, lets take Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan congjun, produced by Zhang Shankun, directed by Bu

Glory to Eternity

189

Wancang, and starring Chen Yunchang), a film adopted from the historical drama
Hua Mulan.6 Briefly, its plot is as follows: Once upon a time, when northern China
was invaded by the Huns, all able-bodied males reaching conscription age in the
country would join the army to defend their homeland. In the Hua family, however, Mulan, a daughter, is the only full-grown member living with her old parents and her young siblings. Armed with martial skills she has learned from her
father and motivated by her fervent patriotism, she decides to join the army by
dressing herself in mens clothes. With her stunning military skills, she eventually scores an impressive victory for her country.
The story was cleverly configured around the paradigm of borrowing from
the past to ridicule the present ( jiegu fengjin). What appeared at first sight as
simply a traditional period film (guzhuangpian) about a young woman masquerading as a man and destroying a foreign enemy was meant to allude to the victory of the anti-Japanese guerillas over the Japanese army, thereby uplift ing the
national spirit of patriotic resistance. That was the hidden intent of the films famed
producer, Zhang Shankun.
There was considerable controversy within the Japanese army over whether
permission should be given to Zhonghua Dianyings request to distribute this film.
The military police were absolutely opposed to the idea, while the Press Division
staffed by such men as Tsuji Hisaichi, a film critic who was to become a Daiei producer, was in favor. Captain Ichiji Susumu, the section leader of publicity, believed
that the film was in respectful accord with the spirit of patriotism as prescribed
in the Imperial Rescript on Education, which stated that one must devote oneself
with righteous courage to the country at a time of emergency. In the end, permission was given for the fi lms screening.
By distributing Mulan Joins the Army, which could clearly be perceived as an
anti-Japanese production, Zhonghua Dianying and Kawakita Nagamasa were able
to earn an enormous degree of trust from Chinese fi lmmakers. From that time
on, by maneuvering their way through loopholes under harsh wartime conditions,
Chinese producers such as Zhang Shankun and their trusted colleague Kawakita
pledged to coproduce Chinese fi lms for the Chinese and by the Chinese. Kawakitas staunch determination to prevent Japanese military boots from trampling on
Shanghais film world could be attributed to his commitment to maintain, as much
as possible, a friendly and trusting relationship with the Chinese even though the
countries were at war. I was well aware of the progressive liberalism that colored
the Shanghai fi lm world in the 1930s in par ticu lar, thanks to what I had learned
from Iwasaki Akira.
Throughout the prewar and postwar period, Kawakita and Iwasaki, two epochmaking figures in Japanese fi lm history, were the fi lm artists who taught me the
most about the cinematic arts. Those two closest of friends both grew up during

190

Chapter 12

the same springtime of Japa nese cinema; they drank from the same wellspring
as they shared their dreams about the future of Japanese fi lm. Since he was a
student of German literature at Tokyo Imperial University, Iwasaki was a prolific
film critic for Cinema Review (Kinema Junp).7 Upon his graduation in 1927, his
German language proficiency and wide knowledge of German fi lms led to his
recruitment by Taguchi Company, Japans importing agency for the German
fi lm company UFA (Universum Film AG). Iwasaki recorded his fi rst encounter
with Kawakita in his book The Days When Films Were Young (Eiga ga wakakatta
toki, 1980):
It appears that he was not a company employee. A fair-skinned young man
with gentle features, he was sitting behind a desk next to the other staff. Quite
without exception, all the Taguchi employees were what one might call countrybred folks, and if only for that reason, the young mans presence instilled a
special atmosphere to the gathering. . . . I suppose you could say there was a
certain air of unruffled poise about him, an aura of uninhibited openmindedness, as if the pettiness of Japan had already been squeezed out of him.
I later learned that he was not a Taguchi employee, but someone from the
German side, perhaps a representative of UFA.

This first meeting between Kawakita and Iwasaki marked the beginning of
their strong camaraderie. Taguchi Company, on the other hand, went bottom-up
a year later. On the day it went bankrupt, Taguchis three German specialists,
Kawakita, Iwasaki, and another man named Aoyama Toshimi (later Twas Head
of Publicity), pledged to meet exactly a year later in front of the Imperial Palace.
Far from waiting a year, though, the three began seeing each other frequently less
than a week later.
Shortly afterwards, Kawakita established the Twa Trading Company, bringing into it a beautiful secretary named Takeuchi Kashiko, a talented graduate of
Yokohamas Ferris Girls School. Her first assignment was to translate into English the screenplay of Mizoguchi Kenjis The Wild Love of a Woman Instructor
(Kyren no onnashish [1926]), and she did a marvelous job.8 Kawakita married
her a year later. Thereafter, in an attempt to internationalize the Japanese film industry, the two became active on the world stage.
In 1935, four years before Kawakita founded Zhonghua Dianying in Shanghai, Iwasaki visited the city immediately before the outbreak of the Second SinoJapanese War and befriended liberal Chinese filmmakers there. Since his writings
on film had caught the attention of Lu Xun, who subsequently translated one piece
into Chinese himself, Iwasakis name was already known among the Shanghai intelligentsia.9 Besides Shen Xiling, Iwasakis host in China, progressive fi lm direc-

Glory to Eternity

191

tors active in Shanghai in the mid-1930s included men such as Cai Chusheng, Yue
Feng, Shi Dongshan, and Ying Yunwei. Meanwhile, writers such as Tian Han and
Xia Yan (former Head of the Sino-Japanese Friendship Association) had been producing brilliant screenplays.
Incidentally, Iwasakis Shanghai visit coincided with the suicide of Ruan
Lingyu, a big trendy star who had won extraordinary popularity with fi lms such
as Little Toys (Xiao-wanyi [1933]) and The Defiled Goddess (Shennu [1934]).10 It was
a case of life imitating art as the demise of the new modern female icon herself
paralleled the plot of her film New Women (Xin-nuxing [1935]).11 Indeed, the Shanghai fi lm world at the time was pervaded with an air of modernism and liberalism. Making my own debut in the latter half of the 1930s as an actress of Manei,
a company seen as a sort of out-of-the-way fi lm studio, I greatly admired the
popular stars of Shanghai, the most sophisticated stage for contemporary Chinese
cinema. In 1985, when I saw a number of productions at a retrospective on Chinese fi lm held at the Modern National Art Museum in Takebashi in Tokyo, I
could pick out the faces of some of my senior colleagues and friends, Li Lili, Wang
Renmei, Chen Boer, Bai Yang. . . . Among them, I especially remembered my
close friend Zhou Xuan, the top singer star after Ruan Lingyus death. Two of her
songs, The Four Seasons-Song (Sijige) and The Wandering Songstress (Tianya
genu), had for a time captured millions of hearts in the entire country.12 She was
also the first to sing the internationally renowned When Will You Return?
With the outbreak of the Pacific War in December 1941, the Japanese army
occupied Shanghais foreign concessions. A series of consolidations of Shanghais
fi lm companies resulted in increasingly stringent Japa nese control. Even so,
Kawakita made only one fi lm in collaboration with the Japanese, namely, Lingering Sorrow over Shanghai (Chunjiang yihen, or, in its Japanese title, Noroshi wa
Shanhai ni agaru, 1944).13 Working in partnership with Zhang Shankun, Kawakita
endeavored to produce and distribute Chinese fi lms made by the Chinese, fi lms
that just barely made it to the screen after passing through Japanese censorship.
Those without an international mindset probably couldnt appreciate how extremely delicate and difficult were his maneuvers to achieve that result. He also
managed to gather in Shanghai a continuous flow of talents from Japan, men such
as Hazumi Tsuneo (Twas publicity head and a film critic); Kondaib Gor (head
of Shchikus planning section); Hirata Ryei (leftist activist); Shimizu Akira (film
critic); Himeda Yoshir (translator and writer); Noguchi Hisamitsu (fi lm and
music critic); and others.14
The first time I visited Shanghai was in 1940 when I was shooting on location
for China Nights. At the beginning, I didnt develop any close friendship with
Kawakita or his associates, as people connected with Manei had few good things
to say about him. The fact that Manei and Zhonghua Dianying never liked each

192

Chapter 12

other, despite their commonality as makers of Japans national policy films, was
a direct reflection of the different temperaments of two Japanese men, Amakasu
Masahiko and Kawakita Nagamasa, the former said to be the butcher of people
like sugi Sakae and the operative behind the formation of Manchukuo, and the
latter a pro-Chinese liberal since his fathers generation.
At a time when Japan was intoxicated with its initial military victories over
the United States and Britain while still keeping its naval defeat at Midway a secret, the army in 1942 held a Conference on the Alliance of Continental Films
(Tairiku Eiga Renmei Kaigi), which brought together the three national policy
establishments of Manei, Huabei Dianying, and Zhonghua Dianying. What the
conference proceedings demonstrated with increasing clarity was the divergence
between Manei and Zhonghua Dianying in their cultural operations within
China, with Manei expressing disapproval over Kawakita for not making propaganda fi lms for Chinese consumption. At the time, there was a widespread
rumor that plans had been made for Kawakitas assassination. Quite unable to
control myself, I shook with trepidation when I, too, heard whispers of such a story
at the time.
Kawakita himself appeared to be quite composed. In his My Life History,
he reminisced that when I heard rumors about my assassination, I wondered
whether two generations in my family, father and son, would end up with the same
fate. Yet I was not scared, nor did I experience any feelings of tragic heroism. His
wife, Kashiko, on the other hand, was greatly concerned. In her autobiography, A
Life Devoted to Films (Eiga hitosuji ni, 1973), she revealed that whenever her husband departed for Xinjing for business consultations with Manei, as he frequently
did, she was shaken with a terrifying premonition that this was the time. She
continued, When Kawakita went to Manchuria, they would always throw a big
drinking party. That man Amakasu was a heavy drinker, and on such occasions,
the two of them would always have to have a drinking competition over vodka or
baijiu.15 Kawakita said that no matter how much he drank, he had never gotten
drunk because he was always feeling tense.
One time, I was at the same party where the two of them were having such a
drinking competition. It was difficult to tell who the winner was; both drank heavily and yet were able to carry on a cheerful tte--tte until the end. Conscious of
each others presence, I suppose they acted in a way that would not allow any signs
of intoxication to show. To prove that he was not inebriated, I remember that
Kawakita stood on his hands on a go or shgi chessboard, inspiring Amakasu to
clap his hands, saying, Well-done! Well-done!
As for plans for Kawakitas assassination, Tsuji Hisaichi, in his Topics on
Zhonghua Dianyings History (Chka Denei shiwa), has the following testimony:

Glory to Eternity

193

The person who called off the plan [for his assassination] was a career fi lmmaker and a man who was among Maneis chief executives. Since he had spent
his whole life working in the fi lmmaking business since his fathers generation, he was able to appreciate Kawakitas true worth and boldly advised against
the initiative. This is not fiction, but something I heard after the war with my
own ears from the very individual who had advised against the action.

From hints such as a filmmaker since his fathers generation and a Manei executive, the critic Sat Tadao asserted that the abovementioned individual was
Makino Mitsuo, the same man who, with his refrain Nothin to worry about! Just
leave everything to me! had earlier goaded me into the fi lming of The Honeymoon Express and ended up turning me into a Manei star.16 Now that Makino
has passed away, there is no way to ascertain whether he had indeed saved Kawakitas life. On the other hand, after the sugi Sakae Incident and his subsequent move
to the Chinese continent in the Shwa period, Amakasu was actively involved in
such affairs as the Harbin riots and the conspiracy to carry out Puyis clandestine
journey to Manchuria. Even though he was leading a new life at Manei, actively
bringing into his ser vice former Communists and liberal film artists, did he still
not carry the blood of a terrorist in his veins?
At the Conference on the Alliance of Continental Films, Maneis considerable pressure to ensure that fi lms be made to resonate with Japa nese interests
was probably the reason for the decision that Manei, Zhonghua Dianying, and
Zhonghua Lianhe Zhipian Gongsi (China United Film Company, an amalgamation of various Chinese fi lm companies) would together produce a fi lm starring
Maneis Li Xianglan. The year 1942 marked the centennial for the conclusion
of the humiliating Treaty of Nanjing, which China had signed after its defeat
by the British in the Opium War. The said undertaking was designed to memorialize that event by producing a period fi lm depicting Lin Zexu and his struggles
against the British over the extermination of opium. It was determined that
itstitle was to be Wanshi liufang (Glory to Eternity), a phrase derived from the
historical dramas seminal scene to bestow everlasting glory to Lins virtuous
enterprise.
When the fi lms staff and cast were announced, the Shanghai fi lm world was
stunned. The chief producer was Zhang Shankun, a preeminent figure in Chinese
film, while Bu Wancang, Zhu Shilin, and Ma-Xu Weibang, all great masters, would
jointly serve as directors.17 The fi lms patriotic hero was to be played by the leading Chinese actor Gao Zhanfei. Surrounding him were two beauties: Chen Yunchang, a prominent actress of Mulan Joins the Army fame, and the very popular
Yuan Meiyun. The handsome and popu lar Wang Yin was chosen for the role of a

194

Chapter 12

troubled young opium-addict-turned-patriot, and Li Xianglan was to play his

girlfriend.18
Lin Zexu, played by Gao Zhanfei, is at center stage, with Yuan Meiyun in the
role of his devoted wife. Finding her love for Lin unrequited, Chen Yunchangs
character, Zhang Jingxian, decides to support Lins endeavor by devoting herself
to developing medicines to combat the harmful effects of opium. At the end, she
dresses herself as a man and leads the resistance movement against the British in
a role reminiscent of the main character in Mulan Joins the Army. I played a heroine in the fi lms subplot, a popular peddler of candies who campaigns against the
damaging effects of the drug through her singing.
As in the case of Mulan Joins the Army, what distinguished this fi lm from
most others was its strategy of jiegu fengjin, borrowing from the past to ridicule
the present. With its message of resistance against the Anglo-Saxon attempt at
colonizing China through the Opium War, the fi lm was seen by the Japanese as
an instrument for rousing the fighting spirit against the hated American and British dev ils (kichiku Beiei). From the Chinese perspective, on the other hand, it
was a fi lm of resistance against a foreign enemyJapan. The story thus afforded
an interpretative fluidity to accommodate every spectators ideological position.
That was precisely the ingenious idea brought forth by the collective wisdom of
Kawakita and Zhang after they meticulously weighed both the Japanese and Chinese agendas.19
Kawakita often said that there was not a single Chinese who aspired to genuine friendship with the Japanese invaders who trampled on his country with their
muddy boots. As a matter of fact, even Zhang Shankun, said to be the most proJapanese among Shanghais fi lm circle, was an anti-Japanese fi lmmaker. All the
films in which he was involved had in secret gone through prior inspection by the
Chongqing government. This was something Kawakita seemed to be aware of, and
Zhang, too, seemed to know that Kawakita knew. Precisely because of these two
men, the flames of war time Chinese cinema could continue to glow in Japaneseoccupied territories. Of course, the current Chinese government does not recognize fi lms made at that time with Japanese priorities in mind, with Glory to Eternity heading the list. Yet there are many who knew that men of conscience were
doing their very best under the most difficult conditions.20
I was glowing with anticipation with what I might be able to accomplish in
this fi lm. Since 1938, I had played only the role of a Chinese maiden in what
had essentially been Japanese films, and my popularity was limited only to Manchuria and Japan. In this sense, my part in Glory to Eternity was tantamount
to my debut within the mainstream cinema with a market covering the entire
Chinese continent. Furthermore, I would be acting among the company of prominent stars.

Glory to Eternity

195

Manei, for its part, was doubtless anxious to seize the opportunity of launching
itself as an equal to Chinas mainstream film establishment. While I was the only
participating Manei actor, Iwasaki Akira was given the responsibility of project
design on Maneis behalf as part of its support arrangement. Perhaps his close
friend Kawakita was working in the shadows to make this happen. In any case,
Iwasaki was good enough to be my wise advisor from the time of the projects initial planning stage in July 1942, through first filming in November, until its completion in June of the following year. Come to think of it now, I was again reminded
that beginning in 1942, during my latter career with Manei, almost all my major
films benefitted from Iwasakis advice and supervision. Perhaps due to the fact that
Iwasaki himself has left almost no record of his association with Manei, his major
role in the planning and production of Manei films has not been well-known. In
this connection, he was also the producer for my 1942 film Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, directed by Sasaki K, a Manei and Shchiku joint venture).21
The fact that Glory to Eternity was a patriotic fi lm driven by nationalistic
sentiments did not dispel the distrust held by some participating Chinese actors
toward the shadowy presence of Manei and Zhonghua Dianying as companies
under Japanese influence. For instance, Chen Yunchang, the leading actress of her
generation, made no attempt to conceal her displeasure and treated me with
guarded caution in the beginning; she suspected that Li Xianglan, portraying the
disgraced Chinese maiden in such fi lms as China Nights, might be a Japanese.
After living with me for a while, however, she began to notice how my way of
thinking was different from that of the average Japa nese and gradually began
to warm up to me. One time in our makeup room, she revealed that she had received a threatening letter from a fan who had learned that she was going to appear in a joint venture with Manei before castigating her as a woman without
shame and a traitor to her country. She also said that from the outset she had had
no desire to take part in the fi lm, but she couldnt very well refuse the part since
the one who had invited her was Zhang Shankun, a man to whom she felt indebted since the days of Mulan Joins the Army.
I was left with many mixed emotions. Once the other actors and I had been
working together for an extended period of time, we began to learn about each
others thoughts and inclinations through casual interactions. I found that, as cultural performers, all my Chinese colleagues held anti-Japanese sentiments for good
reasons. One time, as the five of us in leading roles had a chitchat while awaiting
the right moment for our next location shooting, one of them told me that he knew
I had given a cold shoulder to a big shot from the Japanese army. The story went
as follows:
At the time, a high-ranking staff officer of the Japanese army, a man swaggering with self-importance around Shanghaito be sure, not within the European

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and U.S. concessions or in the areas where the Chinese lived, but just around the
Japanese quarters of Hongkuohad persistent ly asked that I come to entertain
him at a Japanese restaurant. Having seen the anguish of the fighting men on the
frontline, I strongly abhorred Japanese soldiers who behaved with haughty arrogance toward the defenseless Chinese people. This man knew that I was Japanese,
and when he discovered that I had been dancing in a nightclub with the Chinese,
he admonished me for frequenting a dance hall at a time of national emergency
and for flirting with the Chinese before calling me a rotten hi-kokumin, someone not worthy to be called a Japanese. What on earth made it wrong to dance with
the Chinese in a nightclub, but well and good to serve sake to a Japanese soldier
inside a private room of a Japanese restaurant? I was so angry that I refused all
his invitations.
Perhaps unable to take such insults lying down, he ended up setting fire to
the Japanese restaurant and burning down the establishment. Of course, he reportedly gave other reasons for his action, but among Japanese residents in Shanghai, everyone was whispering under his or her breath that he did it out of spite for
being rejected in love. I only learned about this episode later on, but apparently
news about what had happened in the Japanese quarters got disseminated instantaneously within the Chinese community.
At precisely that time, the Japanese battleship Izumo was docked in Shanghai harbor. After I finished my makeup in the morning, I noticed a raucous crowd
of people around Chen Yunchangpublicity officials from the Press Division,
newspaper reporters, their cameramenall asking her to go with them to the
battleship to offer a bouquet to the captain as a welcoming gesture. What those
people were after was immediately apparent. Photographs of the most popular
star and the exquisite beauty of the Shanghai fi lm world on the battleship presenting flowers to the captain would appear prominently in all the papers, complete with commentaries saying this and that about Sino-Japanese friendship.
Her well-defined features assuming an expression of adamant sternness, Chen
flatly stated, No, I refuse to go, the bluntness of her voice suggesting no grounds
for compromise. She then turned to Yuan Meiyun at her side and quickly said in
a soft voice, I wonder if they arent aware that we hate the Japanese military. I
was called a traitor just for appearing in this film. If they had my photograph
welcoming a Japa nese battleship, I would be too ashamed to look anyone in
the face.
To confi rm what he had heard, the Press Division official inquired in his
translation-style Chinese, So, you refuse no matter what? while his Chinese colleague ner vously attempted to calm her down. Reluctantly, Chen agreed on the
condition that she not be used as a publicity tool. Thereupon, she was dragged along
like a prisoner and forcibly shuffled into an automobile.

Glory to Eternity

197

However, the next days papers ostentatiously carried pictures celebrating mutual friendship with the beauty Chen Yunchang presenting a bouquet to the
captain in his white navy uniform. Chen was sobbing the whole day when this
happened, and while subsequently doing a take, she would suddenly burst into
tears. It appeared that a tidal wave of telephone protests and threatening letters
was rushing in.
For me, it was an emotionally disturbing experience as well. I suppose Chens
popularity as a Shanghai actress starring in a much-talked-about fi lm currently
in production was why she was ordered to do what she did. If I were in her position, I, a Japanese, would probably agree to do the same without resistance. . . .
The Nichigeki Incident the year before in 1941 had revealed my identity as a Japanese to some circles in Japan, but in China, I was still thought of as a Chinese
born in Beijing and reared in Fengtian, or else a person of mixed parentage. On
an occasion like this, a heavy shadow of guilt fell upon me and made me think
seriously for the first time about quitting my profession as an actress.
I believe that the Chinese actors in Glory to Eternity were vaguely aware that
I was Japanese; at least Wang Yin, my love interest in the fi lm, knew about it. My
first act after filming began was a rendezvous scene with him. While shooting the
sequence of me running to the mountain hut where he was hiding, the director
Bu Wancang, our acting coach, turned and spoke something to me. However, his
strong Shanghai accent made it utterly impossible for me to understand what he
was saying. Standing frozen on the spot, I felt so agitated that I was about to burst
into tears. Just then, hiding inside the hut, Wang nonchalantly showed me what
to do next by gesturing a soft knocking at the door. Thats it! I was asked to knock
at the door! Following the directors instructions, I did just that before poking in
my head by way of finishing my act in the scene.
And so Wang Yin knew I was Japanese, and he saved me from my predicament with his quick wit.22
With its theme of exhorting China to rise up as a nation, Glory to Eternity
gained extraordinary popularity when it was released in June 1943; the size of its
audience was said to be unprecedented in the history of Chinese cinema. The
Candy Peddling Song (Maitang-ge), written by the renowned Shanghai composer
Liang Leyin, which I sang, also became an instant hit throughout China.23 According to Liang, he composed the song around his image of One Hundred Men
and a Girl, an internationally popu lar musical with [Leopold] Stokowski himself
appearing in the conductors role and its star, Deanna Durbin, performing The
Drinking Song (Kanpai no uta).24
Apparently, those smoking opium had a yearning for things sweet, which explained why the candy peddler frequented opium dens. Her Candy Peddling Song
went as follows:

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Chapter 12

The heavenly pleasures of opium cure all diseases, a most flavorsome panacea. Now how about a candy for a taste change? A candy after opium brings
you paradise on earth. . . .

Peddling her candies in the opium den, the girl becomes a popular figure there
and then develops an affection for a virtuous-minded young man and a close friend
of Lin Zexus. Trying somehow to save him from the hell of addiction, she attempts
to talk him out of his habit. Then, in no time, the lyrics of her song shift to admonishing addicts for their use of the drug:
Your obsessions for the sparkle from the opium plate, for opiums aroma and
taste, all those will destroy you. Look at your misshapen back and your protruding shoulders! Come, throw away your lethal opium pipes and never look
at them again!

After listening intently, the addicts start changing their minds and begin leaving
the opium den. Its British proprietors ask their bodyguards to catch the girl and
her boyfriend, but the two make a narrow escape into the mountains. There, the
lovers embrace in a hut under a starry night and sing Song of Quitting Opium
(Jieyan ge), which becomes a sweet love song.
The fi lm was screened not only in Shanghai but throughout China wherever
movie theaters existed, regardless of whether the area was occupied by the Japanese army. Kawakita told me, with an air of satisfaction, that the fi lm went to
both Yanan [the base of Chairman Mao Zedongs Communist government] as
well as Chongqing [the capital of Chiang Kai-sheks Nationalist government].
The record sales of The Candy Peddling Song also scored a big hit.25
I feel a little ill at ease quoting the following which has something to say about
me, but this was what Tsuji Hisaichi commented on Glory to Eternity in his
Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings History:
To be sure, there were rumors suspecting Li Xianglan as a Japanese. But for
the Chinese audience drawn to her acting and singing in Glory to Eternity,
such an issue was moot. They unconditionally applaud performances as long
as they are outstanding, pleasurable, and beautiful. I am inclined to think of
this open-mindedness as a facet of the Chinese personality.
The records of The Candy Peddling Song traversed the occupied territories, furtively crossing the battle lines, and were sold briskly in areas
under Chongqings administration as well as those under Communist control. Looking at this, I felt all the more certain about what the occupied territories really meant. From the Chinese perspective, the belligerently armed

Glory to Eternity

199

party, which had secured lines of communication or occupied a few inbetween spots within the vast Chinese territory, was nothing more than a
temporary nuisance. The Chinese were certainly astute enough to know how
to move freely without provoking that aggressive party.

Years later during a visit to China, I was told by Sun Pinghua, then Chief Secretary of the Sino-Japanese Friendship Association (and currently head of the association) that he had seen Glory to Eternity. When I visited North Korea (DPRK),
Chairman Kim Il-sung wanted to shake my hand as if he were seeing an old friend
before telling me that he had earlier seen my fi lm in Jilin Province where the antiJapanese guerilla forces were hiding.
*

The year 1943 was extremely busy. I appeared in as many as five fi lms, including
the carry-overs from the year before and the ones I was concurrently making: Sayuns Bell (Sayon no kane),26 Chorus of Prayer (Chikai no gassh), The Fighting Street
(Tatakai no machi), My Nightingale, and Glory to Eternity. In utter exhaustion,
I returned to my parents home in Beijing. My desire to retire from the film industry grew ever stronger, but for the time being, I just wanted to rest.
Since Li Xianglan was publicly presented as a Chinese woman from Beijing,
the city greeted her first Chinese fi lm Glory to Eternity with considerable critical
acclaim. But my heart was fi lled with only a sense of gloom. I had been deceiving
the Chinese people who had no knowledge that I was Japanesethat was the unremitting sense of guilt that was hanging over me, and I felt that I had been driven
into a tight corner. Making the matter worse was the fact that, as the war became
more protracted, my close Chinese acquaintances, like other Chinese, were increasingly resolved in their anti-Japanese attitudes. More and more of them departed for areas where they could join the resistance movement.
Wen Guihua, my best friend during my days at Yijiao Girls School when I
was entrusted to the Pan family, had also dedicated herself to the anti-Japanese
movement. A daughter from a distinguished family in Wangfujing, she continued her friendship with me even after I became an actress, and every time I returned home to Beijing, we would see each other.
One day I received an unanticipated telephone call from her mother. When
I rushed to Guihuas Wangfujing house, I found her collapsed on the earth floor
near the entrance and dissolved in tears. She had always been attired most fashionably, but this time, wearing only tattered cotton, she had her hair bound at the
back into a bundle like an amah, and tears were streaming down her mud-smeared
face. Beside her was a knocked-over wicker trunk tied with a straw rope. Her mother
told me that Guihua had been trying to sneak away from home the night before

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Chapter 12

and was brought back when she was discovered. She was just crying without telling us why. Youre her close friend, and thats why I asked you to come so that she
might tell you whats going on.
Her parents were unable to find out much as they were simultaneously flustered and angry at their daughters behavior. I stayed at their house for the night,
and when Guihua finally calmed down, she told me a little at a time the reason
behind her runaway attempt. Her boyfriend, a Yenching University graduate, had
given up hope on Japan-occupied Beijing before joining the resistance movement
in the Chongqing area, and she was anxious to join him there.
In describing her attempted Beijing-Chongqing trek, she noted that while she
might perhaps be able to catch a train to go as far as Kaifeng, no means of transportation was available for the rest of the journey. Guihua told me that she intended
to spend about three days climbing over the mountain in the area, but a lot of time
would be necessary to cover the extraordinary distance from there to Chongqing.
I knew the route; the vicinity of Henan, where we had had the location shooting
for Yellow River two years earlier, served as the secret passageway for those who
fled to areas free of Japanese occupation. Indeed, I had witnessed with my own
eyes a number of overturned vehicles submerged in the Yellow River; they told the
story of escapees who tragically lost their lives after they were discovered by the
Japanese army. The bodies of their vehicles were completely wrecked as a result of
Japanese gunfire.
During that night, as she was wiping her tears in a less agitated state, she played
for me Beethovens Moonlight Sonata before going to bed. That, she said, was
her goodbye to the piano, and her goodbye to me.
Guihua succeeded in running away from her home the second time she tried.
There was nothing I could do other than to pray for her safe journey. She finally
arrived in Chongqing without incident and was able to join her boyfriend. Now
the couple are making their home in Taiwan.
Though I myself was emotionally exhausted, I was receiving splendid critical attention in Beijing. Shortly after Guihuas departure, the citys various Chinese newspapers requested that I have a joint press conference with them. Although
I was not keen on it, I couldnt very well decline. Before the interview, the images
of Wen Guihua and Chen Yunchang kept running through my mind. How was
I going to present myself in the interview? And if questions about my nationality
should arise, how should I answer them?
Thats it! On this occasion, I would confess that I was Japanese.
I made the case with one Mr. Li, head of the press clubs board of governors
and a friend of my father. Today, I dont want to hold back anything anymore.
May I say at the outset that Li Xianglan is really Yamaguchi Yoshiko, a Japanese
woman who was born in China and loves China?

Glory to Eternity

201

Li strongly shook his head in disapproval. I am absolutely against it. There

may be some Chinese within China who know exactly who you are. But even they
do not wish to acknowledge the fact. You are Chinese and a star that we and Beijing have produced! I dont want you to shatter our dream. You must present yourself as Chinese.
There were close to fift y reporters gathered at the press conference in Beijing
Restaurant, and the interview, hosted by Li, went on in a friendly atmosphere. From
start to finish, the questions were all related to the shooting of Glory to Eternity
and things about other Shanghai actors.
Well now, I think this is a good time to As Li was about to bring the interview to a close, somebody cried out sharply, Ms. Li Xianglan! A young reporter rose from his seat and said, I wish to ask you one last thing.
I knew this would happen.
I wish to inquire what your real intentions were in appearing in a series of
Japanese films such as Song of the White Orchid and China Nights. Far from showing any understanding of China, those films could even be thought of as an insult to our country. You are Chinese, arent you? Then, why did you choose to appear in them? Have you not abandoned your national pride?
While I had been preparing myself for this, my mind still sank into a state of
confusion. That was precisely the moment when I wanted to say that I was Japanese, though I had been told that I mustnt make the confession at this particular
juncture; doing so, I was advised, would be worse than maintaining silence. I could
no longer hold on to any coherence in my train of thought. The seconds ticked by,
and the atmosphere at the conference site was frozen with tension.
Independent of my confused mind, however, my voice rose quite naturally
from the deep recesses of my heart.
It was a mistake I made before I was twenty years old, at a time when I was
not able to comprehend anything to the fullest. I made such a mistake out of
my ignorance, and I regret it today. I now apologize before you all that I
appeared in those films. Please forgive me. I will not make the same mistake again.

My voice seemed to have a will of its own even though I was in an abstracted state
of mind. Right then, I heard uproarious applause from the reporters rising from
their seats. I bowed my head until the sound subsided.
*

On my way home from Beijing Restaurant, I went alone to the Imperial Ancestral Temple, my favorite park in the city. As I was walking along the road densely

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Chapter 12

lined with old pine and oak trees, I sank deeply into thought, just like the days
when I was in the girls academy.
What exactly was this entity Li Xianglan? During my first visit to Japan when
I was eighteen, I was scolded to my face by a Japanese in Shimonoseki that I should
act like a Japanese. And now in Beijing, I was criticized for not having behaved
like a Chinese. When I candidly apologized for my transgressions, the majority
of the reporters were good enough to applaud despite their suspicions that I was
Japanese. I thought Li Xianglan had to go. In any case, I was determined that I
should leave Manei.
First, in order to consult Iwasaki Akira, a person I could trust, I took a flight
to Tokyo on the excuse of some other business. I had just renewed my three-year
contract with Manei that year, and I wondered if Manei would allow me to
leave. Iwasakis rather casual response was, Well, you know, a contract is made
to be broken. Same as taking a train. You buy a ticket only when you want to
get on and then off. Dont be too uptight about it, and just do what you think
is right.
In the autumn of 1944, I finished my set shooting for Field Army Orchestra
(Yasen gungakutai) in Tokyo before flying to Shanghai. After my final consultation with Kawakita Nagamasa, I returned to Xinjing to request a meeting with
Director Amakasu.
Standing next to the directors desk, Amakasu was already waiting for me.
On his desk was a pocket-size Iwanami publication Lawrence of Arabia (Arabia
no Rorensu).27
Thanks for your good work! You must be exhausted! Was Mr. Kawakita
well? Say, Glory to Eternity has received excellent reviews! To his series of questions, I answered only in one-word affirmatives. I found it difficult to launch into
my subject, but finally, I decided to make a go of it.
Thank you for all your kindnesses over the years.
Perhaps he would fly into a rage, but I had to say it.
I can no longer pretend that I am Chinese. So far, I have found myself squeezed
between Japan and China, and I am much anguished because of it. I can no longer
bear living as Li Xianglan. I hope you will allow me to rescind my contract.
After I finished, I lowered my eyes and waited for his response.
I understand perfectly.
When I lifted my face, I saw through his round-framed spectacles that he was
grinning a little with a characteristic trace of embarrassment.
Scratching his head, he said, I understand you perfectly. Thank you for all
your hard work over the years. He stood up as he spoke, called his chief of personnel on his desk telephone, and asked that Li Xianglans contract be brought to
him. He then said with an air of relief:

Glory to Eternity

203

I have come to appreciate myself how unnatural it is for you to assume the
identity of Li Xianglan. I have no idea what Manchukuo and Manei will become, but you have a long future ahead. By all means, let your own wishes be
your guide. If possible, I hope you will develop your career in Japanese fi lm.
But even if you do work in Japan, I am sure there will be many difficult moments. Please do take good care of your health and follow your heart.

Thank you very much. As I bowed, the personnel chief came in with my
documents.
Nine months later, in the early morning of August 20, 1945, when the Soviet
army entered Xinjing, Amakasu took potassium cyanide in his office. The director Uchida Tomu attempted to induce vomiting by putting salt into his mouth and
lifting his legs, but his efforts proved futile.

CHAPTER 13

Rhapsody of
The Evening Primrose

As I mentioned earlier, I grew up in Fushun and Fengtian in

Manchuria before continuing my studies in the old Chinese capital of Beijing.
After I became a Manei actress, my work was based in Xinjing, where its main
office and studio were situated. During that time, my family moved from Fengtian to Beijing, and the last place of my residence in China was Shanghai.
Shanghaihow might one succinctly describe the largest metropolis in China
and one of the largest in the world? One could come up with such labels as international city, modern metropolis, a city without nationality, a city of darkness and epicurean abandon, a city of trade and commerce, or maybe a city of
music. As far as prewar Shanghai is concerned, I think the two most appropriate
descriptions are the city of evil and the city of trendy elegance. Shanghai had
the dual personality of decadent vice and chic modernity. At the city center were
rows of gorgeous hotels, restaurants, nightclubs, theaters, and emporiums housed
in Gothic or art deco structures built of granite. Even during daytime, just a few
steps into the alleyways, light gave way to shadowy dimness in which the mold of
crime, intrigue, drugs, gambling, and prostitution festered.
In the area around the French Concession and the International Settlement,
on the other hand, one would find attractive streets and parks, splendidly built
high-rises, and expansive upscale residential districtsneighborhoods resembling
in miniature the modern cities of Europe or the United States. When evening came,
the lights of Broadway Mansion (now Shanghai Mansion) cast its reflections on
the banks of the Bund along the Huangpu River beyond Garden Bridge (Waibaiduqiao).1 The Huangpu feeds into the estuary of the Yangtze River, and the image of
a nineteenth-century European city emerging from the water surface like a mirage were Shanghais international concessions. One easy way to grasp the geopolitics of this international melting pot of Shanghai is to imagine its map from
the south toward the north with successive territorial demarcations into fi rst the
Chinese residential section, then the French Concession, and then the International Settlement. The international concessions of Britain, the United States,

204

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

205

Japan, France, and Italy were divided into southern and northern halves by the Suzhou River. The area to the southwest was guarded by the British and American
forces, while the northeastern portion, from Hongkou to Zhabei, by the Japanese.
To be sure, this geopolitical distribution held only until the outbreak of the Pacific War; from December 1941, the Japanese army occupied all areas of Shanghai, including the foreign concessions.
After the opening of Shanghai, the international concessions served as bases
for various foreign countries to advance their interests within the Chinese continent before such settlements were themselves occupied by the Japanese army; it
was not until the end of the war that Shanghai was finally liberated from foreign
domination. In the beginning of the citys opening, the proprietary aggrandizement of the various white foreign powers within the concessions was symbolized
by the words No Dogs or Chinese Allowed on a signboard at the entrance to
Huangpu Park, the first such facility created in Shanghai.2 Meanwhile, the reaction
against foreign domination conferred on Shanghai yet another character, that of
a city of revolution and guerilla resistance. Once somebody escaped into the
deep, convoluted alleyways within the concessions or into the well-hidden city
slums, he or she would be able to evade the probing eyes of Chinese officials.
Chinas first steps toward modernization, it could be argued, began in Shanghai. Men like Sun Yat-sen were exiles from Shanghai who turned the city into a
revolutionary base. The Chinese Communist Party, the architect of a new China,
was founded in a Shanghai foreign concession. The Cultural Revolution, too, began in Shanghai. Japanese revolutionaries such as Takasugi Shinsaku, Miyazaki
Tten, Kita Ikki, and sugi Sakae visited Shanghai, dreaming about the romance
of social and political transformation. The gateway into the Chinese continent was
accessible from Nagasaki in just a days time without a passport; indeed, in the
prewar days, the metropolis came to be called the city of Shanghai in Nagasaki
Prefecture. It was also tantamount to the West as far as Japan was concerned.
My first visit to Shanghai was in 1940 during the location shooting of China
Nights. After leaving Manei at the end of 1944, I lived in the city nearly without
interruption through the end of the war until April 1946, when I was repatriated
to Japan.
The city was truly worthy of the name Paris of the Orient, and it was Asias
mecca when it came to all sorts of artistic endeavorsfilm, theater, ballet, symphony, jazz. But that lasted only until the 1930s. The escalation of the Second SinoJapanese War and the Pacific War brought about increasingly stringent Japanese
military control over the arts, sapping the vibrancy of fi lm, theater, and music.
Uncompromising artists had several options. Some fled Shanghai to join Chiangs
Nationalist forces in Chongqing or Maos Eighth Route Army in the Yanan area;
some waited out the storm by taking refuge in Hong Kong; while yet others chose

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Chapter 13

to maintain their silence. Of course, there were also those, like Zhang Shankun,
who allowed themselves to temporize with reality by continuing to work while
channeling their spirit of resistance through artistic production.
The most popular form of Chinas performing arts was the traditional Beijing Opera. The fi lm media was available only in certain limited urban areas, but
all the Chinese people loved the theater as a stage art. The preeminent performer
of the Beijing Opera was the famous female impersonator Mei Lanfang. During
the war, he resisted Japanese militarism by confining to his domicile in Hong Kong
and not making a single stage appearance in Beijing or Shanghai. Apparently, on
one occasion, Kawakita Nagamasa was able to catch an intimate glimpse of Meis
spirit of resistance.
As the tide of the war was turning against Japan, the armys Press Division
was contemplating all sorts of strategies to salvage Japans image for fear of growing public resentment within Japanese-occupied territories. One of the leading proposals was to have a prominent opera per formance by Mei Lanfang. Kawakita
Nagamasa was asked to negotiate the deal by virtue of the trust placed in him by
the Chinese.
After arriving in Hong Kong, Kawakita arranged a get-together in a Chinese
restaurant with Mei Lanfang, along with Zhang Shankun, a close friend of Meis.
When Mei made his appearance, his shaggy, unkempt stubble and his awfully
crooked back revealed a man who apparently had been reduced to an utterly unprepossessing form. No one could possibly have imagined that this was Mei Lanfang, the same man who had once transformed himself into a luscious beauty and
mesmerized his audience in a grand theater with his splendid voice.
When the proposal for him to perform was brought forth, Mei Lanfang stared
directly into Kawakitas eyes and sighed hoarsely, I am grateful for your kind
thoughts, but you can see for yourself the shape Im in. Ive been suffering from a
lingering illness, Im now terribly old and feeble, and my legs cant stand up straight.
There is no way that I can perform on stage. On top of everything and most importantly, I have completely lost my voice. Now, I am so embarrassed that I couldnt
even consider appearing in public.
In a second, Kawakita understood what the actor really meant; he had a distinct feeling that Mei Lanfang had been giving, just before his eyes, the greatest
performance of the artists life. When his and Zhang Shankuns eyes met, Kawakita
confirmed their common thought. To the Press Division, Kawakita reported that
Mei Lanfang is now too old and feeble to do any good. If he were to be involuntarily put on stage, he would only turn into a laughingstock and a humiliation to
the Japanese army.
Once the war ended, Mei Lanfang promptly shaved off his beard and stood
up straight. He then appeared in a grand Shanghai theater at a huge public cele-

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

207

bration of war victory before hypnotizing his audience with his beauty and extraordinary voice.3
In 1944, the war situation in the south made it increasingly difficult to hide
Japans military weaknesses. From October to November, the American army and
navy advanced into the Philippines and ultimately took the island of Leyte. Although the Japanese navy announced that it had won a huge victory by intercepting U.S. air forces off the coast of Taiwan, the Chinese in Shanghai knew what
had really happened by listening directly to the U.S. army broadcast through shortwave radio: Our fleet which was sunk by the Japanese navy has now all emerged
unscathed from the ocean bottom and is advancing toward the west in attack.
During those days, Shanghai was also being bombed; the airport to the north
and the shipyards to the south suffered direct hits. Meanwhile, Kawakita began
to consider ways to shrink the scale of his film productions. Already in an organizational restructuring under emergency times in June 1943, Zhonghua Dianying
(or Zhongying) on the Japanese side and Zhonghua Lianhe Zhipian Gongsi (China
United Film Company or Zhonglian) on the Chinese side were merged to form
Zhonghua Dianying Company, Incorporated (Huaying).4 Within Huaying and
with Kawakitas strong support, Zhang Shankun was able to continue in business
by lining up seven popular starsChen Yunchang, Yuan Meiyun, Gu Lanjun, Chen
Yanyan, Li Lihua, Zhou Manhua, and Zhou Xuan. In time, Chen Yunchang left
after her marriage, and Gu Lanjun switched her career to theater. Later, Chen
Yanyan and Li Lihua both left the silver screen, and so only the three big stars
of Zhou Xuan, Zhou Manhua, and Yuan Meiyun remained.
Under those circumstances, Zhang thought of adding Li Xianglan to the lineup
and was making plans for such fi lms as Change Flies to the Moon (Change benyue) and The Fragrant Concubine (Xiangfei). By the time such talks began, I had
already left Manei after seven years of ser vice and was residing at Broadway Mansion. Change, a beauty in Chinese legend and the wife of Yi, a renowned archer
who has shot down nine of ten suns in the sky, steals the elixirs of immortality Yi
has obtained from Xi Wang Mu, the Queen Mother of the West. She ascends to
the moon where she subsequently resides. The film was based on this story, a legend popular among ordinary people and comparable to The Feather Robe from
Heaven (Ama no hagoromo) and The Tale of Princess Kaguya (Kaguya-hime) in
Japanese folktales. Zhang was hoping to make an ambitious musical based on Lu
Xuns story of the Change legend, with the expectation that it would become a
hit after the success of Glory to Eternity. The Fragrant Concubine, on the other
hand, is a tragic story about a princess from a remote region taken as an imperial
concubine by a conqueror of her people.5
I was thinking of leaving the silver screen after finishing these two fi lms. My
plan was to publicly reveal my origin and apologize to the Chinese people before

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a press conference after my contractual obligations had been fulfilled. But although
the screenplays had been completed, the shooting itself could no longer go forward
Zhang Shankun, whose links with the Chongqing government had long been suspected by the Japanese military police, had suddenly disappeared from Shanghai.
After the Philippines was occupied by the American forces, Kawakita ordered
all Huaying staff to evacuate their families and encouraged their repatriation to
Japan unless they belonged to essential units. In April 1945, when the American
forces began to land on Okinawa, fi lm production at Huaying came to a complete
halt. Among its major members, Kondaib Gor, Hazumi Tsuneo, and Shimizu
Akira had either gone to the battlefield or returned to Japan. Anticipating an American landing in Shanghai, Kawakita planned to move the work of the main company to Beijing.
As film production was no longer possible, those connected with Huaying had
too much time on their hands for days on end. That was when somebody came
up with the idea of a grand musical. I suppose Kawakita and Noguchi Hisamitsu
still had lingering notions of a musical about Change flying to the moon after
taking her elixir of immortality. Many concerned were eager to launch a majestic
musical show to bring back some vitality to the company.
The composer Hattori Ryichi, commissioned by the Shanghai Press Division
jumped on the idea and proposed a fantasy recital featuring Li Xianglan; perhaps he had in mind recreating on stage the commercially aborted musical My
Nightingale. Since my debut days with Song of the White Orchid, he and I had long
been congenial friends. The armys Press Division was also greatly interested in
the idea, and a planning session was immediately called.
It was a stroke of luck that the musical director at Shanghais army Press Division with which Hattori was affiliated was Lieutenant Nakagawa Makiz. A Kei
University graduate now living in the Kansai area, Nakagawa had studied in Europe in the early Shwa period and received training as a tenor in Italy. A tall,
handsome man with a splendid beard, he had a deep empathy for men of culture,
being an artist himself. Known affectionately by everyone as Nakach,6 he would
put on his military uniform in the daytime and change into a suit in the evening
before dashing off as quite a suave dandy into the nightly social circles. He often
encouraged his press staff to wear civilian clothes at night, saying, Shanghai is a
special place where the military man is looked upon with disfavor. Wearing a military uniform could even get you into personal trouble. You in the Press Division
might be treated as military officers, but military ranks dont mean much in the
Chinese community. I ask you to feel free to interact with the Chinese or other
foreigners in Shanghai as individual artists.
One time, Hattori assembled such singers as Watanabe Hamako, who just happened to be in Shanghai along with his sister Hattori Tomiko, to perform at the

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

209

Grand Theater (Daguangming Daxiyuan).7 Even though most of the audience was
Japanese, the fairly positive reception the show generated led to Nakagawas repeated encouragement to his cultural staff to carry out their operations along similar lines.
The next project following that success was the proposed Li Xianglan recital.
Responding immediately to the appeal from its producer, Kawakita Nagamasa,
the manager of the Shanghai Philharmonic, Kusakari Yoshito, and the chief musical director, Hattori Ryichi, were the remaining Huaying staff in Shanghai
such as Noguchi Hisamitsu, Tsuji Hisaichi, and Koide Takashi, along with the
ballet dancer Komaki Masahide. As they brought new ideas to the project, they
also agreed to bring to fruition a wonderful musicala kind of world-class fantasy
show that would electrify the imagination of the Chinese and other foreigners
rather than the Japanese.
At a planning session, Nakagawa proposed a program of popular theme songs
by the Hattori-Li combination featured in previous fi lms. Hattori, on the other
hand, wanted the Shanghai Philharmonic, a world-class orchestra with foreign
players, to accompany Li Xianglan with a symphonic jazz motif. The orchestra,
said at the time to be the best in Asia, had sixty players, with Italians, German
Jews, Austrians, and White Russians as its core members. Hattoris teacher, [Emmanuel] Metter, had repeatedly been invited to serve as a guest conductor. While
Nakagawa thought it would be a grand idea, he wondered whether an orchestra
of that stature would be willing to accompany Li Xianglan performing hit tunes
or jazz numbers. To this Hattori responded, What Li Xianglan will sing are not
going to be popular songs. The majority of them will be Western and Japanese
classics. In addition, the main theme of the show will be presented in the symphonic jazz style of George Gershwin. I hope it would be enjoyable for both classical
music and jazz fans, for the Chinese, the Westerners, and indeed, for everybody.
For a long time, it had been Hattoris strong desire to conduct a first-class orchestra playing symphonic jazz music such as Gershwins Rhapsody in Blue.
Given his responsibility as an officer of the Press Division to clamp down on
the enemys music, Lieutenant Nakagawa pondered over the proposal, but it must
have been Nakagawa the musician who reached the decision. Lets go for it. But
we cannot call it by Western names such as rhapsody or fantasy; you understand there are slow military types in the Press Division. Lets use the Sino-Japanese
term genskyoku.
It was decided that part one of the recital was to consist of Western and Japanese songs, followed by Chinese songs in part two. But the question of the theme
song for part three, our main attraction, a rhapsody in symphonic jazz, remained
unresolved: Western music should be avoided given the times; The melody
should be cheerful and elegant, with a rhythm that would make you want to dance;

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It would be best to have a song sung in Chinese, considering our goal; Lets have
a song that makes the most of Li Xianglans unique voice as a soprano, and one
that could be arranged in symphonic jazz.
Listening to the heated arguments, Noguchi Hisamitsu emphatically raised
his hand. Lets call it The Evening Primrose (Yelaixiang). It is in her repertoire,
it has a rumba beat, and it can be sung in Chinese. Last year, it came to the top of
the charts. Let Mr. Hattori arrange it in various symphonic jazz, Chinese melodic,
or rhythmic styles. For the medley, the Shanghai Philharmonic and the Chinese
orchestra will perform it together, with the latter playing the erhu, sheng, and pipa.
It will be arranged in such a way that the whole song will be performed by Li Xianglan alone.
No sooner had he finished than he began to croon the first words of The Evening Primrose: Na nanfeng chuilai qingliang . . . (That southerly breeze brings
a soothing cool . . . ) as his hands and feet began to move in rhythm. Everybody
felt stirred by his enthusiasm instantaneously. Hattori held Noguchis hands, saying, Thank you. This is it. Well call it Rhapsody of the Evening Primrose.
Nakagawa added, Its a good song. The rhythm of slow rumba is precisely what
goes well with symphonic jazz. Since the evening primrose is a renowned Chinese flower, nobody will raise any objections. It has a cheerful melody that will
dispel all the gloom. If we give the show a good name like a joint Sino-Japanese
concert, it will surely be a big hit. Everyone there shared their wholehearted admiration for Noguchis idea.
Noguchi was an illustrator sent by the Twa Trading Company to Zhonghua
Dianyings Publicity Division. A fervent jazz fan, he was able while living in Shanghai to gain wide exposure to and to acquire records of new American songs not
accessible in Japan. He was also active as a fi lm critic, but now he is known as a
pioneer in Japanese jazz criticism, a man who had totally engrossed himself in
the jazz age of the 1930s. Although a 1933 graduate from the Department of Design in the Faculty of Industrial Arts at Uenos Tokyo Art Academy (currently
Tokyo University of the Arts), he was a great lover of Western painting and jazz
when he became a Twa employee. He developed his talents as an illustrator by
liberally pursuing another interest: watching Western films. He was responsible for
designing almost all the posters for popu lar prewar European films imported by
Twa, such as Der Kongress tanzt (Kaigi wa odoru [1931]), Le Paquebot Tnacity
(Shsen Tenashich [1934]), Maria Chapdelaine (Shiroki shojochi [1934]), and Poil
de Carotte (Ninjin [1932]). Many would remember the refreshing sketches he drew
with soft pastel colors. Not a single printed word was used in his posters; this was
true for catchphrases and the names of staff and the cast, not to mention the title
of the film; everything was executed by hand. The posters themselves became pieces
of art. His representative works after the war included posters for The Third Man

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

211

(Daisan no otoko [1949]), Jeux interdits (Kinjirareta asobi [1952]), and Gervaise (Izakaya [1956]).8
The Evening Primrose was composed on commission by Li Jinguang, reputed to be Shanghais best rising composer.9 The sponsor was Columbia Records
(Baidai Gongsi), which specified that the new composition retain the same beautiful timbre as The Candy Peddling Song. 10 At the age of eighty today, Li is still
living in Shanghai and is active as the music director of the Shanghai branch of
Chinese Records (Zhongguo Changpian She). Hattori Ryichi and others, including myself, met him again after a long separation when he came to Japan in 1981.
At the lounge of the Hotel New tani, we all nostalgically sang one of his very
favorite songs, The Evening Primrose, and others, with Hattori on the piano.
When the request was made of Li, he said that he had in mind the image of
the yelaixiang, a lovely Chinese flower with a sweet fragrance. Just like its other
name, yuexiaxiang, the white svelte flower perfumes the entire moonlit garden.
Looking at it as he walked down to his garden every night gave him in time the
inspiration for his composition. While he did refer to a Chinese folk melody called
Peddling Evening Primrose (Mai Yelaixiang) and an old Chinese song titled Evening Primrose (Yelaixiang), both the melody and the rhythm of his song were
luxuriantly pervaded by a completely new Western ambience and carried the
beat of a fluid slow-rumba. The refrain in the latter half builds up to an emotional
crescendo with a touch of indigenous musical style.
The southerly breeze brings a soothing cool
The nightingales despondent cry saddens the heart
All the flowers under the moonlight
Already deep in their slumber
All except the evening primrose
Sending forth its alluring fragrance
I love the misty panorama at night
And the singing of the nightingale
Yet my true love is a dream embroidered with flowers
With the evening primrose in my arms
And the evening primrose on my lips
Evening primrose, for you I sing
Evening primrose, for you I dream
Ah . . .
For you I sing
For you I dream
Evening primrose . . .

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While this is the version composed and with lyrics by Jin Yugu (Li Jinguangs
pen name),11 when translated into Japanese, the lyrics by Fujiura K begin with The
gentle rustle in the southerly wind; Saeki Takaos rendition reads, Into the spring
breeze, the nightingale sorrowfully laments.12 Both versions have a nuance and
image a little different from those of the original. Neither quite matched the originals unaffected reference to the soothing effects of the southerly breeze on those
who had grown weary of the war.
The song became a great hit in terms of record sales. According to Hattoris
recollections, the other very popular songs in Shanghai from 1943 until the end
of the war included The Candy Peddling Song by Liang Leyin, The Rose Blooms
Everywhere (Qiangwei chuchu kai) by Chen Gexin, and The Drum Song by
Yao Min. In creating their new melodies, these rising composers, known in China
as the group of five with the addition of Yan Gongshang, were attempting a synthesis of traditional and Western music. Even among them, Li Jinguang was the
standard-bearer of Chinas new music.
I clearly remember the day when I was recording The Evening Primrose.
With Li waving his baton, the orchestra was beginning to play the fi rst notes
of the briskly paced prelude. Right at that moment, as I casually looked away
from the glass panel of the recording studio, I noticed a woman standing in the
monitor room intently watching us with vulnerable charm. It was the film actress
Zhou Xuan. Not only did she rise to the top of her profession by starring in The
Street Angel (Malu tianshi, 1937),13 she was also a popular singer with such hit
numbers as The Four Seasons Song (Sijige) and The Wandering Songstress
(Tianya genu). She was also the first to perform When Will You Return?14
I was Zhou Xuans fan and an admirer of her singing. Noticing the presence
of a star I had dreamed about just before I was supposed to start singing, I was so
overwhelmed with emotion and excitement that I shouted out, Aiya, Zhou Xuan!
Needless to say, with my abrupt interjection, my recording got an NG.
Zhou Xuan and I became good friends, and we would go out for tea and meals
together. She was two years older than I was, and like me, she started learning to
sing as a young teenage girl before winning a competition at a radio station, followed by her career as a film actress. Her first performance was in Special Express Train (Tebie kuaiche [1931])15, and mine was my Manei debut, Honeymoon
Express. And so there were a number of similarities between us. But our association was largely one between singers. We would exchange songs in our repertoire,
and I remember spending many hours with her in front of her piano. She was quite
conscientious about learning new things and asked me one time to teach her how
to perform a cadenza-like flourish in her song.
She was a kind and delicate woman with none of the pretentiousness of a prominent singer and actress. On the other hand, there seemed to be an ominous shadow

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

213

of ill-fortune hanging over her. She attempted suicide after the company with which
she was affi liated opposed her marriage, and after that incident, she apparently
continued to suffer from a ner vous disorder. After the war, she again became active in Shanghais fi lm world. In 1957, she died prematurely at the age of thirtynine, apparently of encephalitis after a ner vous breakdown.
When The Candy Peddling Song was becoming a hit, I performed in a small
recital at the Lyceum Theater (Lanxin Daxiyuan) partly for publicity purposes.16
After I had sung When Will You Return? I was summoned to appear before the
Shanghai Municipal Council (Gongbuju), the administrative and policing arm of
the International Settlement, on suspicion that I was harboring a secret desire for
the return of the Chongqing or Communist government. My investigator was a
Chinese police officer, and of course, I maintained that I had not the slightest intention of the sort, and that I was simply singing a love song. I also defended myself by saying that in fact everyone else, starting with Zhou Xuan, was singing the
same song.
The affair didnt develop any further, and I suppose the reason why the Municipal Council was singling me out for suspicion was that it didnt know I was
Japanese. Moreover, something came to my attention only after it had been pointed
out to me by the police officer: that stage props could very easily invite misunderstandings. I sometimes performed on stage in a white dress, and since the stage
background was dark blue and red, the effect was apparently interpreted as an allusion to the flag of the Chongqing government, with its blue sky and white sun.
Further complicating the matter was the fact that the content of the song had to
do with the singers deep yearning for the return of a beloved you. Nakazono
Eisukes The Story of When Will You Return (Heri jun zai lai monogatari [1988]),
contains detailed information on the origins of this famous song and its composer
Liu Xuean. According to Nakazone, the you ( jun) in the lyrics has also been
interpreted as an allegorical intimation of an eagerly awaited savior on the part
of the Chinese people, then suffocating under the oppressive hand of the Japanese army.17
Meanwhile, the planning for the joint Sino-Japanese concert was making headway. Here is a list of the staff:
Producers: Kawakita Nagamasa and Kusakari Yoshito
Musical Director and Arranger: Hattori Ryichi
Scriptwriters: Tsuji Hisaichi and Noguchi Hisamitsu
Choreographer: Komaki Masahide
Stage Director: Koide Takashi
Orchestra: The Shanghai Philharmonic
Conductors: Chen Gexin and Hattori Ryichi

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Hattori first immersed himself for a two-week period arranging about twenty
songs at the home of a Mr. Kawamura, the Shanghai branch manager of Yokohama Shkin Bank (currently Bank of Tokyo). There was a famous European grand
piano in the reception room of the Kawamura residence, and Hattori was given
free access to it. When the music score was completed, I, too, frequently went there
for rehearsals. Hattori made repeated attempts to rework his melodies and the
rhythm to synchronize with my voice; one could feel his extraordinary enthusiasm for this recital. Reminiscing about those times, he reflected how the Gershwin style could never have been given full expression in wartime Japan, and yet
he experimented to his hearts content in incorporating it into his music. Noguchi, his assistant in composition, recalled how they would stop by his house after
the end of a rehearsal, take draughts of beer and whisky as they exchanged ideas
on the music, and before they knew it, the night was nearly over.
The recital was held at the Grand Theater (Daguangming Daxiyuan)18 next
to the Park Hotel (Guoji Fandian)19 on Jingansi Road for three days in May of 1945,
with one daytime and one evening performance each day. The theater was the most
elegant venue in Shanghai, with two thousand deluxe seats equipped with red velvet backs. All seats were reserved. But it was a time when Japans defeat was becoming increasingly apparent. Both Kawakita and Nakagawa were ner vous about
whether we would have a Chinese audience if Li Xianglans Japanese nationality
became public knowledge.
When the show opened on the first day, the theater was sold out to capacity,
as were the shows in the following days. The reviews in the papers were also positive. After all the tickets had been sold, the price of a seat took on a premium three
times the original admission charge. I was asked by the theater to continue the
show for another week, but I declined for fear that my vocal cords couldnt last
that long. According to a report from Lieutenant Nakagawas Press Division, ninety
percent of the audience consisted of Chinese, along with white residents of the
foreign concessions, which inspired Hattori to say, with emotion in his voice, Now
I can truly sense that music has no national boundaries. The musical note is the
common language of the world!
The recital consisted of three parts. Songs from the East and the West included such Japanese and European numbers and folksongs as The Moon over
the Ruined Castle, Autumn Grasses in the Garden (Niwa no chigusa), Katyusha, Dark Eyes, The Drinking Song, The Merry Widow, and others. The second part consisted of Chinese songs, including such contemporary hits as The
Four Seasons Song, The Rose Blooms Everywhere, The Candy Peddling
Song, and Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan Congjun). The conductor for the
first and second parts was Chen Gexin.

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

215

The third part was formally called Yelaixiang genskyoku, but in contrast
to the name printed on the signboards and in the program, we chose to call it the
Yelaixiang Rhapsody or Yelaixiang Fantasy. Similar to what happened when
I sang at Nichigeki in February 1941, I was so engrossed in my stage performance
from start to finish that I had little real feel of the audiences reaction other than
the sounds they made. Likewise, with his back to the audience while conducting
in the orchestras box, Hattori, too, could only sense the audiences reaction behind him. Based on the collective memory of Kawakita, Noguchi, and Tsuji, the
audience seemed to be totally immersed in a fantasy of passion and excitement.
After the bell announced that part three was about to begin, the audience began to quiet down as they sat in darkness awaiting the rise of the curtain. Away
from the curtain, a low voice could be heard singing Yelaixiang in a long
drawl before it repeated the same fragment with a higher pitch. With baton in hand,
Hattori began to lead the orchestra in a soft rendition of the songs introduction.
As the music quietly played while the curtain rose, I, in a pure white Chinese dress,
began to walk toward the orchestra with nearly a hundred players. It was my
solo singing as a coloratura, finishing with a cadenza. After finishing each line,
the full orchestra replicated the melody; the effect was similar to a canon between
the solo singer and the accompaniment. When my singing reached the treble, the
orchestra immediately followed with a return to the cheerful tune at the beginning of the song in slow rumba. The audience cheered with an excited Waa! and
began to crowd forward all the way to the edge of the stage as the song approached
its end.
When the orchestra was playing the interlude, I hurriedly changed into another Chinese outfit, a silvery-hemmed blue dress adorned with the image of a
nightingale. When I reappeared on stage, I held a white flower basket with a bunch
of evening primrose blossoms. This time, I was singing the folksong Peddling
Evening Primrose accompanied principally by the erhu, while the music from
the full orchestra retreated into the background. Li Jinguang said that his motif
in composing The Evening Primrose came from this piece and another old song.
While there was a difference between traditional Chinese music and Western-style
swing, their melodies were equally beautiful. The erhu with its whispering timbre was able to reproduce the mood of the folksongs melancholy tune in a manner reminiscent of The Candy Peddling Song. The folksongs lyrics spoke of how
The beautiful evening primrose blossom, dimly white in the darkness of night,
sends forth its graceful scent. Its color and fragrance will shortly fade; lets
enjoy its beauty while it lasts. Now this is the time to buy them, the evening
primrose blossoms.

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A short monologue was inserted into the middle of the lyrics. Whenever I called
out to the audience, What about some evening primrose blossoms? a few of them
would indeed come up onto the stage as if they had been invited to do so. I was
momentarily taken by surprise, but in an impromptu act, I continued my singing
while handing each of them a flower with a bow.
As the multicolored stage lights descended on me from all directions, the
combo section of the orchestra again played The Evening Primrose in a rumba
rhythm. This time, in a red Chinese dress, I was singing while doing dance steps
on stage. Then came the string section playing an elegant waltz, followed by a pulsating evening primrose boogie-woogie. With the boogie-woogie, the audience,
too, started to move their bodies with the music. I myself only learned that that
was boogie-woogie rhythm quite some time after the recital.
According to Noguchi, there was a long tradition of playing boogie in the
United States, but it was only after the late 1930s that it was incorporated in
earnest in popular music. In Shanghai, the Orients jazz mecca, it was not until
around 1940 that the style began to gain popularity. Needless to say, it had not
reached Japan at the time. In a frank revelation, Hattori said that he had long
been interested in the vivacious eight-beat boogie rhythm and had managed to
obtain the music score for Bugle Call Boogie. As he studied the new rhythm of
the enemys music, he had thought of incorporating it into Japa nese music
without anybody noticing it. His fi rst experiment was with the Evening Primrose Rhapsody.
He said teasingly, While I was practicing in the reception room in Mr.
Kawamuras house with this boogie melody, I recalled Li Xianglans face as she
swung her hips while frequently tilting her head to the side. I can still remember
it to this day.
Well, the melody was difficult to sing when I was standing still the whole
time. I was feeling restless, I grumbled.
Thereupon, Hattori told me that my complaint was thankfully just the right
answer he was hoping for. In that case, dont stand to attention like a soldier. Try
to sing as you swing your body in rhythm with the music!
Using the movement of my hips for his boogie rhythm experiment in Shanghai, Hattori introduced it into the postwar jazz singing scene in Japan, thereby igniting a boogie-woogie boom. This began with the explosive popularity of Tokyo
Boogie-Woogie (Tokyo bugi-ugi) by Kasagi Shizuko as she sang and danced nonstop on the Nichigeki stage, followed by Shopping Boogie (Kaimono bugi), Jungle Boogie (Janguru bugi), and Shamisen Boogie (Shamisen bugi), and others.20
Several other episodes occurred during the Evening Primrose Rhapsody
concert apart from Hattoris boogie-woogie experiment:

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

217

On the last day of my performance, just after I merged into the music at
the first cadenza, I was late by one beat. Oh dear! I thought, but it couldnt
be helped, and all I could do at that point was to continue my singing.
But the orchestra with close to a hundred players managed to follow my
aria without the slightest disruption. Tilting his head in disbelief, Hattori said, Thats incredible. The orchestra followed the singer but not the
conductor!
After finishing my performance on the first night, I returned to my dressing room all flushed in the cheeks. A decrepit-looking old man with a
walking stick approached me from the crowd, saying that he was the composer of Peddling Evening Primrose. I had learned that the whereabouts
of the original composer was unknown, and now before my eyes, there
he was. Both Li Jinguang and Hattori Ryichi joyfully and firmly shook
the old mans hands.
During my last performance on the last day, the audience showed no sign
of leaving even after the curtain was lowered. Thereupon, I sang an encore number, Zhou Xuans The Four Seasons Song. The applause
never seemed to stop. I followed with another Zhou Xuan song, Unchanging Heart (Bubian te xin), but again the audience didnt even
want to stand. I offered yet another song, The Mad World (Fengkuang
shixie), also a song by Zhou Xuan popular at the time. In excitement, the
audience began to run onto the stage, along with Zhou Xuan and Bai
Hong with a large bouquet of flowers, and the performance ended with
a tight embrace between Zhou Xuan and me.
The reason I remember this event so clearly is that The Mad World was my
last encore song that night. It was composed by Li Jinguang for Zhou Xuan at the
time when he wrote The Evening Primrose. The words of the song, also by Li
Jinguang, were something I can never forget. The songs first two stanzas are:
The birds sing as if there were no tomorrow
The flowers bloom without a care of the world
So absolutely thrilling!
Oh, so thrilling, so thrilling!
But why do the birds sing?
And why do the flowers bloom?
So absolutely mystifying
Oh, so mystifying, so mystifying!21

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Chapter 13

It was, in other words, a fantasy world concocted within the mind of an insane
girl, a world that had literally gone mad. Reportedly, the pitiable and talented Zhou
Xuan died as a madwoman, just as in the lyrics.22 It is common for legends to associate madness and death in the ill fate of a beautiful woman, but in actual fact,
she died of type B encephalitis.
After receiving the bouquet from Zhou Xuan and finally separating from the
fervent audience anxious to shake my hand, I was about to retreat to my dressing
room when a tall, pretty white woman squeezed through the crowd and approached
me shouting, Yoshiko-chan! Yoshiko-chan! Surprised, I looked at her face with
wide-open eyes. I was so stunned that I could hardly speak for a moment.
Liuba! Liubochka! You are Liuba Monosova Gurinets, arent you! I am so
glad youre well! Although I managed to utter those words, we were physically
separated by the crowd. Liuba! Lets talk more! Come to the dressing room later!
You must come! I had been speaking Chinese in my role as Li Xianglan, but in
my conversation with Liuba, the language switched to Japanese before I knew it.
The last time I had seen Liuba was more than ten years before, and the Liuba
I saw before my eyes in the dressing room was exactly the same Liubochka I knew
before. Her cute freckles had become more translucent; her braided hair was neatly
tied at her back, giving her a cool intelligent look.
What a wonderful recital you had! My father and mother also came!
Following her glance, I saw at the back of the crowd the familiar faces of her
parents standing next to each other. Her mothers cheeks were wet with tears, and
she held a handkerchief to her nose.
I was overjoyed that Liuba thought my singing had improved; I began my vocalization training only after Liuba had introduced me to Madame Podlesov.
When I saw a poster of Li Xianglan, I thought she looked very much like
you, and I remembered that Yoshiko-chan in Fengtian had most certainly become
the adopted daughter of the Li family living next to her. But then I thought this
couldnt possibly be true, and so I came to find out. Hey, how did you become an
actress? When did you come to Shanghai, and what are you going to do? I never
thought you would sing in as grand a theater as this one. Liubas Japanese poured
swift ly from her mouth in just the way she used to talk.
I, for my part, had a mountain of things to ask her.
Why did your family suddenly disappear from Fengtian? What are you
doing in Shanghai now? Is your father still running a bakery?
I cant explain this all at once. Tonight, our family has prepared something
for you. You must come over even if it is late.
That night, a party had been scheduled to celebrate the success of the recital,
and I was one of the guests of honor. But then, I explained my situation to Kawakita,
left the party before it ended, and went directly to the Gurinets residence on a

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

219

corner in the French Concession. It had the typical appearance of a Russian family house, with stone steps from the pavement going up to the entrance. What I
immediately saw after I was greeted in the reception room was a red flag with a
star, hammer, and sickle, and a portrait of Stalin.
My surprise on the day of Liubas sudden disappearance from Fengtian now
came back to me. Her house had been trampled by the boots of the military police. Now I knew that this White Russian family of Jewish descent, having been
exiled to Fengtian by way of Harbin and Dalian, were in fact Bolsheviks.
Liubas older brother was well and living with the rest of the family. The thin,
nervous-looking and pimple-faced youth had now grown into a fine-looking
young gentleman. He still had a sullen look on his face, and I fondly remembered
his unsociable habits. With a somewhat embarrassed expression, he too extended
his hand to shake mine, saying, Yaa! Liubas father was no longer working as a
baker, and was now employed at the Consulate-General of the Soviet Union in
Shanghai. I was told that both Liuba and her brother were working there as
well.23
I was warmly greeted by the whole family. The various Russian food items,
lovingly prepared by Liubas mother, were all delicious. What I appreciated most
were the pirozhki stacking on top of each other like a mountain.
I remember Yoshiko-chan liked these a lot when she was small, and this time
I specially prepared them for you.
From that day on, Liuba and I resurrected our friendship. Our rendezvous
in Shanghai was always a Russian eatery on Jingansi Road, which served a delicious chocolate parfait. I didnt care whether she was White or Red; to me Liuba
was Liuba.
*

My close friendship with Liuba continued until April 1946, when I was repatriated to Japan. Reflecting the conditions of the times, our relationship during that
interval appeared to consist not merely of friendship but also a certain political
nuance. I said appeared to consist because I myself was largely unconscious of
that particular character of our relationship. The following was what I had been
told by parties connected with the Press Division of the Japanese army: Since you
are a friend of Liubas and can speak Russian, you must have many Russian acquaintances. Since Japan and Russia are not at war and enjoy well-established diplomatic relations, please be as friendly with them as you can. What about having
a recital on Russian folksongs next time? I was surprised to learn, after reading
Tsuji Hisaichis Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings History, that my friendship with
Liuba was being used as an instrument for initiating Soviet-Japanese peace operations (heiwa ksaku).

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Affi liated with the Shanghai Press Division under the General Staff Office of
the China Expeditionary Army, Tsuji was responsible for such matters as the distribution and censorship of films within Japanese-occupied areas in Shanghai. Part
of his work also involved questions regarding the distribution of Soviet fi lms. At
the time, Japan and the Soviet Union had concluded a neutrality pact, and on the
surface, the two countries were carrying on normal diplomatic relations. After 1942,
the Soviet Union had been making repeated requests that Soviet fi lms be distributed through Huaying so that they could be screened in the Shanghai area, but
the Japanese expressed reluctance. Meanwhile, since Japan had already sent a large
fighting force to the Pacific arena and had no desire to see any trouble developing
along the thinly guarded Soviet-Manchurian border, it was keen to maintain
friendly relations with its neighbor. However, the anti-Communist character of
the Tripartite Pact between Japan, Germany, and Italy had made it impossible to
screen films from a Communist country within Japanese-occupied areas. As a result, whenever the Soviet request was received, the Japanese would procrastinate
with a noncommittal response until some convenient excuse could be found. The
Japanese negotiator for such matters was Tsuji Hisaichi, while his Soviet counterparts from its Consulate General were an old man of about sixty years of age and
his daughter. Tsuji wrote in Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings History:
I have completely forgotten their names in full, but I do remember the fi rst
name of the daughter. She is called Liuba. She spoke good Japanese, sometimes
even to the degree of being loquacious. Since she was born in Dalian, she said
that she learned Japanese as a child, but she wasnt particularly boastful of her
skills. She spoke Japa nese with such fluency that at times I myself felt that
I was not her matchquite a formidable counterpart.

And so for three years after 1942, Tsuji had been negotiating with his formidable
counterpart Liuba, the cultural affairs officer at the Soviet Consulate General.
In 1945, after the consignment of the best Kwantung Army forces to the
South Pacific front, the China Expeditionary Army exercised increasing caution
to avoid any dispute that might arise between Japan and the Soviet Union. Indeed, it proclaimed official guidelines for an active course of rapprochement
with the Soviet Union. Colonel Mori, a staff officer with the Shanghai army, was
given the task of promoting closer relations with the Soviets. Contacts with the
Soviet Union alerted him to the strong Soviet desire to screen its own fi lms in
Japanese-occupied territories. Thereupon, he requested Kawakitas assistance to
import, distribute, and screen such fi lms under Huayings auspices. Kawakita
accepted his request, and Soviet fi lms began to be shown in the city of Shanghai
after a five-year drought.

Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

221

The following is how Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings History records the

secret story of Japans rapprochement with the Soviet Union:
At the time, Li Xianglan was in Shanghai, perhaps waiting for the production
of her next film, or perhaps participating in discussions about a scenario. Then
it became known that Li Xianglan and Liuba had been close friends during
her student days in Beijing. The two had a happy reunion in what must be described as a strange stroke of fate.
Upon learning about this episode after he and Liuba became well acquainted, Mori requested Li Xianglans active participation in Japans operation to forge closer ties with the Soviet Union. (What that meant was probably no more than first developing closer friendships with Soviet officials and
civilians alike in Shanghai.) The Soviets, too, knew about Li Xianglans talents as a singer through such fi lms as Glory to Eternity, and Mori requested
that Li perform songs from that country.
Through Liubas good offices, Li Xianglan began to study under a Russian vocalist. Meanwhile, Liuba became one of the important gatekeepers for
Moris Soviet initiatives. From the sideline, I sketchily observed what Mori was
doing, wondering whether such efforts could really reorient Soviet national
objectives into bringing greater sympathy toward our country.
It was too bad for Li Xianglan. The very person who had planned her next
fi lm, Zhang Shankun, was now on the other side of the battle line. However,
Li Xianglan was fond of singing from the start and had studied the art professionally since she was a young girl. It appeared that she was practicing enthusiastically, thinking that this was a good opportunity for her to learn to
sing Russian songs. I have repeatedly seen Liuba by her side as her devoted
attendant.

While Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings History is an important source of

reference, it contains several factual errors on this matter. First, Liuba and I knew
each other not from my days in Beijing, but from my time in Fengtian. While
parties connected to the army had asked me to work toward Soviet-Japanese friendship through music, I had never been requested to participate in Japanese operations (ksaku). Furthermore, it was not Liuba who had exercised her good offices in securing a vocal instructor for me in Shanghai; it was Kawakita Nagamasa
who introduced me to a Jewish Russian woman named Bella Mazel, saying that I
must continue my singing lessons with a good teacher if I intended to quit acting
in favor of pursuing a vocalists career. As far as Russian folksongs were concerned,
I had learned virtually everything from Madame Podlesov during my Fengtian
years. As for Madame Mazel, she is well today and lives in New York. Whatever

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intentions Staff Officer Mori might have entertained as an operative, neither Liuba
nor I nor Madame Mazel had any knowledge of such political maneuverings. In
any case, the military situation made it clear that Japans defeat was becoming more
imminent by the day, and before any Soviet-directed operations could be launched,
the war ended.
As for the critical story about the rapprochement the government of Japan
undertook toward the Soviet Union, the initiative came from the Japanese Emperor himself. To secure Stalins good offices to act as an intermediary in peace
negotiations with Britain and the United States, the government formally decided
to send former Prime Minister Konoe Fumimaro as Special Envoy to Moscow.
To present this request, Sat Naotake, Japanese Ambassador to the Soviet Union,
asked for a meeting with Foreign Minister Molotov on July 13, 1945. As the Foreign Minister declined to meet because of his other preoccupations, Sat presented his request for a visit with Deputy Peoples Commissar of Foreign Affairs
Lozovski. The Soviets responded that they could neither accept nor deny such a
request since Konoes mission was not clearly defined.
On July 21, Foreign Minister Tg telegrammed Ambassador Sat in Moscow, instructing him to convey to the Soviet Union that the purpose of Special
Envoy Konoes visit was to request the Soviet Unions good offices in peace negotiations between Japan and the United States and Britain. The telegram arrived
on the 24th, and the ambassador conveyed the message to Lozovski the next day.
He received no reply.
On the following day, July 26, the historic Potsdam Declaration was issued by
the United States, Britain, and China calling for Japans unconditional surrender.

CHAPTER 14

Shanghai, 1945

In the summer of 1945, languid days and depressing spirits lingered on under the persistent heat typical of Shanghai at the time. In Japan, most
of the major cities had suffered air raids by the Americans, and the day was quickly
approaching when there would be a final showdown on the Japanese mainland
that was what the rumors flitting around town were saying.
Listening as always to shortwave broadcasts on world news in several languages, Noguchi Hisamitsu one day muttered, Well, itll be just a matter of time.
Kawakita Nagamasa was then at work in Beijing. Anticipating an American landing in Shanghai, he made the final decision to relocate Huayings production facilities there. His wife, Kashiko, and daughter, Kazuko, had already moved to the
Beijing Hotel. Liuba and her father, too, had left Shanghai by plane for Harbin.
As there was no longer any fi lm work left for me to do, I went to Madame Mazels
house each day for my vocal lessons.
Every mid-August, Shanghai held a summer concert at its International Racecourse, and I was honored to have been asked by the Municipal Council to be the
guest singer for that year. The idea was to hold an encore performance of the Rhapsody of the Evening Primrose concert.
Once August arrived, Noguchi, the shortwave-radio enthusiast, would often
say, Itll be just a matter of time. Even today, he still incredulously reminisces
about Shanghai immediately before the end of the war. The atmosphere during
those two weeks was absolutely amazing. He continued:
At the time, at the request of Lieutenant Nakagawa from the Army Press Division, I was responsible for putting jazz music on the air through Shanghais
English-language radio station XMHA. For work-related reasons, I was able
to pick up broadcasts from all over the world. As far as information on Japan
was concerned, all we received was NHKs overseas broadcast meant for the
enemys ears. First-rate jazz performers in Japan could no longer play the
enemys music, and to earn their daily bread, they had to join the New Pacific

223

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Chapter 14

Orchestra created by NHK to undermine American morale at the front. Hindsight tells me that that was a miscalculation, but I must say that listening to
their performance in Shanghai was an enjoyable experience. News would run
between musical interludes, and all the announcements from Japans Imperial Headquarters were still pretty aggressive in tone. But then if you listen to
Americas FEN or Londons BBC on the same radio from different cycles, they
were telling their audiences that Japans surrender was a matter of time.
Japan still didnt think it had lost the war. And so, those connected with
the Japanese army were still all puffed up with arrogance. Other than the Japanese, virtually everyone else living in Shanghais old concessions, beginning
with the Chinese, knew that Japan had in fact lost the war and that their countries had won. In spite of that, they still followed Japans instructions and behaved good-naturedly during blackout hours. For the few of us Japanese who
knew what was going on from both sides, those two weeks were truly an incredible and uncanny time.

I felt the misery of war acutely when I saw with my own eyes heaps of dead
bodies during the bombing of Shanghais city streets by American planes. One
day, I was supposed to sing before a gathering of luminaries from the financial
world at a party organized by the armys Press Division. The venue was a small
hall in the Cathay Hotel (currently Heping Binguan) on the bank of the Huangpu
River. As usual, I picked The Moon over the Ruined Castle for my first number.
As the piano started the songs prelude, I took a deep breath and was about to
begin singing. It was at that moment that the air raid sirens began to go off.
All the members of the audience and I ran with full speed down to the buildings basement. No sooner had we done so, than we heard the sounds of explosion overhead drowning out all other noises. The roar of the fighter planes, the
sound of gunfire, the sharp screeching metallic noise of the planes making their
sudden descent, the random firing of machine-gunsthose sounds coming one
on top of the other were so horrible that I thought I was going to die. The hotel
shook as if it were in an earthquake, and we too could feel the vibrations as our
bodies pressed against one another in the dark basement, trying to hang on for
dear life. The panic and anxiety lasted for probably more than an hour, and at the
end I found myself totally worn out. For the time being, I withdrew to my room
on the eighth floor and waited for contact from the outside.
As I looked down from my hotel window, the sight immediately shocked me,
despite myself, into covering up my face. What struck my eyes was the deck of a
passenger ship on the Huangpu River and the water around it, all a deep red. More
dead bodies than one could count lay on top of the ship, all piled over one another like logs in a lumberyard. Afloat on the surface of the river were more human

Shanghai, 1945

225

corpses; a more accurate description would be fragments of dead bodies. Ambulances from the Red Cross had rushed to the scene and rescue workers with
stretchers were jumping off the vehicles. Victims carried from the ship to the shore
were then turned over like fish with long pole-like rods, and only those believed
to be still hanging onto life were carried away by the ambulances. In no time, all
the stretchers and white coats worn by the doctors and the rescue workers were
soaked in blood.
Once I realized what had happened, I cried out aloud. Frozen in front of the
window sill, I wept bitter tears.
A Chinese hotel boy knocked and came into my room. The sight of me crying alone in the darkness must have been rather odd, and quickly I pulled myself
away from the window. But that did not stop my crying. The boy laid me down
on the sofa and telephoned the hotels front desk. Soon, an officer from the Press
Division arrived. The enemy planes are gone, he said, All the members of the
audience have been seated. Now, may I ask you to begin your performance?
It was hardly the occasion for any singing. I was so shocked that I had lost
my voice. Finally, after composing myself, I returned to the hall, only to find that
my singing was well off the mark. Before me was a sparse audience in a distinctly
chilly atmosphere.
The boat that was raked by machine-gun fire that day had been carry ing a
large number of Chinese refugees from Guangdong. Since it had been requisitioned
by the Japanese army and was flying the Japanese flag, it became a target for the
raiding American planes.
That night, from ten in the evening, when all the lights went out, until dawn,
I couldnt sleep at all. When morning came, I moved into Kawakitas flat in the
old International Settlement, availing myself of his kind offer in case of need during his sojourn in Beijing. His apartment was on the fourth floor of a five-story
building in a smart residential neighborhood for Westerners on Xiaoshadu Road.
Only a young couple was looking after the flat, an amah and a manservant who
had endeared themselves to the Kawakitas.
On August 6, an atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. The Japanese residents in Shanghai learned about a new-style bomb through the Japanese language newspaper New Continental Press (Tairiku Shinp), while apparently others
like Tsuji Hisaichi had heard from the Chinese and other foreigner expatriates
that the name of the device was an atomic bomb. On August 9, under what Noguchi Hisamitsu has described as an incredible and uncanny atmosphere, the
summer concert was held as scheduled, with Hattori Ryichi conducting the Shanghai Philharmonic Orchestra.
The extensive Shanghai International Racecourse, the venue, was in the central part of the city facing the main street, Nanjing Road. Its grassy area, the big

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park, was chosen as the site for the August outdoor concert, a distinctive annual
event for the season. Chinese, Europeans, Americans, and Japanese would all show
off their summer fashions, turning the place, if only for that day, into a colorful
social scene. Perhaps because it was an encore performance, the concert was fully
attended. Now, looking back at the event, I cannot help thinking that it was a summertime daydream.
On that day, while I was enthusiastically singing my favorite soprano numbers such as The Merry Widow and songs from La Traviata, in Japan another
atomic bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. As if acting in perfect synchrony with
the event, the Soviet Union declared war on Japan. On the same day, the Soviet
army crossed the Soviet-Manchurian border and began launching its attack
on Xinjing.
It was only after August 10 that I learned about Japans defeat. I was going to
Madame Mazels place for my vocal lesson just as I always did. Nearing Fuxi Road,
I encountered hordes of people fi lling the street, as if a rowdy festival was taking
place. From the gathering crowd, fragments of Chinese phrases flew into my ears,
Japan has surrendered! The war has ended! China for the Chinese! Noguchis
prediction that It will be just a matter of time was then materializing before
my eyes.
All stiffened up at the news of Japans surrender, I wasnt able to give my undivided attention to the vocal lesson. What should I do? Kawakita was away in
Beijing, and Liuba was nowhere to be found. As far as business went, the Huaying headquarters at Hamilton House was as good as finished even though its
doors remained open. I also heard that transportation throughout China was in
a state of paralysis.
Realizing how agitated I was, Madame Mazel stopped playing the piano and
calmly told me the circumstances surrounding Japans defeat. On August 9, a meeting of the War Council was held in the Imperial Palace before the Emperor, and
at two-thirty the next morning, it was decided that Japan would accept the Potsdam Declaration on the condition that Japans national polity was not to be compromised. This was conveyed to the Allies through neutral countries. She told me,
Why dont you keep on singing, in Japanese, Russian, English, and Chinese. Forget about everything and just sing!
I had sung with everything I had just the day before at the concert. Spurred
on by the accompaniment, I kept on singing any number of songs in an absentminded state. That day marked my last lesson in Shanghai.
As I opened the door to my flat, the young amah and the manservant greeted
me silently with a bow. Neither of them made any attempt to look at me; it was
clear that they knew about Japans surrender. I called the armys Press Division,
but the reply was Theres no way that our great Japanese Empire would surren-

Shanghai, 1945

227

der! It is possible that we will engage the enemy on the mainland for the decisive
battle! The armys Press Division had much earlier on scheduled my performance
for the Japanese troops garrisoned in Shanghais suburbs. When I asked if there
was going to be a cancellation due to the apparently changing situation, the officer at the Press Division responded high-handedly, Dont you be misled by unsubstantiated rumors from the Chinese! Your visit to the troops will take place as
planned on the 13th. Now let me warn youdont breathe even a syllable that such
rumors are now spreading!
On the night of the same day of August 10, the Far East Network (FEN)
made repeated mention of Japans surrender. The Japanese government had conveyed to the Allies through the neutral countries of Sweden and Switzerland that
it was prepared to accept the Potsdam Declaration on the condition that Japans
national polity would be preserved. The consulates of those countries in Shanghai had confirmed the information. That was how detailed the FEN news was.
The atmosphere at the old foreign concessions changed abruptly. The streets
suddenly came alive. Only the Japanese residential quarters at Hongkou and Zhabei were enveloped in a gloomy stillness; the Japanese community was getting edgy
at the total lack of information from Tokyo.
That night, I went to a nightclub called Angelic Pleasure in the French Concession on a prior invitation from my Chinese friends. Following blackout instructions, the windows had been covered with thick black curtains as patrons wriggled
their bodies in the dimly lit dance hall. Just at the time of my arrival, all the windows were suddenly opened wide, filling the dance hall with a vibrant energy beyond all recognition. Under the bright lights of the shiny chandelier, the Chinese
and other foreigners were repeatedly toasting each other. Here, too, phrases such
as The Potsdam Declaration and ultimatum to Japan were being exchanged in
whispers in Chinese and English. Gatherings of people were raising their cups in
a victory celebration.
Suddenly, two Japanese military policemen wearing armbands came through
the door. Close the curtains and turn off the lights! they shouted. This is against
orders! Who is responsible for this? Holding pistols over their heads, they ordered
the nightclub employees to follow the blackout protocol before hauling away a man
who appeared to be the manager. The soldiers were twitching with anger, but an
undaunted, sardonic smile emerged on the face of the man they took away.
My visit to the troops went as planned on August 13. Not being informed of
any recent developments, the Japanese soldiers greeted me with an energetic salute. No information whatsoever about Japans defeat had reached the army, especially not the rank and file. For this reason, I heard that when the soldiers marched
in formation along the citys streets, they were stupefied when they were sharply
ridiculed with sarcastic remarks from the Chinese.

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I wondered what was going to happen to those young men. It pained my heart
to see how they listened with such attentiveness and shining eyes to my singing.
I wanted to say to them, The war has now ended! Its all right for all of you not to
die! but the request from the Press Division was for me to boost the morale of
our fighting men. The only words coming from my mouth were stereotypical and
formulaic: Thank you very much, soldiers. Please work hard for the sake of our
country. Continuing to sing a few songs upon request, this time I said at every interval, Thank you very much for your hard work, and bowed deeply.
On August 15, I was summoned to the nearby official residence of the Chief of
Shanghais Army Press Division for an important broadcast from Japan. I wasnt
able to hear clearly what was being said in the Imperial Rescript on Surrender
the speech from the shortwave radio was jammed with noises. The only thing that
came through clearly was the fact that Japan was now a defeated nation. The Emperors voice, which I heard for the first time, struck me as no different from that
of an ordinary human being. People around me wept at the news, but I remained
unruffled at the scene, perhaps because of my prior knowledge of the matter.
After listening to the Emperors broadcast, my subsequent exchange with Lieutenant Colonel Shimada Katsumi, Chief of the Shanghai Army Press Division, was
later recorded in the February 1956 issue of the journal Miscellaneous Interactions
(Jinbutsu rai). My recollections are not as detailed as those of the Lieutenant Colonel, but I clearly remember that when he asked me about what I would do next,
between being a Japanese or a Chinese, I expressed my determination that I would
reinstate myself as a Japanese. After returning to my flat from the Shimada residence, I changed clothes and rushed out again. I jumped in a rickshaw that carried
me round and round Shanghais downtown streets. For the first time, I started to
cry. The summer breeze quickly dried my tears, but they kept on coming.
Japanese flags had been lowered from the roofs of buildings, and now fluttering in their place were flags of China. At storefronts on the main streets, too, were
rows of the flags of Nationalist China, brilliantly reflecting the suns rays in that
early midsummer afternoon. It was a most dazzling sight.
The city was in an uproar. Their glowing faces filling with joy, the Chinese
cheered with overflowing elation. As my rickshaw traveled from one street crossing to the next, I keenly observed how the people paraded and danced wildly on
the streets, setting off firecrackers and sounding the gongs in boisterous celebration. On one street corner, the people were waving small Chinese national flags
as they danced on a trampled Japanese flag on the ground.
That was fine; it was only natural that Chinese flags should fly in China. On
the other hand, I thought about pitiable Japan and the pitiable Japanese; though
a Japanese myself, these thoughts came and went in my mind as if they had noth-

Shanghai, 1945

229

ing to do with me. With the rickshaws movements, my thin, navy-blue, cotton
Chinese summer clothes were completely drenched with tears and sweat.
Returning to the flat after more than three hours roaming the streets, I found
the amah and the manservant in the middle of packing their belongings. I was
told, We can no longer work here. Wed get into big trouble if people knew that
we worked for the Japanese, and so please allow us to leave. Well return to our
hometown in Guangdong. We feel bad for Mr. Kawakita as well. Please convey to
him our appreciations and apologies.
They brought out their luggage and trunks and were about to leave. I was
merely a guest who had moved in just ten days earlier during Kawakitas absence,
and I was not sure whether I should take the initiative to ask them to stay. I did,
however, have very sad memories as far as this young couple was concerned.
One week before, the amah had given birth to a child. I had realized that she
was pregnant from the way she looked, but before I knew it, she had decided to
give birth in her own room at the back of the flat without the assistance of a doctor or a midwife. Two days earlier, the result of her decision was presented before
my eyes, and I was struck dumb with astonishment. It appeared to have been a
very difficult birth, and the frail, premature baby was already at the point of death.
Wrapping their baby in lotus leaves and placing it like an offering before an altar
in a corner of their room, the couple spent all day kneeling and praying for the
babys health. I repeatedly tried to persuade them to take the baby to the hospital,
but the two refused to listen, saying that they had their own god. The baby died
the next day.
The manservant said somewhat apologetically, We have truly been indebted
to Mr. Kawakitas kindness. We did plan to look after his flat until his return from
Beijing, but the world has changed. Moreover, I would also like to have time for
my wife to recuperate. I offered him some money, and wished them the best as
I saw them off. At that moment, the couple said:
Please be careful about what will happen to you. Theres a rumor about you
that started two or three days ago. People are saying under their breath that
when the army from Chongqing arrives, you would be arrested as a traitor,
given a trial, and may be given a death sentence.

Left alone in Kawakitas roomy flat, I lay on the sofa and looked absentmindedly at the ceiling, lost in incoherent thoughts. The war had ended; the Japanese
and the Chinese had stopped killing each other. I was relieved that it ended that
wayno, that was precisely how it should end. And then there were other thoughts
intersecting in my mind: that I had missed the opportunity to proclaim that Li

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Xianglan was Japanese; that the last fi lm in which I was supposed to appear in
the leading role as Li Xianglan had failed to materialize; that I was unable to meet
with reporters to announce my retirement.
Then, evening came. Only the sluggish sound of the revolving fan reverberated in the twilit room. I heard snappish noisesPon! Pon!as if something
had been burst open. It didnt come from guns, but from people uncorking champagne bottles. Then came the rowdy noises from the clinking of wine glasses, the
peoples cheers as they toasted one another, their jovial laughter, and the flowing
melodies of jazz. It was as if we were having Christmas in the middle of summer.
When I rose from the sofa and looked out of the window, I could see here and
there that the black curtains covering the windows of buildings had been removed,
and the streets were lit up with a dazzling glow. The next day, I vacated Kawakitas
flat and moved back into Broadway Mansion.
Shanghai appeared to have changed completely in the aftermath of the war.
Naturally, the pecking order of the Chinese and the Japanese was reversed; yesterdays conquerors were no more than just the common people from a vanquished
nation. The Nationalist forces led by General Tang Enbo, Commander-in-Chief
of the Third Front Army, continued to stream into the city. After the Japanese were
admitted into several specified relocation camps in the Japanese residential area
of Hongkou, they were given the following orders:
The Japanese must not employ citizens of victorious nations as servants.
The Japanese must not ride in rickshaws pulled by citizens of victorious nations.
The Japanese are to wear armbands at all times identifying themselves as
Japanese expatriates along with their registration numbers at their relocation centers.
The Japanese are to congregate at the relocation centers and must not leave
such areas without permission.
Thinking of acting in unison with the Japanese expatriates connected with
Huaying, I awaited contacts from Noguchi Hisamitsu, Koide Takashi, and others
as I continued living by myself until accommodation arrangements at the relocation center were finalized. Meanwhile, Chinese-language newspapers were actively
projecting the arrest of those charged with political and economic crimes as traitors to China while reporting on important figures associated with the Wang Zhaoming [Wang Jingwei] regime, which had functioned as a Japanese puppet. On
September 9, General Okamura Yasuji, Commander-in-Chief of the China Expeditionary Army, formally announced Japans capitulation and signed the statement of surrender in Nanjing before General He Yingqin, Commander-in-Chief

Shanghai, 1945

231

of Chinese forces representing Chiang Kai-shek, Chairman of the National Military Council. Besides requesting Japans surrender of important figures, including President Chen Gongbo and his subordinates,1 the Nationalist government also
made clear fundamental guidelines in connection with treason trials.
Accordingly, a hanjian was defined as a Chinese who has committed treason
by collaborating and conspiring with the Japanese to defy his or her country.
On the penalties given to those found guilty as hanjian after a trial, the Legislative Yuan (Lifayuan) made the following proclamation:
In accordance with the gravity of the crimes committed, penalties of death,
life imprisonment, or term imprisonment will be given.
Those who have committed conspiracy to disrupt national peace will be
given the death penalty or life imprisonment.
Beyond those who had committed political and economic crimes, the government
was beginning to expose cultural traitors (wenhua hanjian) in such areas as film,
theater, and journalism. In the film world, some of my former friends and acquaintances were being investigated. From Beijing came the news that Li Ming, one
of the best-known Manei stars and a rival of Bai Guang for Major Yamagas special affections, had been arrested. I heard that at her trail in Beipings Hebei High
Court, Li was sentenced to a five-year prison term and a five-year suspension of
her civil rights. All her possessions, excluding money for living expenses for her
family, were to be confiscated.
In Shanghais fi lm circles, such top actresses as Chen Yunchang, my costar
in Glory to Eternity, along with Chen Yanyan and Li Lihua, were listed one after
the other. Among actors, Mei Xi, He Zhongshan, Zhou Shimu, and others were
brought in for questioning. Masui Kichis The Trial History of Traitors to the Chinese People records the following:
At the time when such stars were being summoned, a large, pushy crowd of
fans flooded the Shanghai High Court, which shows the kind of popularity
these stars commanded. When the gorgeously beautiful Chen Yanyan arrived
in her streamlined, light-green, private automobile, wearing a light-brown
qipao, a large number of reporters and cameramen flocked around her for a
racy press conference. During their trials, the crowd practically overwhelmed
even the square in front of the court, to say nothing of the public gallery. Even
though those hanjian stars spoke to the reporters, with apparent dejection,
about how they had fallen out of line with the silver screen, their popularity
was truly amazing. In the aftermath of the trials, Chen Yanyan and Li Lihua
were released and apparently staged a comeback.

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While Chen Yunchang, Chen Yanyan, and Li Lihua were being investigated
by the authorities, it was only natural that the average Chinese citizen found it
strange that Li Xianglan had not been arrested. Scribblings on the walls had already put her name first on a list of female hanjian associated with Japan, along
with Kawashima Yoshiko and the Tokyo Rose.2 Although Chinese, she appeared
in fi lms that brought deep humiliation to China. Her actions constituted her collaboration with Japans continental policy and her betrayal of Chinathat was
the verdict against me. There was also a newspaper report that said, Utilizing the
Chinese and Japanese languages and her friendly relations with nationals from
both countries, she engaged in activities as a spy.
Chinese is a beautiful language, and in communicating intent and articulating sounds, it is infused with marvelous nuances and rich expressiveness. On the
other hand, when used as an instrument for humiliation and condemnation, it is
likewise trenchantly powerful. The denunciation directed against me in the reports was made in intensely caustic language.
One day, while waiting for my accommodation at the relocation center to
be assigned, I received a telephone call from a Mr. Yang, president of a major
Shanghai newspaper. I wish to thank you for your recent per formance at the
charity concert we sponsored to fight against cancer, he told me. Just as I was
thinking that we hadnt properly offered you our appreciations, we are now faced
with this state of affairs. There is something I wish to speak about with you, and
I sincerely hope that you will come immediately. I am sending a car over to pick
you up.
Japa nese expatriates like us were not permitted to cross Garden Bridge, but
I was told that Mr. Yangs automobile carried the necessary permit. While Yang belonged to the liberal party, he was under suspicion for having collaborated with
the Japanese army and appeared to have been scheduled for trial as a hanjian.
After crossing the bridge, which had fresh bullet marks from machine-gun
fire, the car stopped at the back entrance of a building at a corner of a squalid neighborhood in the old International Settlement. Dispensing with the elevator, the
driver showed me the way up the backstairs to the eleventh floor and knocked on
the door of the room at the end of the corridor.
Yang was waiting for me inside a small and poorly decorated room. With his
stout build, he still managed to maintain his sense of presence as before, but his
face looked pale.
Ah, Im glad you came. Since I wont be able to keep you here for long, Ill get
right to the point. I have found a way to run off to the Communist camp in
the Northeast in a few days. You came from the same area, and if you so desire, we can go together. You and I will both be in danger if we stay in Shang-

Shanghai, 1945

233

hai. If we dont find a safe haven for ourselves right now, well be in trouble if
something like a riot should take place.

Increasingly, writings in the newspapers and on the street walls were asking
for the arrest of suspected hanjian who had not yet been exposed, and there was
no telling when I might face severe condemnation from the masses or be subjected
to mob violence. After some thought, however, I said, Thank you for the invitation, but no thank you. My personal guarantor, Kawakita Nagamasa, is not in
Shanghai, and my parents and siblings are in Beijing. I cant just go away by myself. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but I have no intention of fleeing. I wish to
appear before the proper authorities and clarify my own position before making
plans for my future.
At the end of August, Kawakita returned from Beijing. He was taking a risk
by doing so, but he had to take care of remaining business as Huayings executive
after leaving his wife, Kashiko, and daughter, Kazuko, behind in Beijing. No sooner
had he reached Shanghai than he assembled all his remaining staff at Huayings
headquarters at Hamilton House and urged the Japanese staff to act in an orderly
fashion in accordance with Chinese policy regarding Japanese expatriates. To the
Chinese staff, he said emphatically, You simply worked under me as fi lm technicians, and there is no need to worry as you wont be accused of treason. I guarantee it. He put all the staff at ease by citing the example of the puppet Vichy
regime during the German occupation, noting that those working in the film industry in order to earn a living were never subsequently treated as traitors. As a
matter of fact, no one in Huaying was found to be a hanjian. (That nominal Huaying directors including such prominent figures in the Wang regime as Chen Gongbo
and Zhou Fohai, along with Head Director Lin Baisheng and General Manager
Feng Jie were found guilty as hanjian was due not to their association with the
fi lm industry but to political and ideological reasons.)
Soon afterward, all unmarried Japanese Huaying associates and those without family accompaniment were accommodated in Hongkous relocation camp.
Kawakita, Noguchi, Koide, and I were assigned living quarters in a row house. I
occupied a small room next to the entrance, and the others occupied the reception area and the living rooms. The four of us were registered as one family unit
at the Office of Japanese Expatriate Affairs, and we were asked to coordinate even
our daily activities.
I myself have only vague recollections as to where exactly the relocation camp
was situated. I was utterly astounded when Arichi Ichir, a recent acquaintance
of mine and former Consul General of Shanghai (currently Ambassador to Ghana),
effortlessly drew me a map showing where the place was. Let me tell you, its in
Xingye Quarter on Hongkous Shigaota Road!

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If one went northward from Broadway Mansion toward Hongkou along North
Sichuan Road, passing the old naval brigade garrisons and the former Uchiyama
Bookstore and turning right on Shenyang Road, one would reach Shigaota Road
after a short walk. Xingye Quarter was the collective name given to the area where
the company dormitories of some enterprise stood. There were three longish structures resembling terrace houses, each three stories high, and we lived on the first
floor of the building closest to the entrance. To my embarrassment, I found this
out only in 1985.3
Arichi was Consul General of Shanghai until 1985. Why then was he able to
sketch a map of the terrace houses of forty years ago with such unhesitating ease?
His reply was, As a matter of fact, I, too, lived on the second floor of the same
terrace house. Kawakita-san and others lived on the first floor next to Abe-san,
the consulate policeman. There was always a sentry standing guard in front of the
house. Whenever Li Xianglan went out, she had her sunglasses on.
Arichi told me that he was then a student at Shanghais Academy of East Asia
Common Culture (Dongya Tongwen Shuyuan)4 and that after the war, he was
assigned accommodation at the camp in Xingye Quarter along with other fellow
students. As for his reference to my wearing sunglasses, I do remember having
such a habit, but I also recall that I went out only very rarely. Men like Kawakita
were able to leave the premises during the daytime as long as they wore armbands
identifying themselves as Japanese expatriates, but I alone was not allowed to do
so. Just as Arichi remembered, a young Chinese soldier was standing guard at the
entrance to our house, vigilantly checking everyone coming in and going out.
The Bureau of Military Administration had by then received letters urging
the arrest of Li Xianglan as a hanjian, but the first step for the authorities was to
get hold of the evidence. As the process was being completed, I was forbidden to
go outside alone. For the time being, it appeared that I was put under virtual house
arrest so that I would not be able to communicate with outside parties or attempt
to escape.
The young and courteous Chinese sentry was conscientious in the per formance of his duties. Whenever he saw me, he would salute and kindly ask if there
was anything I needed. Whenever I went out with the automobile sent by the authorities to answer their questions, he would always say, Take care. Upon my
return, he always seemed to look relieved.
The investigative authorities from Military Administration were merely asking factual questions about my name, address, family members, my former schools,
my domiciles, address changes, the particulars about my fi lms, and my foreign
travelsa completely unproductive exercise. According to what Kawakita found
out from his many connections with prominent Chinese figures, the investigation had really very little to do with me as being a suspected spy. Apparently, the

Shanghai, 1945

235

only question was whether or not I was really Chinesethat is to say, whether I
was a hanjian. I heard that many of my Chinese friends and acquaintances had
given testimony that Li Xianglan was Japanese, but my oral testimony alone could
not provide that proof.
Apparently, amidst the ambiguities surrounding this investigation, Li Xianglans case was passed along from one office to another, from the Bureau of Military Administration to the Office of the Military Police and thence to the Office
of Defense Command. One time, I was told that this matter was something that
money might just be able to resolve. As a matter of fact, I was once bluntly asked
for it.
It happened the third time I was asked to appear before the Bureau of Military Administration. As I came out of the investigation room and was exiting the
main building, a man who had been waiting for me in the shadows at the entrance
whispered to me in English, If you come up with five thousand U.S. dollars, I
can see that you go free. While I was taken by surprise, not knowing whether he
was connected with the Bureau, he continued, I heard it from a reliable source.
Someone powerful in the Bureau agreed that he could release you if you came up
with the money.
While I was stunned into speechlessness, he resorted to bargaining down the
price: Three thousand would be okay. Living as I was from day to day, I certainly
didnt have that kind of money. Moreover, I had no desire to resolve the matter
that way. I simply replied, No, thank you. Clicking his tongue, he then fired his
parting shot, this time in Chinese: Todays Li Xianglan isnt worth as much as
before. Dont you know a Japanese woman can be had for less than three thousand yen?
In those days, there was a lot of talk about a feature article in a Chineselanguage newspaper that said, Japanese women are cheaper than pigs. A pig is
worth three thousand yen, and a Japanese is about as much as free. Here and there
in the relocation camps, many Japanese were selling their family possessions, furniture, clothes, and the like to Chinese buyers in order to make a living. Those
who still had something other people wanted were the lucky ones. Among Japanese women, some had nothing to sell except themselves.
Life at the relocation camp was gradually touching bottom. The four of us
had been supported by funds raised by Kawakita, connected widely as he was to
the Chinese and other foreigners in the old concessions, as well as by Noguchi
and Koides business ventures. The latter had been selling furniture and utensils taken from Kawakitas house on the open streets, as well as peddling the alcoholic beverage huangjiu (or laojiu) on foot. In time, there was nothing left to
sell. The situation was aggravated by the successive plunderings of the Nationalist army. I couldnt tell whether that was the militarys policy or whether it was

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merely personal action. In any case, during the daytime, the soldiers would arrive in their jeeps, barge noisily into peoples houses with their shoes on, snatch
away things like bicycles, gramophones, watches, furniture, or whatever was worth
anything, and then make a raucous retreat.
Noguchi deft ly eluded the probing eyes of the plunderers by hiding his small
shortwave receiver; he was a music fanatic who couldnt bear to live without it.
His secret treasure, a Westinghouse, was certainly worth something. He would
always take the thing apart and hide the pieces in various different places. He was
doing that not just out of fear that it would otherwise be confiscated. Music was the
only thing that would keep him going while living in the camp. And so the antenna
was kept under the sink, the speakers were hidden at the bottom of the wastebasket, and the batteries were concealed under the sofa cushions. That was how
he spread them out during the day. At night, under his mattress, he would reassemble the parts into a fine instrument of modern civilization.
An old amah would sometimes come to visit Noguchi, and she became a valuable source of raw information about the outside world. Having once worked at
Noguchis apartment and still appreciative of the kindness from her former employer, she would show up once or twice weekly to prepare a meal or do the laundry. Always among her presents were several Chinese-language newspapers, ranging from major publications to popular tabloids. The article about Japanese women
being cheaper than pigs was published in one of them.
The papers also published pronouncements from the Bureau of Military
Administration, including items such as A summons to those who can prove
that Li Xianglan is Chinese, and Seeking testimonies about the war time activities of Li Xianglan. One report predicted that the female Japanese hanjian
Kawashima Yoshiko will be tried at the Beijing High Court and Li Xianglan at
the Shanghai High Court. There is a high probability that both will be given the
death penalty.
One day, the stunned amah came in with a pale face and showed us a tabloid gossip column that predicted: Li Xianglan will become the number eight
concubine to Major General Liu. She cautioned, Please be very watchful. In
the past, the paper has carried rumors about the Major General and Li Xianglan. I then remembered that the man who had earlier suggested that I could
buy my innocence with $5,000 did say that he could make approaches to this
Major General.
A few days after the amah told us the story, an ostentatious parade of jeeps
arrived in front of our house after passing through the gate to the camp. At Noguchis command of Quickly hide yourself, I hurriedly shut myself in the lavatory. The door opened with a deep voice demanding, Wheres Li Xianglan? I
cringed and hardly dared to breathe.

Shanghai, 1945

237

Meanwhile, Kawakita was repeating something to my visitor in Chinese. A

few moments passed and I was given the all-clear, only to learn that I had just been
honored by a visit by Major General Liu himself. Everybodys face had turned pale.
My housemates were able to turn him away only by insisting that I was not in
the house.
Knowing well that I was inside the house, the young Chinese sentry standing guard in front of our entrance didnt report what he knew to the General. Realizing what was happening, Kawakita said, The fact that such a conscientious
soldier went to such lengths to protect you shows that Liu must be a pretty rotten
general! Let me ask my Chinese friends to find out what kind of a guy he is. With
that, he went out with Noguchi and Koide.
Relieved that the ordeal was over, I sat on the sofa in the reception room and
tried to read, only to find myself unable to relax. A few hours later, I heard the
door open and thought that my housemates had returned from the outside. When
I went to greet them, what I bumped into at the entrance was instead an odd character, Major General Liu himself.
Hey! Li Xianglan! The ring of his roaring laughter resounded in the doorway. Stoutly built and suntanned, Liu was a middle-aged military man with an
air of macho gallantry. His right ear appeared to have been completely shaved away,
and, when I looked closely, I noticed that he walked with a limp in his left leg.
Pointing to his missing ear and his leg, he told me, all the while scowling at me
with his large, wide eyes, that those were the result of torture after his capture by
the Japanese army while he was working as General Ma Zhanshans staff officer.5
Listen, Ill be hosting American officers in a party tomorrow for the victorious
nations. I want you to come and sing for us! I want the Americans to hear the famous Chinese song Evening Primrose sung by the best songstress of China! Come,
therell be lots of good food!
I was so scared that my trepidation turned into a surge of strong resistance.
I am no longer Li Xianglan, I countered. I am a Japanese woman from a defeated
nation. As you can see, I am now under house arrest while being investigated by
the Bureau of Military Administration of your country. I certainly cant sing any
songs; my vocal cords wont allow it anymore. You cant just drag a horse that is
not thirsty to a river and expect it to drink!
Again bursting into uproarious laughter as if to shatter my excuses to smithereens, he said, Come on, with lots of good food in your belly, youll have your
voice again! In any case, Im going to send a car to pick you up tomorrow. I look
forward to your Evening Primrose! Having said what he wanted to say, he
again let out a booming laugh before taking his leave, dragging his limping leg.
After relating what had happened to Kawakita and others after their return,
they all changed color and said, This is very bad. What we found out from our

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little investigation is that hes seen as a notorious scoundrel even by those in his
inner circles. Once you go to his party, you may never come back. We have to do
something about it.
Kawakita again went out to negotiate with high officials in the Office of Japanese Expatriate Affairs and the military police. Was Major General Lius demand
a formal request from the military? If so, even if I was unwilling, he could make
me go. On the other hand, Kawakita wanted the authorities to recognize two conditions, that I must be returned as agreed upon by the military authorities, and
that I be escorted by military police during my trip to and from the party. If such
conditions could not be fulfi lled, Kawakita wouldnt promise to make me go in
his dual capacity as my company superior and as my guardian on behalf of my
parents. Kawakitas reasonable requests appeared to have won the day. Major General Lius request was not heard of again.
One night, Noguchi knocked on my door, saying, Quickly, quickly! I thought
it was yet another visit from the general. While I was hurrying to hide, Noguchi
said, Its all right! Just come here; they are going to broadcast your songs!
With his upper body covered by the mattress in the reception room, Noguchi waved me to come with one hand. He was adjusting the dial of his shortwave
receiver, which he had just reassembled. The announcer was saying that he would
play a record of songs by Li Xianglan. First, lets hear The Evening Primrose.
The prelude sounded. When I heard that nostalgic tune with its cheerful rumba
tempo, my eyes fi lled with tears in spite of myself.
Noguchi and I listened to the broadcast in our awkward position of covering
only our heads with the mattress while leaving the lower half of our bodies exposed. Noguchi said, This is what that scoundrel general wants to hear! But, hey,
I can understand how he feels!
Winter approached as days of tears and laughter continued while I was under house arrest. Beginning in December, some Japanese in China were allowed
to be repatriated to Japan. Among the first group to go were Hattori Ryichi and
Himeda Yoshir.6 The investigation of me was still going nowhere, and the coming of winter filled me with a sense of melancholy. One day, Noguchis former employee, the amah, rushed in to show me a tabloid she was holding in her hand,
saying, Its terrible! The paper reported the decision that I had been given the
death penalty: Li Xianglan, who has committed treasonous crimes against Chinese culture (wenhua hanjian), has been sentenced to die before a firing squad at
three in the afternoon on December 8 at the Shanghai International Racecourse.

CHAPTER 15

Farewell, Li Xianglan

Deeply depressed, I awaited what was reported to be the day

for my execution before a fi ring squad. Until then, just as before, all sorts of
groundless rumors had been sprouting wildly, and this time, I thought the newspapers report was again totally without foundation. Yet the winter atmosphere
in Shanghai was pregnant with perilous tension. It was possible, after all, that the
Bureau of Military Administration had secretly made the decision that I be punished by death, one that the newspaper reporter had sniffed out and published as
his scoop.
During the roughly three weeks before my expected demise, Noguchi
Hisamitsu and others often told jokes around me to cheer me up or held sukiyaki
parties to console my spirits, and I, for my part, tried to put on as happy a face as
I possibly could. But the sound of a jeep making a stop in front of our house or a
single knock on the door was quite enough to make my heart shiver with fear.
As it turned out, the day came and went without incident. Next morning
when my three housemates and I got up, we all instinctively patted one another
on the shoulder. Everybody had been worried about me.
With the coming of the new year, another rumor made its rounds, this time
buzzing that I would be handed over to Nanjings Central Bureau of Military Administration. The story was that Shanghais military police were at a loss as to how
to deal with me and so my case would be transferred to a higher jurisdiction in
Nanjing where those accused of serious thought crimes were being investigated
and tried. It appeared that the Nanjing court held trials for prominently placed
hanjian, which meant that once a case reached that level, the accused might have
considerable difficulty in securing her release.
In the end, it became apparent that if it could be factually established that I
was indeed Japanese, that might somehow turn the case in my favor. But when
actually ordered to provide official proof for such a straightforward matter, I was
helpless. Meanwhile, quite a number of newspapers had been enumerating my Chinese connections; not only did I have a Chinese name, Li Xianglan, and fluency

239

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Chapter 15

in Mandarin, but from the phrenological point of view, they asserted, even my
facial features indubitably betrayed my Chinese blood lineage.
Come to think of it, ever since I was young, my facial features had never struck
anyone as being authentically Japanese. Regardless of which country I was in, I
was always thought of by the locals as having at least half of their countrys blood.
When I played the stepdaughter of a Russian opera singer in My Nightingale, a
movie filmed in Harbin, I was generally looked upon as a Russian girl. When shooting on location for Sayons Bell in Taiwan, I was treated with extraordinary hospitality by the Takasago aborigines due to my close resemblance to their chiefs
daughter and lavishly welcomed as their most honored guest in a head-hunting
dance ceremony performed around a bonfirea terrifying experience for me.
One time, I was ordered to appear before the police while shooting on location in
Gyeongseongs suburbs for the fi lm You and I (Kimi to boku [1941]), a project initiated by the office of the Governor General of Korea. There, I came face to face
with my parents, an old couple named Lee who insisted that I was their daughter, kidnapped and taken to Manchuria at a young age. It finally reached a point
where the police commissioner had to be called in to make a physical identification. The couple simply refused to listen no matter how hard I tried to prove otherwise, and when they fi nally asserted that their child had a mole on her left wrist,
I was totally at my wits end: I just happened to have a mole at exactly the same
spot. Trying to convince the old couple that I was not their long-lost daughter from
Manchuria was a heartrending experience.
In any case, it appeared that my facial features had something in common
with people anywhere in the world, the only exception being Japan. When it occurred to me that one reason my nationality was suspected might have to do with
how I looked, with a face bearing no easily identifiable national origin, I began to
feel disinclined to look at myself in the mirror.
While awaiting my military trial, I had two unusual guests. One of them was
Liuba. While I hadnt heard from her after I moved to the relocation camp, she
had, just as I expected, continued to take an interest in my well-being. The status
of her country, the Soviet Union, was that of a victorious nation. In addition, since
she had worked in the Soviet Consulate General in Shanghai, her diplomatic privileges allowed her free access to the relocation camp. Apprehensive that her visit
might cause me trouble, however, she had refrained from visiting me for a while.
Things would get complicated once the Chinese side learned that she, a Communist, was a good friend of mine; that might negatively affect my position. So, she
apparently did some quiet investigation of her own about the circumstances surrounding my questioning by the authorities. Once she had affirmed that allegations
against me as a spy had been more or less cleared, she began taking the necessary
steps to arrange a meeting with me. Yoshiko-chan, she told me, what you need

Farewell, Li Xianglan

241

to do now is to clearly establish your Japanese identity. As long as you can prove
that, you will be released! Do you have any official documents such as your nationality or identification papers? Is there anything I can do?
Liuba and I first knew each other when I was an elementary school student
in Fushun. After I moved to Fengtian, we saw each other every day. She also came
to play at my house any number of times and knew that I was the oldest daughter
of a Japanese couple named Yamaguchi Fumio and Ai. She was also aware of the
circumstances whereby I received my Chinese name, Li Xianglan, from General
Li Jichun and how I used it as my stage name. But even if Liuba were to testify
that I, her good friend, was a Japanese national named Yamaguchi Yoshiko, who
would believe her? Listening in to our conversation, Kawakita Nagamasa said, with
hope glowing in his eyes, Yoshiko, your parents in Beijing must have a copy of
the family register from a Japanese government office! It was customary for Japanese immigrants to Manchuria or China to hold on to several copies of their family register, documents that could prove their Japanese nationality.
Liuba, Kawakita said, I heard you have recently traveled by plane to Harbin and Fengtian. Do you also have occasions to go to Beijing on business?
Yes, from time to time, Liuba answered.
The idea flashing through Kawakitas mind was brilliant: when presented to
the military court, a copy of my family register might be accepted as powerful
proof of my Japanese nationality. When I asked Liuba to bring back a copy of the
document from my family should she have a chance to visit Beijing, Liuba said,
Just leave everything to me. Ill soon find an excuse to go there on business.
Liuba and I continued to talk about miscellaneous things for about an hour.
Take care of yourself! I will come again. With those words, she waved goodbye
and left by car. Since that time, that is to say, from early February 1946 to this day,
I have never seen her again. . . . 1
Please forgive me for digressing a little here, but I would like to trace what
happened to Liuba afterwards. Having once again solicited information from
friends, acquaintances, and concerned parties this time, I was able to acquire some
valuable information. One source of information was a letter written by Taguchi
Hiroshi, Liubas friend and former branch manager of Marubeni in Hong Kong
(and currently a consultant to New Tokyo Movie Company). He told me that he
had seen a middle-aged woman bearing a resemblance to Liubas mother, Mrs.
Gurinets, in Hong Kong around the year 1958:
Having joined Marubeni after my postwar demobilization in China, I was
stationed in Hong Kong for twelve years, beginning from 1956. From around
1957, a large number of White Russian escapees from China went through
Hong Kong on their way to the free world. There was a hotel on the Kowloon

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side which exclusively served such White Russians as part of the United Nations initiative to help refugees. Perhaps taking advantage of the cool summer evening, many Russians were hanging around in the vicinity of the hotel
entrance. One day in 1958, I happened to pass through the hotel on business,
and from my company car, I saw a woman who looked like Liubas mother.
Ishould have interrupted my business, stopped the car, and gone to meet her.
I regret very much that I just let it pass, and I still feel sorry about it.

Assuming that the woman Taguchi saw in Hong Kong was actually Mrs. Gurinets, it is possible that she was on her way to the free world, to the United States
or Europe via Hong Kong. On the other hand, both Mr. Gurinets and Liuba had
once worked for the Soviet Consulate General, and the more likely scenario is that
the whole family returned to the Soviet Union. If that was the case, one could imagine how difficult life was for Liubas family in their motherland, considering early
reports of the oppression of Jews in the Soviet Union after the war.
Even though I could inquire about Liubas circumstances through different
channels, I didnt venture to pursue the issue for fear that, at the time, the very
act of tracing her footsteps might only cause her unnecessary trouble. After the
war, the Soviet government had appealed to Russias exiles to return to their homeland by promising amnesty. In reality, those returnees, and the Russian Jews in
particular, suffered dreadfully, as depicted in detail in Solzhenitsyns The Gulag
Archipelago.
As a matter of fact, one experience I had gone through several years before
confirmed my apprehensions. It had to do with a letter I received from a friend
from my Fengtian days, a Russian girl of Turkish descent named Nina Elim. She
was one of my childhood playmates, partly because she lived nearby.
Nina now lives in Odessa, Ukraines largest seaport on the shore of the Black
Sea. Several years before, I received a telephone call from a Mr. Harada from the
Tourism Division of Yokohamas Bureau of Economics. He told me that when its
delegation was visiting Odessa, a Russian woman appeared before him and identified herself as a friend of a Japanese girl called Yamaguchi Yoshiko back in
Fengtian. When she was told that Yamaguchi was then a member of the Japanese
Diet, she was utterly surprised before entrusting Harada with a letter addressed
to me.
Written in Japa nese, the letter opened with: Yoshiko, my very dear friend!
I am so happy that I can now write to you. This is really my happiest day! I am writing it now with tears fi lling my eyes. I cant wait to see you! Narrating her story
in detail, she informed me how she had waited for me in front of Fengtians Yamato
Hotel on May 5, 1945even though I myself did not remember having made
such an arrangement with herhow constantly miserable her life had been im-

Farewell, Li Xianglan

243

mediately after the war ended, and how her marriage had produced a daughter
with whom she had just been reunited after a long separation. She went on to say
how happy she was to meet her missing brother who, she had learned, was the
Russian translator of Gomikawa Junpeis The Human Condition (Ningen no jken).2
She told me that she was then making a living by teaching Japanese, but her life
turned out in many ways to have been an unfortunate experience. She then concluded with these words:
I apologize for troubling you, but after you receive my letter, can you send me
a telegram immediately? I make this request because Ive been so worried that
I cant sleep. Now, Ive been thinking about you all day and all night! I trust
you can understand how miserable I am. Your Nina.

I thought her request for a telegram from me was a bit odd, and, on top of that, I
had no immediate idea what had made her so worried that she was unable to sleep.
But immediately after I read her letter, I sent a telegram to her address, followed
by a letter. Mr. Harada from Yokohamas Tourism Division also wrote to her with
information about my contact address. Yet there was no further communication
from Nina.
With this matter in mind, I thought it best to be prudent with regard to
Liuba before I learned something concrete about her situation. I was afraid that
searching for her might work against her best interests and cause her difficulties.
This was, however, premised on the assumption that she was living in the
Soviet Union. What happened if she was in the United States? Should I ask for the
assistance of Bnai Brith, a U.S.-based Jewish ser vice organization, in my search?
My former vocal music instructor in Shanghai, Madame Bella Mazel, also a Russian Jew, was then living in New York. As I was pondering whether I should write
her, I was suddenly struck with the thought that Liuba might be in Israel.
This thought was triggered, belatedly, by a comment made to me several years
before by a member of the Diets delegation after his visit to Israel that an Israeli
woman speaking good Japanese had inquired about me. It was only a natural instinct for a Jew to aspire to go to the Holy Land of Israel. It was also possible
that, in an attempt to run away from Soviet oppression, she had gone to Israel via
Europe or the United States. As far as language was concerned, Liuba wouldnt
have any trouble living in any of those places.
On the other hand, if the Japanese-speaking woman who had inquired about
me in Israel was indeed Liuba, surely she would have written to me already. Could
it be that Liuba, smart as she was, hesitated to do so when she learned that I, among
Japanese politicians, was a supporter of Arab nations and, among the Diet members, the Executive Director of the Japanese-Palestinian Friendship Alliance?

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As Taguchi and I exchanged letters and spoke on the telephone, I realized

that he was one of Liubas few friends who actually knew her whereabouts after
her Fengtian days. Moving from Dalian to Fengtian, Taguchi was transferred to
the Chiyoda Elementary School when he was a sixth grader. His sister Junko (now
deceased) was two years younger and a fourth grader in the same class as Liuba.
But apparently, Junko began to have close interactions with Liuba only later, when
they were living in Shanghai. After his graduation from Fengtian Middle School,
Taguchi temporarily returned to Japan for his studies. He returned to China after graduating from Rikky University, and from September 1943, he began working at Shanghais customs office. During that interval, he returned to Fengtian
each summer vacation and embarked on a tour of China on foot. In 1939, when
he was a second-year student of Rikkys preparatory courses, he met Liuba in
Qingdao. Again in 1941, when he went to Shanghai during his summer vacation
as a university freshman, he visited Liuba for the first time at her home inside the
French Concession.
Taguchi and Liuba met frequently from the days Tauguchi worked at the customs office up until the end of the war. During the intervening time, he was drafted
into the army and was dispatched to various locations in China, ending up near
Xinyang at the end of the war. He was then relocated to a Shanghai camp before
returning to Japan the following April. He and Liuba never met after the war ended.
According to Taguchi, the Gurinets family consisted of Liuba, her brother,
and their parents; the older sister of Liubas mother, Mrs. Steiner, and her daughter, Fira, lived with them as well. I myself remembered playing with Fira while
I was living in Fengtian. She was a girl with a dark complexion and big eyes.
Do you have a picture of Liuba? Taguchi asked after we had spoken a number of times on the telephone.
Ive only got one from Mrs. Ikari Miyako, Liubas classmate at the Chiyoda
Elementary School. It was taken when she was a fourth grader.
Ill send you some from my album taken in 1941 when I visited her house.
Liuba was twenty-one in 1941. What came in from the express registered mail
were four photographs showing Liubas usual radiant self as she beamed her smile
into the camera. She bundled her long, chestnut-colored hair at the back of her
head and allowed it to stream behind her in the light breeze. Liuba was over five
feet, three inches tall and had beautiful legs, and even I, looking at her as a woman,
found her enchanting. This was how Taguchi described her:
Her cheerfulness does not simply come from her smile, but I think from her
fantastic personality. And her Japanesejust unbelievable! If you close your
eyes, what you hear before you is the perky tongue of an Edokko.3 Ah, yes,

Farewell, Li Xianglan

245

now I remember! As we were taking a walk down the street, she said, The
Japanese simply gulped down what they had been told by the Imperial Headquarters and made a big fuss about Japans so-called victory in the Pacific. That
was a lie. Let me tell you, the Japa nese navy was decisively defeated by the
American forces. I thought it strange that she should know about such matters,
but since she worked at the Soviet Consulate General, she apparently knew everything about the Allied forces.

As Taguchi and I continued to exchange information about Liuba, I also came

to understand why Liubas family had abruptly disappeared from Fengtian.
One day, Mr. Steiner, Firas father, was assaulted by unknown assailants. The
Steiner family lived in a two-story house in Fujich, a neighborhood situated
between Fengtians old Manchurian Medical University and the site for the Memorial for the War Dead. That day, all of a sudden, several thugs stormed into
their house and shot Mr. Steiner with a pistol right before Mrs. Steiners and Firas
eyes. While his assailants fled immediately, persistent rumors emanating even
from the Japanese community were apparently pointing to Japanese intelligence
as the perpetrator of the act. In its aftermath, Fira and her mother took refuge
inside the Petrov Bakery. Already waiting for a chance to flee Fengtain, the Gurinets family, along with Mrs. Steiner and Fira, took off in a horse carriage one
day and went into temporary hiding in the suburbs before they finally sought
sanctuary in faraway Qingdao. It was only after their flight from Fengtian that
Ivisited Liubas house and was stunned by how the military police had ransacked
the place.
Fleeing from the Russian Revolution, the Gurinets had gone to Dalian and
thenceforth to Fengtian. Thereafter, the family was hounded by the Japanese authorities, forcing them to flee to Shanghai via Qingdao. After the end of the war,
I wonder how the family fared after Shanghai, whether they had finally managed
to find a place where they could settle down in peace.
The following was what Taguchi said. Being Jewish, White Russian, Bolshevik, a spy, American, and Israeli. . . . No matter how she has been tossed back and
forth by the relentless waves of race, nationality, and ideology, Liuba remains
Liuba, a cheerful, beautiful, and wonderful person. Id rather say that she has my
respect as a human being, a woman who has endured all the bitter trials of her
stormy life in a tumultuous era. I agreed completely with those sentiments. Precisely because I, too, have experienced many storms in my own life, Liubas experiences were not exactly alien to my own feelings.
Taguchi, Liuba, and I belong to the same generation; we were all born in China
in 1920. At that point, Taguchi and I made a pledge between us that we would

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renew our efforts to find our friend. Taguchi told me that, if he had a chance to go
to the United States on business, he would make inquiries about Liuba through
agencies that helped Jewish refugees. On my part, I also decided to do whatever I
could.4
*

Let me now return to my life of confinement inside the Shanghai relocation camp
for Japanese expatriates on Hongkous Shigaota Road, and the story of my treason trial.
While I was awaiting trial, my one other visitor besides Liuba was a fi nelooking young man who arrived in a Cadillac. A well-mannered Chinese gentleman neatly dressed in a suit, he did announce his name, but since he simply said
that he came with the introduction from the Bureau of Military Administration,
his real identity remained a mystery.
He first showed Kawakita a certified document from the Office of Japanese
Expatriate Affairs, along with a cover letter. I wish to assure you that my motives are completely honorable, he greeted us courteously. With permission from
the proper authorities, I have a request to make of Madam Li Xianglan while seeking the pleasure of her company for lunch. Once we finish our business, I will escort her back safely, and so there is no need to worry.
Our trip took us to a grand manor inside the French Concession. Already
awaiting my arrival in a large room were about ten men of imposing build. My
young, well-dressed escort told me, All the gentlemen here belong to an influential group in Shanghai before introducing them to me one by one, even though
all their names appeared to be fictitious.
Lunchtime ushered in a full course of scrumptious Shanghainese dishes, something that I had not enjoyed for quite a while. On the other hand, thoughts about
the price that I might have to pay for that indulgence tempered my appetite during the course of the meal. Meanwhile, we chatted about miscellaneous things
before our conversation turned to the heart of the matter.
Once the current investigation on you is over, there will certainly be a formal military trial. Before that happens, you would like to gain your freedom by
having the charges against you dropped, wouldnt you? The question was asked
in an impeccably courteous voice by a distinguished-looking man in Chinese attire who was sitting opposite me. He appeared to be the central figure in the group.
Should you wish to live permanently in China, we could put an end to your
trial and offer this house to you as a gift. You can have secretaries, servants, a Cadillac with a chauffeur, and whatever you desire. Needless to say, you would have
more than what you need for your living expenses. You may also travel anywhere
within the country.

Farewell, Li Xianglan

247

But why? And for what purpose?

Instead of having to face criminal charges as a hanjian, you will travel on
inspection tours from time to time to the northeastern region (formerly Manchuria). You know that area very well, and Im sure you have many friends and
acquaintances among the Chinese there. You also speak Chinese better than the
Chinese themselves. Wed like you, a person with a good sense of the locality, to
check out the areas where the Communist Eighth Route Army is active.
It was, essentially, an invitation for me to become a spy. What he was saying
was that if I was willing to spy on the Eighth Route Army in the northeast for the
Kuomintang government, I would be absolved of my crime as a hanjian, my freedom would be guaranteed, and my whim for every extravagance satisfied. Did this
mean that these men were connected to the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics,
the intelligence agency of the Kuomintang government? Or were they associated
with the Green Gang (Qingbang)?
From the old days, Shanghai had such underground societies as the Green
Gang and the Red Gang (Hongbang). As secret associations, they not only dominated the citys underground economy but had connections with every legitimate
economic interest. On top of that, they had been contracted to work on political
operations and intelligence activities. While the Green Gang had been subcontracted to do work for the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics as well as the Blue
Shirts Society (Lanyishe), there were also organizations connected to the Japanese
army and Wang Jingweis puppet government. The three most powerful figures
in Shanghais Green Gang were Du Yuesheng, Huang Jinrong, and Zhang Xiaolin.5
I interrupted the gentleman who was about to speak again. You are telling me
that my crime as a hanjian would be forgiven, but, sir, I am not a hanjian. Although
Ive used the Chinese name Li Xianglan as my stage name in my acting career, I am
Japanese, and my real name is Yamaguchi Yoshiko. While Ive collaborated with
Japans national policies, that was because I was Japanese. The reason why Im now
under investigation and awaiting trial is that I wish to clarify these matters.
The men all looked at each other. I continued, Ive never before engaged in
any spying activities, nor do I have any intention of doing so in the future. The
reason I am awaiting trial now is that I wish to clear my name as a suspected spy
and hanjian.
The men were listening to my loquacious delivery as they ate their dessert or
puffed on their cigarettes. I dont mind going to prison, not even for five or ten
years, until a final decision is reached. China was where I was born and raised,
and it is the country I love.
Perfectly understood! A heavy-set man sitting at the middle of the table
briskly rose on his feet. Thank you for taking the trouble to come! As if emulating his action, all the other men also stood up and took turns to shake my hand.

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Was that actually the Kuomintang governments invitation to me to become

its spy, or was it an exercise to test my ideology by what might have been a Green
Gang group? To this day, I have no idea. Whatever the case may be, the one hour
I spent around the table with those gentlemen was, as far as I was concerned, practically the same as giving my final statement at my trial. While I didnt even know
whether my pronouncements had subsequently been passed on to the Bureau of
Military Administration, the atmosphere surrounding my investigation in the aftermath of this incident turned out to be a little more relaxed, so much so that I
could start to see a dim ray of hope.
Kawakita was good enough to accompany me during the third round of my
investigation. The officer responsible explained my situation as follows:
Based on testimonies from concerned parties on both the Chinese and
Japa nese sides, there is increasingly credible proof that Li Xianglan is a Japanese person named Yamaguchi Yoshiko. On the other hand, the ordinary Chinese are either convinced, just as before, that you are Chinese, or else they
believe that Chinese blood flows in at least half of your body. During the war, Li
Xianglan sold out her country while pursuing her flamboyant movie star
career. When her transgressions are investigated, she now proclaims that she
is Japanese, confines herself within Japanese quarters, and attempts to flee to
Japan. Thats what most of the people think. Let me tell you, the fact that
thereve been rumors about your execution is a demonstration of their desire
to drag you out of the relocation camp, throw you in prison, and have you go
through a thorough and impartial trial. They believe that the rightful outcome,
should you have any Chinese blood, is that you be punished as a hanjian.

If we can produce defi nitive physical evidence or documents from proper

authorities to prove that she is a full-blooded Japa nese, she would be deemed
innocent as far as her hanjian crimes are concerned, is that right? Kawakita
asked.
That is right. We are gathering a lot of testimonies and circumstantial evidence. The impression our military police and the court have formed is not all
that bad. Well, as long as you can produce proper physical evidence . . .
Kawakita then proceeded to explain what a Japanese family register was and
what a copy of the document meant. All Japanese nationals were required to be
recorded on a family register and were obligated to report on births, deaths,
marriages, divorces, and other such matters regarding family members to the local
government office in areas where they were legally domiciled. Based on such reports, the government office kept the original family register. A copy was then made

Farewell, Li Xianglan

249

and authorized as authentic by the head of the local authorities under his signature and seal. That was the only formal document that provided an official certification of nationality.
The officer listened with considerable interest. Kawakita and I promised to
submit a copy of my family register at the next opportunity; we were placing our
hopes on Liubas success in bringing back such a document from my parents in
Beijing.
Contrary to our expectation, however, we waited in vain. Perhaps Liuba hadnt
had a chance to go to Beijing on business, or perhaps my parents in Beijing didnt
have a copy of our family register. It was in the midst of such anxieties that I received an unexpected present.
One day, the young soldier standing guard next to our house entrance came
in to deliver a small wooden box, saying, A messenger brought in this. Wrapped
in brown paper and newspaper and tied by a thin string, the rectangular-shaped
box appeared to have been opened and its contents inspected.
At the time, the young soldier had already become very friendly with us.
He had joined the army and fought in the war while studying as a university
student, and one time he told us that he wanted to go back to the classroom now
that the war had ended. A student of the Chinese classics in the faculty of literature, he was fond of composing classical Chinese poems; one time he even wrote
me one on xuanzhi.6
As soon as I opened the cover of the box, I let out a cry. Inside the box was a
small, worn-out Japanese doll, a fuji-musume,7 which my mother had bought for
me in Japan when I was small. It brought back many fond memories, as wherever
our family happened to move over the years, from Fushun to Fengtian and thence
to Beijing, shed always put it on top of a chest of drawers in my room. After I explained that it was my mother in Beijing who had sent it, the soldier merely said,
Ah! Im happy for you and left without further checking the item.
The world before my eyes had brightened. To be sure, I was happy that the doll
had come my way. But rather than being sentimental about it, I wondered who
had managed to bring it to me and how. Then it dawned on me that it was Liuba.
Inspecting the contents of the box with Kawakita and others, I couldnt find anything resembling a letter, not even inside the dolls sedge hat or its long sleeves.
Did Mother simply send it to comfort me and for no other reason?
Then, as I looked more closely, I noticed that there was an inconspicuous but
unnatural tear along part of the sash around the dolls kimono. As I unfastened
it, I could see a thin piece of paper, folded into a slender strip and sewn into the
inner seam of the belt. I opened it with trembling hands. It was a copy of the Yamaguchi family register, a stain-smudged scrap of ordinary paper.

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This serves to certify that this is a true copy. That was the document that
would prove who I was.
How this flimsy, terribly blemished piece of paper might be looked upon by
another country was, however, a different matter. While the Chinese authorities
accepted the document for the moment, the attitude of the responsible officer was
as utterly unsympathetic as we had expected: How can you prove that the Yamaguchi Yoshiko recorded on this register, and you now standing before me, are
one and the same person? Now, you dont have any scientific proof such as fingerprint verification, do you?
I think in those days, China didnt have as precise a system of family registration as Japans, and that was why the officer couldnt understand the significance of that thin piece of paper. In Chinas cinematic world at that time, an actress could always stay young. As there was nothing to prove her age other than
her own pronouncement, any self-proclamation would pass as authentic. Within
Manei, there was a middle-aged actress who was always seventeen no matter how
many years had passed.
This is how Kawakita in his My Life History described the situation at the
time:
It was at that time that I first realized just how crude and strange Japanese
identification papers were. In a sense, I thought that was because Japan was
such a laid-back country. You could just summarily scribble some undecipherable words on paper using a stencil pen. Then you have the cheap-looking seal
from the head of so-and-so village. They didnt even bother to assign an identification number on the thing. There was no way a foreign official would have
any faith in such a dubious document. First and foremost, you cant use it to
prove that Yamaguchi Yoshiko on that document and Li Xianglan are one and
the same person.
Faced with this situation, I asked a Chinese who had studied in Japan to
explain the circumstances to the military police, but tougher examination revealed only more puzzling questions. At last, only the zeal of the student and
the military polices familiarity with my wartime activities convinced the Chinese side that I was a person worthy of trust.

Just as we thought, it was Liuba who had received the Japanese doll with the
copy of the family register from my parents in Beijing. Moreover, she had conducted her mission with such nonchalant ingenuity that she managed not to
cause trouble to anyone. In the end, her secret plan, unbeknownst to any party
before or after the act, was carried out successfully. This was something I learned
only after my family members repatriation to Japan.

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251

After the confiscation of their property, the Yamaguchi family in Beijing managed to eke out a meager livelihood by selling off their belongings for food. One
day, in February 1946, there was an unexpected visitor, a white woman.
Its been a long time, auntie!
My mother was utterly surprised when the foreigner greeted her in Japanese.
I hadnt seen her for over ten years, Mother said. It took me some time to figure out that she was the girl from the bakery.
Liuba told her that she had come to Beijing on business on behalf of her father,
and that while Kawakita and I and others were under surveillance and house arrest
at the relocation camp, our health was holding up. Ive seen them with my own
eyes, and so you can trust me, Liuba told her. Thereve been widespread rumors
about Li Xianglans guilt, but itll be okay. I will do whatever I can, and dont worry.
My parents and siblings were apparently ecstatic over this information and the
words of encouragement from Liuba. They had more or less given up hope on me, as
news about Li Xianglans execution had also been reported by some Beijing newspapers at the end of the previous year. Father had cut out one such report, thinking that he would make that day the anniversary of my death if my execution could
later be confirmed. The date for carrying out my death sentence, December 8, was in
complete accord with what had been reported in the Shanghai newspapers.
For a period of time after the war in Japan as well, apparently the conventional wisdom was that Li Xianglan had been executed before a firing squad at
the Shanghai Racetrack. Several years after the war, when I participated in a gathering connected with the city of Dalian in former Manchuria, I was stunned when
somebody expressed surprise that I could still physically speak. The rumor then
current was that, after being given a guilty verdict at her hanjian trial, Li Xianglans tongue had been cut off to make sure that she couldnt ever sing again.
During her visit, Liuba told my parents that my trial would begin shortly and
that it was necessary to have an authoritative document to establish my Japanese
nationality and to ensure my innocence as a suspected hanjian. That said, she returned to her lodging at the Liuguo Hotel.
My parents then thought of a plan. They unraveled the obi of my favorite fujimusume doll and sewed in it a copy of our family register. Then they had my
sister Etsuko, who knew nothing about the trick, hand-deliver the doll to Liuba
at her lodging and request that it be brought to her sister in Shanghai. Liuba took
the wooden box in her hands and boarded a plane. Mother reminisced about the
event after her return to Japan:
Your father and I decided that we wouldnt even breathe a word to either
Etsuko or Liuba that wed hidden the copy of the register inside the doll. Why,
think about it! Liuba, as you know, was an official working for a victorious

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nation. I didnt want her to get into any trouble if they should discover that
she was offering assistance to rescue a defendant from an enemy country,
someone tantamount to a war criminal. Even if our plan was exposed, we
could say that it was we who secretly sent the item of our own accord and that
Liuba had no knowledge about it.

Liuba apparently didnt ask any questions herself and simply told Etsuko to
convey to my family that she would deliver the item without fail. A discerning
person like Liuba didnt need to ask too many questions. Entrusted with a small
package the day after her plea to my parents about the urgency of obtaining a copy
of the family register, she surely must have figured out what was going on and accepted her role as a courier while pretending to know absolutely nothing. I suppose the fact that she asked a servant at the relocation camp to deliver the present
to me was again an extension of her same considerate perceptiveness.
*

In mid-February, I was summoned to appear before a military court. On that day,

I was again accompanied by Kawakita. I had been questioned many times previously, but this was the first time I was seated as a defendant in a courtroom with
a row of judges. The court was in a room inside the Bureau of Military Administration, and appearing before us behind a slightly elevated desk were some ten officers in military uniform or plain clothes.
Despite the serious atmosphere of the court, I felt relaxed; the day before,
Kawakita had received a sort of unofficial announcement from Chief Justice Ye
Degui suggesting that everything would come to an end by the next day. The fact
that the matter had to take the form of a trial was due to the need to maintain a
record of court proceedings in accordance with proper protocol. In any event, a
ceremony was required to pronounce proof of my Japanese nationality and my
complete exoneration from the charges against me as a hanjian.
In his military uniform, Chief Justice Ye commanded a stern, dignified presence. At the same time, having had several meetings with him before, we knew
him as a man of compassion. Through prominent figures in Shanghais Chinese
circles, Mr. Ye himself had sufficient knowledge of Kawakitas reputation to be ready
to place his trust in him.
The court secretary gave an up-to-date account of the investigations and reported on the copy of our family register and its reliability. Thereupon, the Chief
Justice cleared the charges against me as a hanjian, declared my innocence, and
pounded his small gravel. Then, he added, This, however, does not mean that all
the problems are resolved. He continued:

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253

The purpose of this trial is to adjudicate treason charges against you as a Chinese for your betrayal of China. On that account, you are innocent after having
definitively established your Japanese nationality. On the other hand, one
ethical and moral issue remains. By this I mean your appearance in a series
of films such as China Nights with your Chinese stage name. Granted that this
has no legal bearing on your treason trial, this court wishes to express its regrets over this matter.

Asking to speak before the court, I said that while I could not bear responsibility as far as the planning, production, and the scriptwriting of such fi lms were
concerned, I acknowledged the fact that I did appear in them. I further added,
Even granted my young age, I recognize how foolish I was at the time. For that,
I wish to offer my apologies.
Mr. Ye gave a firm nod before ordering that arrangements for my expatriation be undertaken immediately.
And so the declaration of my innocence, my deportation, and my return to
Japanall these events progressed quickly. Chief Justice Ye ordered the responsible officer in the Bureau of Military Administration to coordinate with the Office
of Japanese Expatriate Affairs so that four Japanese residents, namely, Kawakita
Nagamasa, Noguchi Hisamitsu, Koide Takashi, and Yamaguchi Yoshiko, could
be expatriated as quickly as possible by sea. However, I cannot allow Li Xianglans repatriation to take place under broad public view, Ye said. Once her return
to Japan becomes common knowledge, the newspapers will kick up a big fuss. She
must take her trip along with other Japanese returnees incognito as an ordinary
Japanese woman.
My embarkation date was set on February 28, 1946. The day before, I had to
undergo quarantine procedures at the harbor quarantine station. Treating it as a
sort of rehearsal, I wore a pair of tattered monpe pantaloons, drew my hair back
into a bun, and followed the three others looking like a homeless bum. At the station, we were separated by sex and went through a general physical plus an inspection of the oral cavity and even a urine and fecal analysis. From the Office of
Japanese Expatriate Affairs, I had already received a repatriation permit stating
that I was a Japanese national from Saga Prefecture named Yamaguchi Yoshiko,
twenty-six years of age. A stamp was then put on that permit indicating that I had
passed the medical examination.
Now all I had to do was to board the ship early the next morning. We were
gathered at five, had our carry-on belongings checked, and our expatriation permits inspected. Boarding was scheduled for six, setting sail at seven. Each person
was allowed to bring up to one hundred Japanese yen, one piece each of winter

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and summer clothing, and two pairs of shoes. Other items we wished to bring on
board would be at the discretion of the inspection officials.
On that day, there were two thousand passengers. In the morning mist, the
Japanese began to gather in droves at the Shanghai harbor square, puffing their
white breath into the cold air. Anchored at the wharf was a freighter, an American Liberty ship.
Following a roll call, the passengers took their place in line in accordance
with their registration number on the repatriation list. Among us, the order
was Kawakita, Noguchi, Koide, and Yamaguchi. Shortly afterwards, each group
had to undergo a separate examination as a unit. The harbor security force
formed a number of five-person teams, with a female officer in each. When our
groups inspection began, the team leader gave the order to salute, and we all responded with a very deep bow, sat upright on the squares gravel ground, and
spread out the items in our baggage for inspection.
I looked even more dreadful than the day before, with disheveled hair and a
lowered head. The officers compared the repatriates register with our faces, asked
to see our permit, and checked our possessions. From Kawakitas belongings, the
officers confiscated his Bayer aspirin. Noguchi, even as audacious as he was, probably would not have attempted to smuggle out his shortwave radio transmitter.
He and Koide were given the seal of approval on their permits.
Then, my turn came. When I lifted my face, the female officer gave me a fierce
stare. After repeatedly checking the expatriates register, my permit, and my face
in turn, looking in three directions, she let out a loud cry, Youre Li Xianglan!
before demanding with her chin that I step out from the line.
It was all over. The four other male officers who returned to the scene also
said, Shes Li Xianglan all right in unison. The Japanese around me also murmured, Hey! They said shes Ri Kran! and Ri Kran was trying to flee to Japan
and she got caught!
Kawakita showed the officers my repatriation permit and protested, She has
already been investigated by the military police and received an innocent verdict
at the military trial. Besides, she has received the repatriation permit from the Office of Japanese Expatriate Affairs. The female officer refused to give way, saying,
Ive heard no such thing. I will report this to my superior officer, and before
Ireceive any new orders, she is not allowed to go on board. The other three of you
can do so, but Li Xianglan will need to be investigated. She is to present herself at
the command headquarters of the harbor security force.
After being inspected, the other repatriates boarded the vessel one after
another. Just when I was feeling depressed at being left alone, Kawakita said,
All right, Ill stay behind, too. As the person responsible for Huaying, I cannot leave an employee behind. If the harbor security does not release you, I

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255

will have them negotiate with Mr. Ye. This said, he, too, stepped out from
the queue.
Noguchi and Koide went ahead and boarded the ship before it left the harbor. Thanks to this fiasco, Kawakita and I were again sent back to the relocation
camp, but this time our living quarters were divided while we awaited further
investigation.
With Mr. Yes intervention, the harbor authorities gave their consent and the
matter was resolved in ten days. Nonetheless, realizing how seriously it could turn
out if they were held responsible for a hanjians getaway due to their own negligence, the harbor security authorities now demanded to examine the proceedings
of my treason trial. It appeared that the matter was complicated by their lingering displeasure at not having been properly informed about my case and their desire to save face.
It was then decided that my expatriation would take place at the end of March
on board the ship Unzen-maru. Mr. Ye was kind enough to say, This time, you
must go! Ill come and see you off on that day! As my medical examination, identification check, and baggage inspection had all been done before, it was simply a
matter of boarding the ship. This time, Kawakita was allowed to bring his aspirin
with him.
The ship was set to sail at sunset. Donning his traditional Chinese attire and
parking his automobile at the pier a short distance from where we stood, Mr. Ye
made sure that everything was going all right for us. When Kawakita and I went
up the ships ladder, no one this time raised any objections. As we bowed in silence
on the ships deck to Mr. Ye, he recognized us by gently giving a knowing nod.
Leaving Kawakita on the deck, I went into the lavatory and locked the door
from the inside. I was worried that someone might come to snatch us back, and I
also wanted to be alone until the ships departure. When I was a schoolgirl, I once
hid in the lavatory of a Beijing-bound train to escape from the inspector. I did the
same thing when I wanted to take cover from Major General Liu while I was in
the relocation camp. When driven to the wall, I seemed to have formed the habit of
seeking refuge inside a lavatory.
The gong of departure sounded with the steam whistle and the buzz from the
winch as the anchor was being raised. The engine was turned on and the propellers set into motion. After reassuring myself that the ship had left the pier, I went
up on the deck. The evening sky over the harbor was covered with crimson-red
clouds. The dark silhouette of the skyscrapers pierced the sky against the striped
hue from the setting sun.
At that moment, quite without anticipation, I heard music broadcast from
Shanghai through the ships radio. My body trembling, I held tight to the decks
handrail, listening to the melody from my song The Evening Primrose. What

256

Chapter 15

else could I think but that it was the god of destiny who, in celebration of my departure, had purposely chosen this song bidding me farewell?
Now that I was again Yamaguchi Yoshiko, I whispered, Goodbye, Li Xianglan! And goodbye, my China! Perhaps because my song came at a precise moment when I felt relieved for having escaped death and for being safely aboard a
repatriation ship, I could hardly manage to sort through my emotions.
Japan had lost the war, and what would become of it? And for me, would I
ever be able to return to China? I used to be teased for saying things like Im leaving for Japan and returning to China. Now my grief and sadness at leaving China
were more than any jubilation I could feel in my repatriation to Japan.
Fushun, Fengtian, Beijing, Tianjin, Xinjing, Harbin, Dalian, Shanghai . . . the
town where I was born, the places I had visited, and the intimate friends I had
made. . . . Tears fi lled my eyes. Kawakitas sentiments must have been the same.
Gripping the decks handrail, I fi xed my eyes on the harbor then fading farther
and farther away from my sight.
In the evening calm, the waves foamed into a multihued mosaic, with erratic
patterns shivering on the unfettered, undulating surface of the sea. As I listened
to the melody of The Evening Primrose, I couldnt take my eyes off the rainbow
as it quivered on the waters surface.

Addendum
The PostLi Xianglan Years

Quite unexpectedly, I was bedridden for a long time during the

summer of 1986. Perhaps fatigue accumulating over the years had invited a virus
attack, triggering an onset of shingles. After a two-and-a-half-month hospitalization and a nine-month recuperation at home, I felt perfectly fine. That said, it was
the first time I had been so immobilized for such a long period.
As the pain abated a little, I began to revise the manuscript, which had more
or less been completed up to the time of Japans defeat in World War II. Meanwhile, I reminisced about my experiences in my postLi Xianglan phase.
Since I had made the decision to write my autobiography the year before last,
I tried conscientiously to revive my memories as truthfully as I could, taking advantage of whatever time was available between work. In practice, however, my
everyday responsibilities kept me increasingly preoccupied, creating significant
delays in my project. Cutting me off from my everyday activities in a way that was
beyond my control, my hospitalization might seem to have been a gift from heaven.
On the other hand, it was also a symbolic event in that resurrecting the past brought
with it considerable anguish. Between periods of excruciating pain, I looked back
half-dazed on my experiences after I had become Yamaguchi Yoshiko.
I first tried in earnest to restart my career as a vocalist, and then as a stage
actor, but both ended in failure. I then decided to make a comeback in the cinematic world from which I had taken a temporary leave. And then I went to the
United States with the hope of expanding the scope of my artistic endeavors, and
became the first Japanese to appear in postwar Hollywood movies. I performed
on Broadway and married a sculptor in New York. I befriended Charlie Chaplin,
along with other internationally known actors, and started a busy career that
spanned the United States and Japan. On the other hand, my inability to reconcile the demands of career and family eventually led to my decision to get a divorce. During a time of distress, I met a young diplomat whom I later married. I
then withdrew from the world of cinema and theater before beginning a new life
as a full-time housewife.

257

258

Addendum

As I immerse myself in such memories, I wish to briefly register my experiences as Yamaguchi Yoshiko after bidding farewell to Li Xianglan, if also
for the purpose of underscoring my own perspective on the life and times of
the latter.
*

On April 1, 1946, I landed in Kyushus Hakata Harbor with Kawakita Nagamasa.

The night before, when I was asked to sing The Evening Primrose at a show held
on the deck of the expatriation vessel Unzen Maru, I greeted my audience by
saying, Ri Kran has died. I now wish to live as Yamaguchi Yoshiko once again.
After landing, I likewise gave the same answer to reporters regarding my future
plans. Subsequent newspaper reports on my retirement statement highlighted
the fact that I was really Japanese rather than my intent to retire from acting. Up
to that time, most Japanese still believed that Ri Kran was Chinese.
The Imperial Apartments in Tokyos Nogizaka where I used to live was half
destroyed during the air raids, and Atsumi Masako had already been evacuated
to Chiba. I had no relatives in Tokyo; my family still had not been repatriated from
Beijing, nor had I received any communications from them. With absolutely no
one to rely on, I ended up availing myself of Kawakitas kindness by taking up
residence in his house in Kamakura. Kawakitas wife, Kashiko, and their daughter, Kazuko, had been repatriated to Japan just a little before us. The Western-style
dwelling directly on the opposite side of their own residence, also owned by the
Kawakita family, had been requisitioned by the Americans and was then used as
a home for an American naval officer and his family. I became a freeloader in a
room on the first floor.1
Iwasaki Akira and Atsumi Masako came to Kamakura for visits one after another. The latter asked to continue her prewar role as my attendant, but, after my
retirement, I no longer had any such need. Atsumi brought along a large glass candy
jar fi lled with white sugar, a rationed commodity during the war, and my share
had fi lled up the container in no time.
Tokyo had been struck by air raids immediately after my departure for Shanghai. While Nogizakas Imperial Apartments had managed to escape total destruction, the building was hit by several incendiary bombs. One had apparently pierced
right through my bed and the bedroom floor before penetrating all the way down
to the basement. After the air raids, Iwasaki was good enough to retrieve my remaining belongings to his Setagaya home and store them in a small shack he had
put together in his garden. He even built a temporary lodging for me in anticipation of my being homeless in the event of my successful return to Japan.
Soon after we met in Kamakura, he was assaulted on August 28, 1946, at his
own home by a right-wing thug brandishing a Japanese sword, and suffered a cut

The PostLi Xianglan Years

259

on the left side of his face. As production director of Japan Films (Nihon Eigasha), he had made a number of progressive documentaries, including The Japanese Tragedy (Nihon no higeki) and One Year into the Occupation (Senry no ichinen).2 That appeared to have been the reason for the attack.
While grateful for Iwasakis kind arrangements, I decided to remain in Kamakura. Noticing my anxiety about getting a job to support myself, Kawakita advised that, for the time being, I continue my singing lessons. He then introduced
me to the vocalist Yoshiko Beltramelli, also a Kamakura resident, and later to Madame [Margarete] Netke-Lwe, who lived in Tokyos Mejiro area. As Ms. Beltramelli and Madame Netke-Lwe specialized respectively in the Italian and German styles, that arrangement perplexed me, trained as I was from the outset in
the Russian style.
In October of the year of my repatriation, there were talks about having me
perform at a recital at the Imperial Theater (Teikoku Gekij).3 While making an
appearance as a vocalist so abruptly on a stage as prominent as Teigeki was the
height of presumptuousness, I could not afford to miss the opportunity. On that
occasion, I sang some Chinese songs such as Day Lilies (Wangyoucao) and If
Only We Had Met before I Was Another Mans Wife (Hen bu xiangfeng weijia
shi), some Japanese numbers such as Trifoliate Orange Blossoms (Karatachi no
hana), as well as arias from La Bohme and Madame Butterfly. I sang for all I was
worth, all the while without any confidence. Quite naturally, the reviews in the
papers were not all that positive.
The following April, I appeared in a musical My Old Kentucky Home (Kentakk
hmu) at the same venue, singing American folk songs as the wife of the composer [Stephen] Foster, a role played by Mori Masayuki. The audience seemed to
have enjoyed my performance, but, alas, the reviews this time were not exactly
glowing either. I myself would like to think that partly that had to do with the
fact that Broadway musicals had not yet been established in Japan beyond the kind
of performances put on at Asakusas music halls and by Japans all-female troupes.
After a series of trials and errors, Ths Drama Division encouraged me to
take on the challenge of performing in theater. My first stage appearance was You
Cant Take It With You (Wagaya no rakuen), a prewar Broadway hit later made
into a Frank Capra film before earning critical acclaim in Japan as well. Directed
by Hijikata Yoshi,4 the play included such veteran actors as Takizawa Osamu, Uno
Jkichi, and Mori Masayuki.5 I was supposed to play the young maiden Alice, a
role earlier performed by Jean Arthur. After I made considerable effort memorizing the lines and making preliminary preparations, however, the play was abruptly
canceled. Conflicts had arisen regarding copyright negotiations, leading Th to
abandon the whole idea in favor of staging Tolstoys Resurrection, thereby changing my role from a cheerful Yankee girl to that of a tragic Russian heroine.

260

Addendum

The reason the Russian play was selected was that the American side demanded
a huge sum of money for its copyright privilege, whereas the Soviet side was good
enough to offer us, free of charge, the script from the Moscow Art Theater. The
latters condition was that the Japanese side not alter a single word in the given
dialogue. A performance based on that particular script, interpreting Tolstoys original as a story of a man awakened to the revolution, would give the Soviet Union
a godsend opportunity at ideological propaganda. Indeed, bringing bouquets of
flowers, the Cultural Attach and others from the Soviet Embassy came to visit
our dressing room a number of times with words of encouragement.
The play had a distinguished cast: Takizawa Osamu was the narrator, Mori
Masayuki played Nekhlyudov, and other actors included Yamagata Isao, Shimizu
Masao, Uno Jkichi, and Susukida Kenji. In his abstruse language, Hijikata explained the productions objective in terms of further developing Tolstoys expos of the shortcomings of Romanov Russia from his Christian humanist perspective. For my part, what I could very well understand was Takizawa Osamus
view on acting, that the theater is driven not by ideological metaphysics but by
the physicality of action! To practice the scene where Katyusha Maslova staggers
to the law court, I stood in front of a mirror at home while drinking from a bottle
of port wine. I became so caught up in the workout that I ended up emptying the
whole bottle, leaving me with a hangover and a splitting headache. Someone also
taught me the following: See, your body moves from side to side if you stand on
a moving train. You try to steady it on your own, but you just cant. Thats what
being drunk feels like. When I actually made the experiment, it felt exactly as
Id been told.
There was a scene where, upon the judges declaration to send Maslova into
exile in Siberia, she defended herself by shouting, No, I didnt kill anyone! Following the advice that my voice should sound like water being squeezed out of a
towel, I practiced the line repeatedly by shouting into the garden. The drills once
invited a visit from a police officer who apparently came to investigate after receiving a report from my shocked neighbors.
We gave fift y performances of Resurrection in twenty-five days. Despite Asahi
Shimbuns derisive reference to the irony of my making a titular comeback on
stage after singing debacles, I had made up my mind to devote my career to the
modern theater and joined the Popu lar Art Troupe (Minsh Geijutsu Gekij)
formed by Takizawa and others; it was the predecessor to the current Peoples Art
Troupe (Gekidan Mingei). Besides the performers in Resurrection and such Shingeki actors as Kat Yoshi and Kitabayashi Tanie, the organization also included
Takehisa Chieko, Natsukawa Shizue, Mochizuki Yko, Shibata Sanae, and myself from the cinematic world and the popu lar theater. Hoping to popularize the
Shingeki theater, the troupe first performed an adaptation of Shimazaki Tsons

The PostLi Xianglan Years

261

Broken Commandment (Hakai). I played the role of O-Shiho, a performance later

taken to task by Tokyo Shimbun for my inability to fuse the role into the overall
movement as a whole. Whether I performed classical songs or serious theatrical
parts, it appeared that there was an inescapable role overlap with my image as
Li Xianglan.
Just then, somebody brought up the subject of having me appear in a film, a
Shchiku production directed by Yoshimura Kzabur called The Shining Day of
My Life (Waga shgai no kagayakeru hi, [1948]). Though I had made it clear that
I would not appear in any movie, it was difficult to say no when the Popu lar Art
Troupe with which I was affi liated had contracted with Shchiku on the production. Or rather I should say that I myself, then driven into a corner, had also been
thinking about making a comeback in film. As I was getting less and less confident about myself as a stage actor, I began to entertain the idea that my abilities
might be better suited to the silver screen.
One other impetus came from my family situation. Just then, my parents
and siblings had successively been repatriated from China. After moving from
Kawakitas house in Kamakura to Yukigaya and thence to Shimo- Ochiai in
Tokyos ta and Shinjuku wards, respectively, I finally managed to secure a loan
from Th to purchase a single-family home in Suginami wards Asagaya district.
While I was happy that our family of eight was able to live under one roof, the responsibility for making loan payments and for supporting the household all fell
on my shoulders as the familys eldest daughter. Spurred on by Kawakita and
Takizawas enthusiasm, I myself began to think of making a new career breakthrough with this new fi lm venture.
The Shining Day of My Life tells a story unheard of in Japanese fi lm. Beginning with the assassination of a prominent pacifist official (Inoue Masao) by a young
military officer (Mori Masayuki) amidst the tumult just before the war ended, it
goes on to depict the subsequent relationship between the victims daughter and
the assassin, later a drug addict and a corrupt newspaperman. The young woman,
reduced by circumstances to working as a cabaret dancer, falls in love with her
fathers killer without knowing his real identity. Later, even after she learns the
truth, she still passionately loves the young man.6
Critics greeted the film enthusiastically for its portrait of the fallen human
condition against a new social milieu with values diametrically opposite those of
the prewar days. My acting, too, seemed to have earned a small degree of recognition, and the kissing scene toward the end in particular was much talked about.
That said, having no experience in performing kissing scenes, I simply followed director Yoshimuras instructions. It may not be easy to imagine what happened next in this day and age, with all its uninhibited representations of sex, but
just shooting a kissing scene back then was enough to generate a wave of tension

262

Addendum

inside the studio. First, the place was off-limits to all unconcerned parties. The
director meticulously experimented with the camera angle over and over and gave
instructions about how the embrace was to be performed and how long our positions must be held intact. The signal to end the kiss turned out to be a poke at our
feet with a laundry pole by the director himself.7
The Shining Day of My Life was ranked number five among the ten best fi lms
of the year by Kinema Junp.8 I played the role of a cabaret dancer with Takizawa
Osamus words in mind, that performances are not driven by ideology but by the
physicality of action, just as how a reviewer described my acting.
Cinematic roles began to knock on my door one after another. After appearing in a Daiei production called The Passionate Mermaid (Jnetsu no ningyo) in
the same year, I starred in the following year, 1949, in a succession of three ShinTh filmsShooting Star (Nagareboshi), The Human Condition (Ningen moy),
and Homecoming (Kikoku).
It was also the same year that I appeared in Escape at Dawn (Akatsuki no
dass), a fi lm based on Tamura Taijirs original antiwar novel Biography of a
Prostitute (Shunpuden). It was said that Tamura took the searing summer landscape in Henan as his motif and Li Xianglans starring image as his inspiration
for portraying the heroine. I trust that you, someone who knows the scorching
land of Henan, would appreciate the atmosphere in the last scene in the scorching sand.
Kurosawa Akira prepared the script while Taniguchi Senkichi served as director.9 Going against the grain of conventional Japanese cinematic representation, the film unflinchingly depicts a soldiers love affair, an absolutely taboo subject
during wartime Japan. Filmed against the panorama of an imposing landscape, the
flaming passions between Harumi (my role), a singer sent to comfort the fighting
men, and Private First Class Mikami (Ikebe Ry) lead to an attempted desertion
and ultimate death under an executive officers (Ozawa Eitar) machine-gun fire.
With their dying bodies about to be buried under the sand, the film concludes
with the scene of the lovers hands reaching out for each other before vanishing
into the dust storm. I recall a newspaper review comparing the last tragic scene
to [Henri-Georges Clouzots 1949 film] Manon. Escape at Dawn later became
much talked about partly as a result of the passionate scenes I had with Ikebe; it
was selected as number three for the years Ten Best Films.10 More than anything,
I was happy to be viewed as having been reborn as a Japanese film actress.
*

In 1950, after appearing in Shchikus First Love Hullabaloos (Hatsukoi mond)

and Womanly Craze (Onna no ryk), I costarred with Mifune Toshir in Kurosawa Akiras Scandal (Shbun Sukyandaru). After the shooting ended, I received

The PostLi Xianglan Years

263

an invitation to visit the United States. With a three-month stay scheduled, my

plans included a recital, which had been advertised among Japanese expatriates
in Hawaii and Los Angeles, followed by a tour of Hollywood. Being the second
Japanese actress after Tanaka Kinuyo to visit the United States after the war, I met
with reporters immediately upon arrival in Los Angeles. When asked what I wished
to study in the United States, I replied, Id like to learn how to kiss, an answer
prompted by a fi lm critics advice before my departure encouraging me to learn
how to do a beautiful love scene. The next mornings paper carried a large photograph of me with a caption reading, Kiss Me Please. Apparently, this absurdly
incoherent exchange had been well-received in the United States, as evidenced by
a continuous stream of interview requests coming in beginning the next day.
While I was touring Hollywood, I began to experience a surge of what one
might call wild ambitions. Now that I had made my way to that country, I wished
to master flawless English and to really learn how to sing and act so that I could
appear in American fi lms as well as on Broadway. As somebody already accustomed to the international environment in Harbin and Shanghai, perhaps I had
already within me a cosmopolitan disposition and a vagabonds spirit. I was consumed with the presumptuous desire to make my name in the most distinguished
venues in the world. Quickly, I extended my period of stay and started to take private lessons from an instructor of diction from New Yorks Actors Studio.
The acting instructor there was Elia Kazan, the great socially engaged master
of such works as East of Eden and A Streetcar Named Desire. The studio established
its illustrious reputation for teaching the basic art of acting for both screen and
stage. I also took private lessons in English and French. The fees were high, and so
I had to move to a cheap apartment and cut down on my other living expenses.
My French instructor taught English to the French, and among her pupils was
the chnson singer dith Piaf, a longtime performer at New Yorks best-known
French cabaret, the Versailles. Her songs were always superb; I also respected her
as a singer, a woman, and a human being. With her petite frame of less than five
feet sheathed in a one-piece black dress with barely any frill of jewelry, she would
stand on a dimly lit stage and sing with her gaze affi xed at some distant spot. The
way she moved her white fingers just struck me as indescribably voluptuous. She
drank, smoked, used drugs, and manifestly fell into addiction, but she also always
loved and sang her love with the most unadulterated of feelings. The day I heard
her sing Hymne lamour in her own lyrics lamenting the death of her boxer
lover in a plane crash, my French teacher and I just held each other in an embrace,
unable to utter a word.11
I was also lucky to be reunited with Madame Bella Mazel, who had come to
New York from Shanghai after the war, and to be able to resume my vocal lessons
with her.

264

Addendum

While I continued with my studies, Joseph Bernhard, a fi lm producer and a

friend of Kawakita Nagamasas, suggested a role for me in a production called Japanese War Bride (Higashi wa higashi, originally titled Sens hanayome [1952]), a
story about a Japanese nurse married to a U.S. army lieutenant wounded during
the Korean War. After the couples return to California, the frosty manner with
which she is treated by those around her leads to her attempted suicide, but eventually everything works out with a happy ending. Despite its trivial plot, the film
was being produced at a time when the presence of war brides was becoming an
issue in various parts of the United States. Directed by King Vidor, the fi lm also
stars Don Taylor, my counterpart who had appeared with Elizabeth Taylor in Father of the Bride.
After passing what amounted to an interview with director Vidor, I signed a
formal contract which promised to pay twenty thousand dollars for my part. It was
decided that Shirley Yamaguchi was to be my stage name; Shirley, a common
name among American women, was derived from the sounds of Xia and Li
from Li Xianglan. In a happy combination of good luck, I also passed the first
audition for the role of a Chinese princess in the Broadway musical Marco Polo.
The subsequent auditions involving dialogue delivery, theme song per formance, dancing, and the like continued for a month. There were thirty candidates
for the role, meaning that I had twenty-nine rivals. With my handicap in English,
all I could do was to consult the dictionary while going over the script and then
memorizing it by heart. In particular, I found it impossible to distinguish the sounds
of l and r, and between v and b. Indeed, while filming Japanese War Bride,
my line The flags are flying apparently came out sounding The frogs are fried,12
thereby setting off a burst of laughter among the staff.
It was decided unofficially that my counterpart in Marco Polo was to be Tony
Martin. Having been the unofficial pick for leading roles in both a film and a musical, I turned all of a sudden into the woman of the hour, entertaining a series of
interview requests from weeklies such as Time and Newsweek and from radio and
television stations. I appeared on NBCs then popular Walter Winchell Show with
the star baseball player Joe DiMaggio before his marriage to Marilyn Monroe. That
appearance brought me into the company of Broadway actors gathering around
Winchell. One time, Winchell invited DiMaggio and me to watch the very popular musical The King and I, and we visited its star, Yul Brynner, in his dressing
room. After that, Brynner would call and take me to such well-frequented spots
among New Yorks socialites as 21 and the Latin Quarter. After dinner, I would
go to the West Side on alternate days for instruction at Madame Mazels studio.
Brynner was good enough to pick me up after the lesson; then we would do things
like drop in on his good friend Marlene Dietrich at her apartment and go out all
together to a restaurant.

The PostLi Xianglan Years

265

Yul Brynner had a colorful past. Born in Sakhalin (Karafuto) to a Mongolian father and a gypsy mother of Romanian descent, he grew up in Beijing, studied at the Sorbonne, and became active in a Moscow drama troupe.13 Just around
the time we got acquainted, he had won many estimable prizes for his part in
The King and I; he was, so to speak, the king of Broadway. That he was good
enough to be a frequent escort to a mere fledgling like me could, I suppose, be
attributed to our congeniality from our common Asian background. His photograph with me in a kimono would sometimes find its way into some of the papers
social columns.
When he invited me to his apartment, he would play the guitar and sing Russian folk songs or gypsy numbers. As I, too, knew Russian folk songs quite well,
we would hum the melodies in unisona scene that I cherish in my memory.
The fi lming of Japanese War Bride was set to take place in June 1951, before
which time I had once returned to Japan. The biggest event that happened during
my some eighteen-month stay in New York, however, was my meeting with the
sculptor Isamu Noguchi.
New York was a city bubbling with energy, a place where all kinds of visitors
came from all over the world. With dazzling frequency, I was able to meet firstrate artists and scholars. Even though it happened by chance, I had the good fortune to meet Yukawa Hideki and his wife in a Japanese restaurant.14 I also had
the opportunity to visit the residence of Eleanor Roosevelt.
I couldnt remember exactly where I first met Noguchi, but it was at one of
the parties that seemed to take place night after night. After that, it was Ishigaki
Eitar and his wife, Ayako, who provided the occasion for my leisurely conversation with Noguchi.15 I first met the Ishigakis at the home of Pearl Buck, the Nobel
Prize winner in literature, who in turn was introduced to me by Richard Rodgers
and Oscar Hammerstein of Broadway musical fame.
As I was learning about musicals, the songwriting duo who had made a name
for themselves for a series of famous works such as South Pacific were having their
eyes on me as a budding apprentice. The two of them, like their good friend Pearl
Buck, were dedicated volunteers helping Asian refugees and orphans. After visiting the Elizabeth Sanders Home in Japan, Pearl Buck was having conversations
with Sawada Miki and others regarding the reception of racially mixed babies from
Japan.16 As revealed in her works such as the well-known novel The Good Earth,
Pearl Buck had a deep concern for Asian countries, and for China in par ticu lar.
Rodgers and Hammerstein seemed to come up with the idea of introducing us to
each other after learning about my background as someone born and bred in China.
I can still clearly remember my impression of Pearl Bucks Philadelphia residence during my first visit. Its quiet neighborhood had a serene ambience unimaginable from the perspective of the boisterous hustle and bustle of New York. The

266

Addendum

first time I met the Ishigakis was at a charity fashion show held at Pearl Bucks,
with various foreign students taking part as models. I wore a kimono, as did Ayako,
who, for some reason, also had her Western-style shoes on. Amazingly, that particu lar combination did not strike me as particularly odd. In that party, I got to
know her quite well, and it was through her that I heard about Isamu Noguchi,
a second-generation Japanese American.
I was unfamiliar with the art world, and had no knowledge that he was a sculptor of international fame. Likewise, I only learned later that his father, Yone Noguchi (also known as Noguchi Yonejir), was a world-renowned poet.17 Perhaps
because of our age differencehe was fifteen years olderI was not particularly
thinking of him as a member of the opposite sex when we first met. On the other
hand, I was astounded when he said, You must have suffered during the war. I,
too, anguished over Japans war with the United States. In a spiritual sense, I was
a mixed-race child between China and Japan, and he, in a literal sense, was a mixedrace child between Japan and the United States. When I became conscious of this
fact, I felt that there was something of a common thread between us.
The next time we met was at the Ishigakis Greenwich Village house to which
both Noguchi and I were invited. According to what Ayako told me later, she came
up with the idea of arranging a sort of pre-marriage o-miai party for us. After witnessing Noguchi and me together at a New York party, she had formed the impression that the two of us might very well make a congenial couple.
On the other hand, the painter Eitar, a longtime resident in the United States,
was a friend of Noguchi Yonejirs and had known his son since his early teen years.
Eitar and Isamus friendship continued as fellow New York artists after the latter
became a sculptor, but Eitar had apparently become fretful over the bachelorhood of his already forty-six-year-old friend.
At the time of our visit, Isamu had just returned from Japan and brought along
for Eitar several volumes of Japanese art magazines. Just a cursory glance through
the pages made me realize that Isamu was a sculptor of world renown. My interest in him, however, was unrelated to his artistic fame. His words to me when we
first met, You must have suffered during the war, had left a deep impression on
me. He spoke only broken Japanese, and as soon as he became exasperated by his
own clumsiness with the language, he switched to his rapid-fire English and asked
me point-blank, American-style, one question after another. One of the questions
he posed was, You debuted in Manchuria as a Chinese actress. In other words,
you were being used by the Japanese military as a propaganda tool, right? Hearing that, I was brought to mind of an earlier comment by a Japanese woman next
to me at a party somewhere, My, my! So you were that Chinese actress Li Xianglan, and now youre Yamaguchi Yoshiko the Japanese? We thought you were Chinese all along! So, weve all been fooled, havent we? At the time, her words stabbed

The PostLi Xianglan Years

267

like a dagger. This time, Noguchis direct characterization of me as the armys propaganda tool, conversely, was easier for me to accept with an open mind.
For me born in China and Isamu in the United States, there was something
about the Japanese way of thinking that we both found a little alien. We were kindred spirits in our sense of loss of a native home; we could also empathize with
each others wistful yearnings for a native soil, as both of us were rootless souls
who didnt seem to have a country we could truly call our fatherland. After dating several times, not only did we share feelings in connection with our circumstances, I also began to develop a strong respect for him as an artist.
I was moved when I saw his total dedication to his work. Like Ishigakis studio, Noguchis atelier was situated in Greenwich Village with its congregation of
poor artists. While working in what looked like a small neighborhood workshop,
he reminded me of the village blacksmith in a popular song who wouldnt waste
even the slightest moment while working with his hammer.18 In his dusty, dirty
work clothes, he would sculpt granite, melt bronze in the burner, and shave wood
using a delicately made chisel.
Noguchi had clear blue eyes like his mother of English descent. I once worried about the specks of stone dust lodging in those blue pupils, but before I knew
it I began to adore them as particles of stardust. That, however, might have just
been a reflection of my personal hang-up for an artist whose international acclaim derived from the abstruseness of his abstract art. At the time he proposed
marriage, I did wish to continue our relationship, but I also asked him to wait for
a year to allow me to sort out my feelings. Treating me, a mere film actress, as an
artist like himself, Noguchi told me that he wanted to share with me his creative
energies and visions about lifes loftier goals. There was also agreement between
his artistic sentiments to always feel free like a little bird and my own priority
of putting career over marriage. We were engaged with two conditions in mind,
that we would not interfere in each others work, and that we would separate amicably as friends should obstacles develop in the pursuit of our careers.
*

During the period when we were engaged, the most unforgettable friendship I made
through Noguchis introductions was the one with Charlie Chaplin. When first
invited to Chaplins house in Beverly Hills, I went with Noguchi and brought along
a set of two Japanese carp streamers (koi-nobori) as a present. Chaplin was fond
of children and had many himself. Quite knowledgeable about things Japanese,
he knew exactly the meaning behind the decoration. He called out for all his
childrenas I recall there were five or six of themand held up the streamers
high above his head as he ran, breathless and perspiring, from his dining room to
the living room just to demonstrate how the carps swim in mid-air. He had a big

268

Addendum

house, and there were a good fift y meters between the two points. His wife Oona,
Nobel Prize laureate Eugene ONeills daughter whom he had married after a
legendary Hollywood romance, was also quite taken by the gift herself and stroked
the streamers fondly with her hand.19
At the time, Chaplin was making preparations for the fi lm Limelight. After
our meal, he announced that he had finished working on the theme music and
wanted us to hear it on his piano. There were about ten artist friends in the gathering that nightpainters, poets, photographers, and othersand the overall
impression was that the music was too syrupy. Hey, people, its a pure love
story between a washed-up entertainer and a young ballerina! Of course the melody is sweet! he protested before bringing out his violin for another performance. He played the song so many times that I even remembered the fact that
he was left-handed. The song, Terrys Theme, turned out to be a great hit around
the world.20
A few days later, Oona called and asked if I wanted to come to a Warner Brothers studio to watch the recording of Limelights music. The full orchestra of some
hundred and twenty people tried to play the music any number of times, only to
be greeted with a string of No good from Chaplin the conductor. As far as this
fi lm was concerned, he was the producer, director, star, composer, and choreographer, the great dictator of the first order. The rehearsal started at nine in the
morning, and it was not until five in the afternoon that the real recording got
underway.
While staying in Hollywood during the shooting of The War Bride, Noguchi
and I were once the invited guests of the graphic designer Charles Eames at his
Santa Monica house. The honored guest on that occasion was Chaplin. Since he
expressed his wish for sukiyaki, I was asked to prepare the food. Chaplin was an
avid Japanophile, and during the sake rounds after the meal, he proclaimed that
he wanted to do a special act for our eyes and proceeded to perform a Japanese
dance. To be sure, it was an attempt at imitation, but he was a much better dancer
than I was.
His next performance, a n dance, was also wonderfully done. He then went
on to declare that the next item was to turn himself into a painted pine tree on a
n stage. Deft ly folding his limbs into place, he managed to strike a dramatic pose
while standing on one leg, and all the spectators responded with spontaneous applause. As a product from the silent film era, pantomime had an air of seriousness about it regardless how comic the gestures might be.
On another occasion, the after-mealtime activity at director King Vidors house
in Hollywood was to play charades. Divided into two teams, we had to guess what
our partners were trying to tell us through gestures. Nobody could understand
Chaplins, rendering him the poorest player. By accident, I was supposed to sim-

The PostLi Xianglan Years

269

ulate Tokyo Rose, a role that evoked quite a bit of mixed emotions within me.
In any case, Chaplins theory on art still stays in my mind to this day:
If you want people to laugh, you shouldnt try to force it. The only time they
would do so is when you are totally yourself. For instance, lets say someone
puts on a fancy tuxedo and shiny shoes and goes into a room, fully aware
that hes the center of attention. And then he steps on a banana skin and
tumbles on the ground. Everybody bursts into laughter, not because the guy
behaves in any funny way but because his puffed up demeanor gets deflated
so suddenly into misery and embarrassmentnot something he himself would
laugh at.

When Chaplin visited Japan, I was asked to be his interpreter and guide. Highly
sophisticated in the traditional arts such as kabuki, kygen, and n, he studied them
enthusiastically so that he could fully incorporate his new findings into his own art.
After he left the United States as a result of McCarthyisms Red Scare, I visited him
a number of times at his villa in Switzerland. I cannot begin to tell how much I have
learned from this great actor and what a great influence he had on my life.
*

In April 1951, due to the expiration of my visa, I returned to Japan after a years
sojourn in the United States. Noguchi came as well, having business to attend to
in Tokyo himself. The shooting schedule for The War Bride, however, forced me
to return immediately to Los Angeles. My life away from Noguchi thus began early.
While we both made our careers our top priority, we did whatever was necessary
in order to live together. We maintained living quarters in both the United States
and Japan, and in October of the same year after making all the preparations, we
announced our marriage plans in New York before having our wedding in December in Japan. Mr. and Mrs. Umehara Ryzabur acted as our official matchmakers. Serving in the ceremony as Noguchi and my guardians were the painter
and Mrs. Inokuma Genichir, and Mr. and Mrs. Kawakita Nagamasa, respectively.
In Japan, we lived in funa in the city of Kamakura, where we rented a
rustic tea house belonging to the ceramicist Kitaji Rosanjin, a friend of Noguchis.21 A section of the living quarters was remodeled into an atelier where he
worked assiduously.
*

I have scarcely mentioned my family so far. Part of the reason has to do with my
own fuzziness about the conventional notion of a family, given the fact that I had
lived apart from my own throughout the Li Xianglan phase of my life. That said,

270

Addendum

it is also true that, subconsciously, I have no desire to bring up the subject of my

father with whom, sadly, I severed my relationship soon after my marriage.
After my whole family of eight was finally repatriated to Japan in 1948, we
were able to live under one roof. Father was a generous and cheerful man by nature; if anything, he was the gullible type, ready to please with a penchant toward
magnanimity. This personality, however, had been undergoing a radical change.
By then, his behavior was increasingly swayed by delusions of grandeur, and when
he ventured into business undertakings, he met with failure. Incapable of comprehending the harsh reality of life, he ended up being sweet-talked into concocting preposterous dreams of striking huge fortunes in a single stroke. Even the
joviality associated with his love for sake in the past had turned into a miasma
of gloom.
The profession of an actress might appear glamorous on the surface, but it
could hardly afford the extravagance outsiders might imagine. My income as an
actress had been drained by payments for our housing loan, family living expenses, and the financial hole created by Fathers business debacles. The loan
that I had incurred for my one-year stay in the United States also weighed heavily on my shoulders. And yet, such financial burdens were the kind that could be
resolved as long as I had work to do. After consulting Mother, I decided to rent
half of our Asagaya house so that the income could partially support my living
expenses after my marriage. By the time I temporarily returned home from
New York, Father had long since departed, leaving only word that he had to go
to Kyushu for work.
One day, a piece of certified mail came with papers demanding that we repay
a loan for which our Asagaya house had been used as mortgage. The news came
as a bolt out of the blue. It goes without saying that I, the title-holder of the property, had never been consulted on this matter in any way.
After I hurriedly returned to the United States subsequent to my one-month
stay in Japan, Father made an unannounced appearance from Kyushu before the
family. In the fall of the same year when I returned to Japan for my marriage ceremony, I found him in high spirits, saying, This time my luck has arrived! If I can
pull this job off, all the money in the world will come rolling in! When that happens, Ill pay you back all I owe you, okay? I tried my best to dissuade him from
acting recklessly and to set him on the right course, but my efforts proved futile.
Then all of a sudden, three men showed up to evict us from our property because the payment deadline for the loan had arrived. The document had an authentic stamp from my registered seal. The purpose of the loan was to ostensibly
provide for marriage expenses, and the transaction date was exactly the same
day as my ceremony. Once I realized what was happening, I could hardly suppress
my surging emotions.

The PostLi Xianglan Years

271

Not knowing what to do, I told Kawakita Nagamasa and Mori Iwao everything and consulted Ths lawyers. The latter told me that I could get my house
back only if I took legal action against my father. In the end, I couldnt bring myself to turn him into a criminal. Father, on the other hand, ended up leaving us
behind in Asagaya, perhaps unable to allow himself to stay any longer. Taking his
mistress with him, he returned to his hometown in Saga Prefecture and lived a
secluded life. We heard later that he was working for his friends mining business.
I suggested to Mother that she divorce him by mutual agreement.
And so, the two of them parted after sharing thirty-five years of joys and sorrows. At the same time, all my siblings, myself included, had our names removed
from the Yamaguchi family register. The media then were not as inquisitive as today in digging into every minute detail in the private lives of entertainers and actors. Still, fearing that my family troubles might have an effect on my popularity
ratings once they got into the press, such matters were all hushed up.
Later, Father returned to Tokyo for treatment of an illness, but I was able to
visit him only once. When we received news of his death, we could hardly express
our feelings in words except to offer our prayers for his soul.
That was the same man who had listened with such undivided attentiveness
to my Mandarin pronunciation, the same person who had praised me for having
completed a long trip from Fengtian to Beijing with a Well done, kid! and who
had kept the newspaper clipping about my execution in Shanghai with such sympathetic care. . . . My father, when in China, was a kind man.
Come to think of it, I had long forgotten what ordinary family life was like
ever since I was entrusted into the hands of the Pan family in Beijing at the age of
fourteen. After I turned into a Manei actress, my home was synonymous with
the hotels where I stayed in China or Japan. I had not come across any true experiences of family affection as it is conventionally defined, and when the time came
to make a decision, often circumstances did not allow me the luxury to seek my
familys opinion. On the other hand, the fact that I was able to immerse myself in
my work was also the result of memories of the boundless love with which I was
blessed when I was a child. Even when I was physically separated from my family, I was never besieged with pangs of anxiety or moments of loneliness. To put
it in another way, since my mid-teens, I was virtually living a totally independent
life away from my family without being conscious of the fact myself.
Captivated by the lure of China since he was a young man, Father learned
Chinese and went there as a foreign student. But the changing milieu had apparently perverted the youthful sentiments he once held with such uncorrupted passion for the country into the outlandishly materialistic ambitions of a continental
adventurer. At the time he left home and at the time of his death, I was reminded
of the last moments of Yamaga Tru. Both men found themselves inextricably

272

Addendum

drawn to China, and both loved the country and its people. Reacting with contempt and aversion toward Japanese military men with their uninhibited arrogance
toward the Chinese people, Yamaga attempted instead to assimilate himself into
Chinese society. In Fathers case, with the outbreak of the Sino-Japanese War
after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, I remember he once said, What do you
think will happen if a mere drop of water from River Isuzu goes into the Yellow
River?22 Theres no way that the Japanese can win the war over China, given
Chinas enormity as a nation. When the Japa nese army attempted by force to
cut down the poplar and acacia trees lining Beijings streets to make railroad
ties, he orga nized a movement against it, saying No one will plunder the trees
of Beijing!
Both Father and Yamaga had been passionately disposed toward the Chinese
continent; both men had been tossed about by the winds and waves of the time to
the point where they finally ended up losing sight of who they were. After their
return to Japan, both experienced frustration as they tried to launch a new beginning for themselves amidst a changed world. Eventually, both became broken
men in both their lives and in their characters.
With Father gone, only Mother and my siblings remained in our Asagaya
home. Shortly afterwards, one after the other, my siblings all began to lead independent lives, got married, had their own families, and lived with their own share
of happiness. Mother, now ninety-two, is living with my sisters family as she journeys on through her remaining years. Regrettably, when she sees me, she no longer
quite recognizes who I am. . . .
*

The year was 1952. Having signed a three-year contract with Th, I first appeared
with Mifune Toshir in Foghorn (Muteki), a drama with a Meiji-period setting
directed by Taniguchi Senkichi. This was followed by three Inagaki Hiroshi films.
The first was a period piece, Sword for Hire (Sengoku burai), in which I again appeared with Mifune. In The Woman from Shanghai (Shanhai no onna), I played a
Shanghai nightclub singer and got the chance to wear a Chinese dress after a long
while. In The Ship of Tumultuous Fortune (Fun senrysen), another period piece,
my costar was Hasegawa Kazuo; it was the first time we had worked together in
ten years.
In January 1953, due to business he had to attend to in New York, Noguchi
returned to the United States for an extended stay. I was scheduled to accompany him, but for some reason, I couldnt get a visa to go. Meanwhile, as the date
for Noguchis one-man exhibition in New York was approaching, the fact that
I had been asked to appear in Makino Masahiros Last Embrace (Hy) led me
to decide to suspend my visit to the United States. After the shooting, I applied

The PostLi Xianglan Years

273

for a visa once more, but was again turned down. I had the matter investigated
through an acquaintance at the American Embassy, but the reason remained a
mystery.
Under the circumstances, I finally embarked on a European trip. Just then,
Sword for Hire had been entered for screening at the Berlin Film Festival, and I
took the opportunity to be part of the Japanese delegation. After the fi lm festival
ended, Noguchi and I were reunited in Paris. During the interval, Noguchi had
visited Washington with his lawyer to negotiate with the State Department over
my visa issue. Without committing himself to any specific explanation, the official responsible apparently gave a general answer, saying that We look upon all
artists and scientists as dangerous unless proven otherwise. Tokugawa Musei, the
fi lm interpreter, was also denied a visa, leading a segment of the Japanese media
to speculate that he might have become a target of the hunt for Communists then
being launched by the House Un-American Activities Committee.23 This development was also reflected in the comment by the same State Department official
that we regard artists as dangerous because of their receptiveness toward the cosmopolitanism of communism.
Surprised that I was a suspected Communist and yet unaware of any substantive reasons for such suspicions, I couldnt do anything other than feel unsettled.
With Paris as my base, I traveled to different parts of Europe. Five months passed,
and yet I still didnt get my visa. During this period, we spent some time at the
atelier of [Constantin] Brancusi, Noguchis teacher and a direct disciple of Rodins. We also went to southern France where we visited the atelier of the painter
[Marc] Chagall. This was also the time when I visited India due to the incidental
association of Noguchis work with the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial. There I met
Prime Minister Nehru and his daughter, Indira, the late Prime Minister Gandhi.
Charlie Chaplin and his wife invited us to his Vevey villa in the suburbs of Lausanne in Switzerland. Explaining his reasons for leaving the United States, Chaplin said, It was not the result of my defeat by the House Un-American Activities
Committee in its hunt for Communists. I became sick of Americas rising totalitarianism, and Ive given up on that country.
I couldnt wait forever for my visa. Meanwhile, I appeared in a Chinese fi lm
made in Hong Kong called Heavenly Bliss (Tianshang renjian [1953]), and in March
1954, I returned to Japan for the time being. Just to be sure, I made inquiries in a
roundabout way about the visa at the United States Consulate General in Yokohama, only to be told, anticlimactically, that the problem has been resolved and
your visa will be issued.
Shortly afterwards, I learned the truth regarding my visa situationI had indeed been regarded as a Communist sympathizer and had been on the State Departments persona non grata list.

274

Addendum

The House Un-American Activities Committee in the U.S. Congress was a

product of the prewar years. The one headed by Senator McCarthy from 1950, the
year of the outbreak of the Korean War, looked upon liberals as Communists and
held a series of hearings on liberal-minded bureaucrats, scholars, and writers before initiating proceedings for their arrest.24 With its impact felt inside the fi lm
industry as well, the tempest of McCarthyism led to investigations of Hollywood
fi lmmakers and actors, subjecting them to a litmus test on possible Communist
connections. Among actors, Edward G. Robinson, Fredric March, and Olivia De
Havilland, among others, were labeled Communist sympathizers. Robert Taylor,
Gary Cooper, and Ronald Reagan (the current President) were also summoned to
the witness stand.
Nancy Reagan, the beloved wife of the President, was at the time an up-andcoming actress called Nancy Davis. While we were not close friends, we often
ran into one another at the Hollywood studio. While President Reagan was
known as a hawk within the Republican Party, he was then a liberal Democrat
who served as President of the Screen Actors Guild. Last year during the Tokyo
Summit, I had a chance to speak with him and share our memories about our
Hollywood days.
The viciousness of McCarthys committee led to a strong reaction from the
Screen Actors Guild, and a protest movement developed around Henry Fonda,
Dirk Bogarde, Katharine Hepburn, Gregory Peck, Humphrey Bogart, and others.
Many fi lm artists, primarily directors and screen writers such as Edward Dmytryk, became victims of repression and left Hollywood. It was not until 1953 that
the hunt for Communists began to die down, a development that coincided with
the timing of my visa approval. Ultimately, the McCarthy storm was a bastard
child of the Korean War (19501953) and a reflection of the tense international situation amidst an East-West confrontation.
I was unable to ascertain the specific reasons why I had been blacklisted, but
I could think of several pertinent incidents. The first had to do with an episode
that took place when we went to register for our marriage at the Consulate General of the United States. When asked by the Consul General whether I would
pledge my allegiance to the United States, I answered No. Even though I married an American, I had no wish to become an American myself. After experiencing my hanjian trial in China, I had developed a strong awareness of myself
as a Japanese person, so when asked to pledge my alliance to the United States, I
couldnt unequivocally answer in the affirmative.
Another time, I was asked by an official from Hollywoods actors guild to make
a contribution to a fundraising campaign to support its activities, and I did. There
were guilds for various professions in Hollywood, and since different parties had
asked me for contributions, I couldnt remember each and every one of them ac-

The PostLi Xianglan Years

275

curately. But once a contribution was made, a receipt would be issued, and the
trade union would retain a copy. There is a possibility that a copy of the receipt
with my signature had been found in an organization sympathetic to the Communist cause.
While my visa seemed to be taking forever to get approved, the media in time
sniffed out that something incredible was going on. Some of the ensuing reports
appeared to have called Yamaguchi Yoshiko a Communist spy. I use the phrase
appeared to because I was then in Europe and read virtually no Japanese magazines; I heard about this report from friends only after my temporary return to
Japan. There were many embellished narratives making the rounds as if they were
telling the truth. When I looked for the spark that ignited all these stories, I discovered that all of them traced my story back to the Li Xianglan years. These opinions included the following:
Using the excuse of taking voice lessons, Yamaguchi established contact
with Soviet Communists in major Chinese cities. In Shanghai, she
belonged to a Bolshevik group. (Could they be referring to my association with Madame Podlesov, Madame Bella Mazel, and Liubas
family?)25
Yamaguchi had been communicating secretly with the Soviet Embassy in
Mamiana after her repatriation. She was also closely connected with the
representative Soviet judge in the Tokyo Trials and the cultural attach
from the Soviet Embassy. (The only truth was that when I was performing the leading role in Tolstoys Resurrection based on the screenplay from
the Moscow Art Theater, officials from the Soviet Embassy came to my
dressing room to deliver bouquets of flowers.)
Yamaguchi returned to Japan bearing secret orders from the Chinese
Communist Party. In Tokyo, Yamaguchi approached prominent personnel from Chiang Kai-sheks Kuomintang and engaged in intelligence activities. (Right after the war ended, I was invited, while in Shanghai, to
seek refuge in an area in Northeast China that was under Communist
control. On another occasion, I was asked to work as a spy in that region.
In both cases, I refused. As for the prominent Kuomintang official in
Tokyo, I suppose the reference was to a certain general who signed the
Instrument of Surrender on the USS Missouri as Chinas representative.
The General had hoped to socialize with me as a fan, but I had refused.
I heard that his jealous wife made false charges against him with President
Chiangs wife, Madame Song Meiling, and that this resulted in his recall.)
Yamaguchi joined the Communist Party USA while in New York. Even
after she moved to Hollywood, she continued activities as a Communist

276

Addendum

sympathizer. (Along with such activists as Miyagi Yotoku, who was arrested in the Sorge spy-ring incident, Ishigaki Eitar and his wife, Ayako, who took care of me when I was in New York, did organize a proletarian artists group as well as engaging in antiwar activities. However,
they withdrew from the movement after the war. After their return to
Japan, they had no affiliation whatsoever with any political party or organization.)
There were also reports that I was a CIA spy along with rumors that I was
closely connected with the infamous Canon Unit.26
After the war ended, the Western-style annex of Kawakitas residence in which
I had been staying as a lodger was requisitioned by the American army and used
by the family of an American naval officer. For that reason, young intelligence officers from the General Headquarters (GHQ) sometimes came as visitors. Graduates of Harvard and Columbia and the State Departments elite bureaucrats, they
apparently belonged either to G-2 for combat intelligence led by Major General
Willoughby or to the CIS (Counter Intelligence Section) headed by Brigadier General Thorpe. When I was scheduled to perform in American-style dramas or musicals at the Imperial Theater, I would ask them for advice on American customs
and attitudes.
As I recall, by that time I had already moved out of the Kawakita house to
my home in Tokyos Yukigaya. There were times when the Americans brought along
their boss, Lieutenant Colonel Jack Canon. I heard that he was a graduate of the
University of Oklahoma, and, compared to the other young officers, he struck me
as a boorish military man with less than cultivated manners. One time, saying
that he would take us for a drive around the suburbs of Kamakura, he had me
sitting next to him while his subordinates took the back seats. Holding a pistol
while driving, he would fire at the birds or squirrels when they came into sight,
and when there was a hit, he would grin in a manner reminiscent of James Cagney in a gangster movie. I thought I was going to die as he drove with such recklessness, braking his car frequently and hard along the way.
It was only after some time had passed that I realized that this man was the
Jack Canon of the Canon Unit. The next time I saw him was at a party held in a
grand mansion called the Hong House near Yushima-tenjin in Tokyos Hong
area. Again, I only learned later that this building was the villa of the Iwasaki family, the founder of the Mitsubishi financial conglomerate. Used as the headquarters for the Canon Unit after the propertys requisition by the American army, it
was apparently here that the planning for various stealthy operations took place.
Canon had cast an intelligence network surrounding the political and financial
circles of Japan as well as its government and the mass media. He hosted parties

The PostLi Xianglan Years

277

from time to time, inviting prominent guests from different walks of life. I attended
just one such party on the invitation of the young officers and former visitors of
Kamakura. Once I knew it was Canons party, I quickly leftearlier, I was sickened when I was confronted with the sight of a drunken Canon flinging a cat against
the wall.
That was how the theory that I was a CIA spy emerged when the embellished
version of the event was told. As Japan gained its independence with the withdrawal of American troops, various rumors started to die down. Yet occasionally,
such stories were being rehashed. Whenever that happened, I was angry about the
stupidity of the whole thing, even though I have since adopted an attitude of resignation over such matters, realizing that they were the byproducts of the tortuous early half of my life.
The newest rumor about me had to do with the recent Lockheed Scandal.27
Some Japanese weeklies whipped up the reignited story that Li Xianglan was a
CIA spy through allegations about my relationship with Robert H. Booth, said
to be an agent for Kodama Yoshio in the incident. Some even went so far as to provide seemingly evenhanded postscripts saying that Yamaguchi Yoshiko, using
the Chinese name Li Xianglan, was living before the end of the war in Shanghai,
where the Kodama machine was located. (Even though there were several tens of
thousands of Japanese living in Shanghai during the same time!)
In Foghorn (1952), I played a Japanese woman who became a Westerners mistress. At the time, we had an open recruitment for a Westerner who would play
the German male counterpart. The man chosen was Booth, who remained in Japan
after he was decommissioned from the Occupation forces. I did not meet him at
all after that. As to why I still remember him, in one scene, he managed to evoke
thunderous laughter among the rest of us, as well as a series of NGs. It was a confession scene, and he was supposed to say Watashi wa kedamono deshita (I
was a beast!), but no matter how many times Director Taniguchi corrected him,
he could only come up with Watashi wa kudamono deshita (I was a fruit!).
*

In September 1954, after shooting Ths The Saturday Angel (Doybi no tenshi),
I applied for a visa to join Noguchi in the United States. I couldnt believe how
effortless the whole process was. Even the Consul General himself showed his face
and feigned ignorance, saying, I heard you had some trouble before with your
visa application, and Im terribly sorry. I thought you got it a long time ago and
was already in the United States!
All in all, I wasted approximately a years time over my visa issue. During that
interval, I severed my relationship with my father, and for me, life in Japan was
not an enjoyable experience. As Noguchi was dashing between Paris, New York,

278

Addendum

Washington, and Tokyo for the sake of my visa, he lost his opportunity to design
a garden on New Yorks Park Avenue. I, on the other hand, had hoped to audition
for a part in the Broadway show The Teahouse of the August Moon, but I missed
the chance due to my late arrival. During the year, I appeared only in a one-hour
ABC television drama, Tsunami, based on an original story by Pearl Buck. Meanwhile, Noguchi was busy traveling around the world as usual.
Just then, a request from Hollywood came for me to do a Twentieth Century
Fox film entitled House of Bamboo (Tokyo ankokugai in Japanese [1955]) with Robert Ryan and Robert Stack. I played the Japanese lover of an undercover agent who
infi ltrates a gang of robbers. Initially, I declined the invitation as the screenplay
did not give an accurate portrait of Japan and the Japanese, though I later compromised when partial revisions were promised. I returned to Japan for location
shooting in Tokyo before returning to Hollywood, and I ended up being away from
New York for more than half a year.
Not satisfied with his work as a sculptor alone, Noguchi had eagerly taken
up other challenges, including designing stage settings at a Shakespearean theater
in London and a garden in San Francisco. As time passed, his lack of success made
him restless. His participation in a competition for garden design at the United
Nations also ended in failure. I couldnt be near him to offer him comfort; all
I could do was talk with him by long-distance telephone. That being the situation, strains began to develop in our relationship.
The Hollywood I hadnt seen for a long while was not the same anymore; Chaplin
was no longer there, and Beverly Hills was now a lonely place as if its flames had
died down. Of course, parties were still held every night, but few were as thrilling as
those at Chaplins place with all the painters, musicians, photographers, and poets.
Among my acquaintances in the fi lm industry at that time, the one who left
a strong impression on me was James Dean. While waiting for my turn doing postrecording for House of Bamboo, I had many opportunities to chat with actors appearing in The Virgin Queen and Rebel without a Cause. Dean was enjoying rising popularity after East of Eden had become a worldwide hit, but I found him a
shy youth who preferred to seek solace in solitude. In his natural self, Dean was
but an ordinary young man one would find practically anywhere. Being bashful
and reticent, he very rarely showed up at our nightly social gatherings, preferring
instead to ride his motorcycle or take his racing car for a fast run. He was fond of
animals and was deeply engrossed in composing songs.
Perhaps his constant dejection at the time had something to do with the fact
that he hadnt recovered from his failed love affair with the actress Pier Angeli.
He created quite a commotion when he disappeared just before the shooting of
Rebel without a Cause, and he was caught several times driving at a speed that

The PostLi Xianglan Years

279

would put the antics of motorcycle gangs to shame. All such acts were being looked
upon as after-effects of his unsuccessful romance. His only close buddies were a
group of young car maniacs whose leader was the son of the president of Twentieth
Century Fox.
Only once was I invited to their party. It was a group that did silly trivial things
such as driving their cars in a line on the highway, and going out eating and chatting in food joints. What was amazing was that there wasnt a single girl among
them. The young men were all wearing either pink or red socks as if that was their
uniform. Somebody told me that those fellows were homosexuals, but I didnt get
such an impression.
Dean and I usually talked at a snack bar next to the studio; we spoke about
China, Japan, and other things. One time, he slumped into a chair and sighed,
Im finally done with my dubbing; Im so exhausted. I can understand why man
uses machines, but dont you think its weird when a machine is driving man to
work like crazy?
I understood exactly what he meant. This was just the time when the widescreen format was being introduced, and those of us working on Rebel without a
Cause and House of Bamboo were having a very hard time because of it. To shoot
a widescreen scene, five different cameras were used, and each cut took more than
twenty minutes. Due to such long cuts and the intrusion of noise, actors had no
choice but to re-do their sound recordings. Such tedious and intricate postrecording work required a technology that was not yet developed enough to handle it. I remember that such experiences inspired much discussion about Chaplins works, especially Modern Times.
I once asked Dean whether he knew anything about Japan. I know only a
little, but I am very interested. I really wish to go there when Im done with my
work for the moment. Yet Rebel without a Cause was followed by his next project,
director George Stevens Giant, and then apparently a tight lineup after that.
Among the various performing arts in Japan, Dean was interested in n drama,
and he apparently attended all the lectures at the Actors Studio on n and kygen.
In his words, he loved their simplicity.
After talking about Japan for a while, Dean said, Would you like to go for a
drive? As a matter of fact, I came with a car I just bought, and you would be my
first passenger.
It was a silver-gray Porsche Spyder. The car glided smoothly along the slopes
of Beverly Hills before Dean took it out for a short excursion on the highway and
back. As soon as he entered the studio gate, the fans surrounded his new car. With
a shy smile, he dropped me off, hit his accelerator, and roared off. That was the
last time I saw him.

280

Addendum

Just before the completion of Giant in September 1955, James Dean died in a
car crash in Paso Robles, California, when another car driven by a student crossed
into his lane. Dean was twenty-four years old. The car he was driving at the time
was the same silver Porsche.
*

The time had come to bring an end to my marriage with Isamu Noguchi. After
discussing the matter, we decided to abide by our prior contractual agreement
and to get a divorce. The agreed-upon conditions were to respect and not interfere with each others work, and should obstacles encroach into that arena, we would
amicably part as friends. Neither extramarital affairs nor economic complications
of any kind entered into the picture. Our inability to find time to accommodate
each others needs had then accentuated the incompatibility of our personalities.
Although we were married for four years, we spent less than one year together.
Should this situation be allowed to continue, I thought it would only hamper Noguchis work as a sculptor. On my part, I could hardly contemplate the possibility
of leaving my work, now that I had just begun at long last to take my place on the
international stage.
We were well aware that both of us had unusually strong personalities; that
was precisely why we had set our conditions before getting married in the first
place. Our discussion of the matter led to our decision that we would still continue
our relationship as friends.
While living together, we began to notice subtle differences between us. The
fact that Noguchi spoke only broken Japanese and I deficient English sometimes
made nuanced communication impossible. He demanded the same uncompromising fastidiousness from his friendsand naturally from his wifeas he did
from himself. When we were living in Rosanjins teahouse, even our footwear had
to match the ambience of the house. It was decided that we would use naturally
rugged zri sandals made of wood and straw, a variety that just did not agree with
my feet. Even when my skin peeled off and started bleeding, I was not allowed to
change to another kind.
To give another example, one time we went out to visit a friend, and I brought
along a little item as a gift. As I was giving it to our friend, saying, This is from
us, Noguchi would immediately contradict me, saying, Oh no, I had nothing to
do with this present. Its all her idea. My repeated explanations to him on the
etiquette of saving someones face, a lie told as an expedient, and nonverbal
communication through tacit understanding all fell on deaf earsto him these
ideas were all nonsense, pure and simple. From his point of view, I suppose my
actions were simply too mysterious for the rational mind to comprehend.

The PostLi Xianglan Years

281

The experiences of a second-generation Japanese-American and a Chineseborn Japanese might have something in common, but the reality of living together
revealed acute cultural divergence between the East and the West. Subtle differences in language, culture, customs, and habits amplified the pain when emotional
factors came into the mix. Perhaps the fact that we had no children as a result of
my two miscarriages had already sown the seeds of discord.
The fi lm Japanese War Bride, which I made at the time when Noguchi and
I first met, was screened in the United States and Japan in 1951. Film critics in both
countries had taken it to task for its inadequate portrayal of a Japanese woman
married to an American.28 In retrospect, its Japanese title, Higashi wa higashi (East
Is East), derived from the opening of Kiplings famous poemOh, East is East
and West is West, and never the twain shall meethad already suggested something about our future.29
I returned to Japan after the fi lming of House of Bamboo, and in February
1956, I formally announced our divorce.
Isamu Noguchi, now eighty-two, is working in New York as a preeminent
sculptor. In keeping with our contractual agreement, we are still good friends.30
*

After the divorce and the filming of Madame White Snake (Byakufujin no yren,
directed by Toyoda Shir [1956]), I quickly flew to New York after receiving an
international telephone call from the producer of the Broadway musical ShangriLa. He asked if I would take the leading role to substitute for the Spanish actress
he was thinking of dropping. Feeling hurt as a result of my divorce, I thought
this could be a chance for my comeback. I had already passed the audition for
the musical a year before, though I had had to decline the role because of my
tight schedule.
Based on James Hiltons Lost Horizon, Shangri-La tells a love story between
a young girl living in a utopian land deep in the mountains and an American engineer who has lost his way in the area after a plane crash. The two attempt to leave
the land of utopia, only to discover that, once they reach the outside world, the
girl turns into a hundred-year-old woman before she diesan allegory analogous
to Urashima Tar and Rip Van Winkle.
Once I reached New York, I was told to fly to Boston immediately. At the airport, I was asked to choose the costumes, given the script, and instructed during
the flight how I should perform the songs.
Broadway shows and musicals started off as local events, with performances
held in major cities on the East Coast such as Boston, New Haven, followed by
Philadelphia and Washington, D.C. Their success, however, was measured by how

282

Addendum

long they could run on Broadway; that was the case with South Pacific and The
King and I, both of which became international hits after they were made into films.
On the other hand, negative reviews could abort a running show. Based on local
reactions, the director would attempt improvements through trial and error, such
as by augmenting the dialogue or changing the songs. It was not unusual to make
substitutions for actors during this process, even for those in the leading roles.
I spent the whole night trying to memorize the dialogue, practicing my singing, and getting special lessons in how to dance and act. All I could think of at
the time was to prepare myself for the stage in Boston. I managed to finish my
road show successfully before making preparations for my performance in New
York. Even after the conclusion of my lessons, I declined all nightly invitations by
secluding myself in the Plaza Hotel. As I was playing a Tibetan girl, my voice instructor told me that a little accented English might have the desired Oriental
effect. Not content with just doing second best, I aspired instead to speak my
lines with impeccable pronunciation.
While I secluded myself as usual in my hotel the day before the shows opening, Kawakita Nagamasa happened to be in New York at the time and called to
invite me for dinner with Japanese representatives attending a United Nations conference. It was a wonderful invitation on his part, one meant to celebrate my success on the eve of my first performance. I was grateful for his thoughtfulness, but
I declined, saying that I would like to spend the night practicing alone. Later in
the afternoon on the same day, I was given a revised script, which I then had to
memorize. I also needed to make sure that my physical condition was up to the
challenges aheadafter all the show had twenty-two scenes in two acts lasting
three and a half hours, plus seven songs to be performed without a microphone.
It was a battle with myself every minute and every second of the way.
The people who had invited me for dinner the night before were unable, due
to their work schedules, to attend my opening-night performance, but together
they sent a large bouquet of flowers to the Winter Garden Theater. The gentleman
who carried in the flowers with his two hands was a tall young man who worked
with the Japanese delegation at the United Nations.
The reviews of Shangri-Las premire were so-so; in the case of the New York
Times, its critic noted the shows success in invoking an Oriental atmosphere.
Meanwhile, the young man who had earlier delivered the flowers now began to
show his face from time to time at my dressing-room door. While nominally a
diplomat, he was a young twenty-eight-year-old without a ranking title. At first,
he came as the liaison for my appearance on a popu lar radio venue called The Tex
and Jinx Show then doing an introductory program on Japan. As this was a time
when Japan had just joined the United Nations, we carefully considered our presentation by repeatedly revising its contents, all in an attempt to give an image

The PostLi Xianglan Years

283

boost to Japan. The Ed Sullivan Show also requested an interview. To be a guest

on the popu lar show and to be introduced by its host was tantamount to being
recognized as a top entertainer in the world of American show business.
I was invited along with another guest, Julie Andrews, who played the leading role in My Fair Lady, then running on Broadway. We were naturally introduced as worthy rivals before proceeding to sing the theme songs in our respective musicals.
Julie sang wonderfully. I gathered that at first, Broadways box-office star Mary
Martin was the one being considered to play Eliza, My Fair Ladys leading role,
but the up-and-coming Julie Andrews was ultimately picked after her audition.
While in the dressing room awaiting my turn to appear on the television show, I
could already taste defeat. Utilizing whatever little time she had at her disposal,
Julie did vocal exercises, saying, This show demands a wide vocal range in my
singing, and so I always need to be certain about the kind of voice I can summon
from within me. At twenty-one, she was fi lled with energy. Tickets for My Fair
Lady were sold out for the entire year in contrast to the just one-month sellout for
Shangri-La.
The show ended at eleven oclock each night, and after that the staff would go
out to eat. As usual, I would shut myself in the hotel and continue my practice. I
suppose the lack of commercial success of Shangri-La could not be attributed entirely to the lead performer, but, in any case, I was exasperated with the situation.
In the United States, behind every success is the hidden story of people making
extraordinary efforts. This applies to all areas of endeavor, including the world of
Broadway shows, one defined by hard work and true ability. The philosophy of
success meant overcoming the impossible, and those who failed in the task ended
up dropping out of the line. Forced to face such incessant pressure, and the need
to tread ever so warily along the edge of a precipice, I felt completely exhausted.
The person who was good enough to encourage and comfort me then, when I felt
I was a failure in fi lm, on stage, and also in life, was the young diplomat-inthe-making.
Shangri-Las run was terminated at the beginning of its four-week run, and I
spent the next two weeks resting in bed. Film companies from both Japan and
Hong Kong had made inquiries about my interest in several propositions, but I
decided to stay in New York and gamble on other challenges that might come along.
The young mans encouragement became the source of my strength. But in
December of that year, he was transferred to Rangoon in Myanmar as third-class
secretary. We had been seeing each other openly in public, and a persistent rumor
had it that his demotion was the Foreign Ministrys attempt to break us up for fear
that our relationship would turn into a scandal. One day, I was called before his
superior and given a piece of free advice. He was an old acquaintance from the

284

Addendum

Shanghai days where he worked in the Consulate General of Japan. This was
what he told me:
He has not yet established himself in his profession. The marriage between a
promising young man and an older actress will be opposed unanimously by
the Japanese delegation to the United Nations in New York, by the Consulate
General, and by the Foreign Ministry in Tokyo itself. Do you really think this
is an outcome that will make you happy?

Nevertheless, I had already made a firm decision to spend the rest of my life
with the young diplomat. That said, I felt that the world was relentlessly closing
in on me from all sides, as not a single person around us thought it was a good
idea for us to be together. Completely defenseless though he was, the young man
was quite prepared to stand up to face whatever storms might come along, but I
could not allow myself to destroy him by cutting him off from his work, his family, and his friends. In view of the situation, all I could do at the time was to surrender myself. Up till then, although I had given up my identity as Li Xianglan, I
had been unable to abandon my actress life. It was true that too many things had
inextricably attached me to the silver screen, but in the latter part of my life in
par ticular, I did try to carve out a new career with my own hands. Others might
have thought that my life as an actress was petty and frivolous, and yet I had
given it all my body and soul; I had even decided on a divorce for its sake. Noguchi had already built his life on solid ground, and the young diplomat-in-themaking was just starting his.
It took me two years to fully accomplish the task of retiring from acting. During the interval, the young man repeatedly endeavored to gain whatever degree
of understanding he could secure from those around him. In 1958, after making
my last fi lm, Tokyo Holidays (Tokyo no kyjitsu, directed by Yamamoto Kajir),
I became the wife of the diplomat taka Hiroshi.31
*

I had a fulfi lling new life. Accompanying my husband to wherever his place of
work might be, I dedicated myself to offering him what little help I could. It gave
me great joy to be able to take good care of our family, befriend the people in the
countries where his job took him, and assist him in his work according to diplomatic protocol. During that time, there were any number of outside initiatives to
bring me back to the silver screen, but I had no interest in them whatsoever.
After ten years of marriage, we together managed, one way or another, to settle into an established routine. Around this time, I was occasionally asked to be a
television host or an interviewer. Many requests emanated from an interest in my

The PostLi Xianglan Years

285

career as a diplomats wife, and, quite naturally, I made a number of public appearances. My audience, on the other hand, was probably interested in me only
as the former Li Xianglan or Yamaguchi Yoshiko. Within me, however, I was
beginning to entertain dreams of becoming a journalist, an aspiration I had held
since I was a young girl.
In 1969, I was asked to be a cohost for the Fuji Television program You at
Three oClock (Sanji no anata).32 At the time, it was still a rarity to have a daytime show of this type, different in orientation from current offerings. To be
sure, the individual segments were still centered on actors, singers, and other
performers, but much more time was devoted to somber discussions of contemporary news topics.
Such serious discussions were hosted by male anchors. My private aspirations
aside, and speaking objectively, I suppose my appearance as a host served merely
an ornamental purpose. Yet I was blessed with a capable staff, and with their help,
there were, among other things, increasing opportunities for me to cover stories
in foreign countries. Up to that time in my career, I had always been the one being
interviewed, and, for that reason, this kind of work was exceptionally appealing
to me. Fancying myself as a journalist, I did as much as I could with a schedule so
tight that I find it astonishing even today.
In August 1970, I went to Vietnam and Cambodia, and in 1971, to four different countries in the Middle East, namely, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Lebanon, and Israel. After that, I flew to Europe and managed to interview a female Red Army
leader who had escaped from Japan.33 For such work, I was awarded a prize for
individual excellence at the television awards ceremony for the year. I worked for
as long as five years as a host for that television program, and the lessons I learned
through that experience were immeasurable.
During the forty odd years before I began working as a TV host, even I myself
could scarcely believe how many places I had lived in and visited. Yet regardless
of where I happened to be, my vision was always circumscribed by the narrow confines of my own surroundings. It was only after I took up the profession of a journalist that I was able, albeit belatedly, to objectively contemplate for the first time
the significance of my life as and after Li Xianglan in the context of world history.
*

On September 25, 1972, You at Th ree oClock carried a live broadcast from
Beijing of the signing of the Joint Communiqu between Japan and the Peoples
Republic of China.34 It showed Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei, Premier Zhou Enlai, Foreign Minister hira Masayoshi, and Minister for Foreign Affairs Ji Pengfei
formally signing the document and sealing the pact with a toast of maotai. After
Prime Minister Tanaka and Premier Chou drained their glasses at one gulp, they

286

Addendum

had a long, firm handshake followed by a hug. The preamble to the Sino-Japanese
Communiqu declares the termination of the state of war as well as the keen
awareness and deep reflection on the part of Japan about the serious damages
that it had inflicted in the past to the Chinese people through war.
Meanwhile, flitting before my eyes was the image of Li Xianglan, a woman
whose life had so long been at the mercy of the waves and storms of her time. No
longer conscious of my position as the news anchorwoman, I could hardly hold
back the emotions welling up within me.

Postscript
Yamaguchi Yoshiko

Up to this time, there have been various writings on Li Xianglan presenting her positively or negatively. I have allowed most of them to go uncontested. The reason that I had consistently declined a number of invitations to
have my autobiography published was that my early life didnt strike me as having the kind of experience truly worthy of self-narration. People say that I had a
tumultuous past, but I must confess that during that time, I was preoccupied with
just playing my given roles under given circumstances.
That I decided to publish my autobiography at this time was the result of my
rumination about the need to go beyond personal volition and to properly examine and reassess Li Xianglans role within the context of Shwa history. For me,
the years have passed by just like the Shwa era, and my reminiscences have grown
all the more fragmentary. Given the variously embellished accounts of Li Xianglan, a figure with whom I was bonded in body and spirit, I wish this time to present unembroidered episodes of her life based on the knowledge and memory I could
summon to the best of my ability. I need to ascertain where she stood amidst the
flow of Shwa history, regardless of whatever anguish this work may bring me.
Soon after I began this work, I had the chance to watch a number of fi lms
starring Li Xianglan that I hadnt seen in decades. (More accurately put, there were
ones that I saw for the first time!) The films I watched included Song of the White
Orchid, China Nights, and Pledge in the Desert, which are preserved at the National
Film Center. While watching them, I was totally struck by a shocking question:
What made me appear in such films while presenting myself as Li Xianglan and
an actress from China? When it dawned on me that I only became cognizant of
this reality after all those years had passed, I felt so mortified with myself that for
months I was not able to sleep at night.
As mentioned earlier, since the age of fourteen, I had more or less been living
apart from my family, and it was always I who was the ultimate and solitary arbitrator of personal decisions. Of course, I had first sought counseling and assistance from friends and superiors, but what I held dearest was the ability to hold

287

288

Postscript

my own convictions. They allowed me to refute what I found unacceptable, and it

was precisely such convictions that made me think that nothing would become
insurmountable. Yet it was only after nearly forty years, by watching those fi lms,
that I realized just how tenuous this notion of conviction was.
Among my readers, perhaps there are those who think that I have expressed
insufficient sentiments of penitence toward China. Having come face to face with
my previous transgressions, I have come to believe that the only path open to
me is to narrate every episode in my past without contrivance; I do not wish to
paint an embellished picture of the past through merely making apologies. Nonetheless, it has been extraordinarily difficult for me to temper the propensity for
memory to serve only my own convenience.
This enterprise to retrieve memory required the assistance of many individuals, including that of my Chinese friends. In particular, this book could not have
been written without the full dedication of my cowriter Fujiwara Sakuya. Having
spent his younger days in the northeastern part of China (formerly Manchuria),
Mr. Fujiwara worked for a long time at the Jiji News Agency before being stationed
in the United States. A man with an intuitive feel about the places I have lived, he
has, above all, distinguished himself as a researcher, who scrupulously investigated
the historical background and the areas that my memory had left out. In order to
corroborate my recollections, he visited China twice.
I dont remember how many tens of hours we spent in our discussions! The
only time we could pull ourselves away from our routine work was in the middle
of the night, or else during weekends or on Sundays. The persistence with which
he interviewed me over a long period of time resurrected recollections of all kinds
about Li Xianglan, so much so that the exercise exhausted my memory.
What we have here is the story of the first half of my life with its focus on the
Li Xianglan years. The reason I have dispensed with my reminiscences since I entered political life is due, naturally, to the fact that more time must be allowed to
pass before I can view that part of my life as history. That said, the day for me
to talk about them as my personal history ( jibunshi) may never come within my
lifetime.
In any event, I did manage somehow to conclude my attempt to rediscover Li
Xianglan, to make out who she really was. I had once fi rmly resolved to bury her
name, but then in the next forty years or so, she continued to twine around me
on any number of occasions. Of course, there was something within myself that
had made it difficult for me to tear her out. But now, with the conclusion of my
work, the time is getting closer and closer for us to have a clean break.
From now on, I wish to work toward the completion of the many tasks that
history has given me.
Early Summer, 1987

Postscript
Fujiwara Sakuya

When Ms. Yamaguchi Yoshiko consulted me on the writing of

her biography, I recalled the words of the writer Kojima Naoki, One mustnt trust
either autobiographies or biographies. Those are truly words of wisdom that
address the shortfalls of the two genres, the former for its common failure to
objectify the self, and the latter for its habitual inattention to aspects of the selfs
interiority.
While mindful of such words, Ms. Yamaguchi and I began to contemplate if
there was an effective way to synthesize an autobiography by Li Xianglan, on the
one hand, and her biography by Fujiwara Sakuya, on the other. In the end, we naturally arrived at the form of a jointly written autobiography. There have been many
such works written in the West, autobiographies that clearly attribute authorship
not only to the autobiographical subjects but also to their coauthors, as indicated
in such designations as as told to X or written with X. This work, then, is a
product of collaboration, a format practically unheard of in Japan.
There is no need to evoke Churchills memoir about the Second World War
to remind us that the autobiography has long been a well-established and wellrespected literary genre in the West. Recent years in par ticu lar have witnessed
the striking proliferation of autobiographical writings. In Japan, it seems to
me that the relative positions between subjectivity and objectivity, and the relationship between the model and the ghost writerthat is to say, the proper
perimeters between self-expression and biographical factremain ill-defi ned
and inadequately recognized. In that sense, too, our work represents a new
experiment.
This is not just a matter of style. While this book is a record of the life of the
actress Li Xianglan, we agreed on several things prior to the act of writing. First,
we were mindful not to get ourselves into the pitfall of producing a tabloid-type
autobiography about the private affairs of a celebrity. Second, we agreed not to
cover the political arena in taka Yoshikos career as a member of the Japanese
Diet, including her political ideas. Instead, our determination was to produce a

289

290

Postscript

work depicting the life of an actress at the mercy of Japans national policy and
within the unfortunate context of Sino-Japanese relations.
That said, it is difficult to write about one human being through the lenses of
two different individuals. For instance, from my perspective, while describing what
must have been a heartrending situation for the autobiographical subject, I cannot very well use the adjective sad if she herself insists that she wasnt sad at all
at the time. The two of us then had to uncover to our satisfaction the reasons why
she had felt the way she did, and it was in the process of our conversations of this
kind that Li Xianglans human qualities began to manifest themselves.
During the writing process, Yamaguchi herself fell into self-loathing after
watching her own prewar films, and I couldnt bear to watch her anguish as her
sense of guilt tormented her. How should such feelings be expressed in writing?
That also led to discussions between us. In the end, it was decided that she articulate her sentiments for atonement in the Postscript, while the main text registers
simply her feelings at the time. We believe that only by doing so can we contribute to genuine Sino-Japanese friendship. I also believe that the differences of the
two coauthors in terms of age, generation, gender, life experiences, and personalities in fact complemented our efforts and prevented us from making easy compromises or falling into self-indulging sentimentality.
After the writing was completed, I developed a renewed sense of respect and
affection for my subject in her various manifestations as Li Xianglan, Yamaguchi
Yoshiko, and taka Yoshiko. I have learned much from how she was able to take
charge of her destiny through her sense of volition and determination, and from
the strong resilience with which she had lived through the first half of her life. I,
too, was a repatriate from former Manchuria, and through my research, I was able
to learn about an unknown aspect of our tumultuous Shwa history as it unfolded
on the Chinese continent.
Purely for the sake of convenience, references to and readings of personal and
geographical names and reign years follow the prewar convention. I have entered
katakana transliterations for items generally pronounced in Chinese, and hiragana for those in, or largely enunciated in, Japanese. I have registered bibliographical details for the sources I have consulted. I am grateful to those who have kindly
accepted my requests for interviews, and their names are noted in the text. I am
particularly indebted to the film critic Shimizu Akira and Th Twas Managing Director Koike Akira on matters about fi lm; the composer Hattori Ryichi
and the music critic Noguchi Hisamitsu on music; and the writer Nagano Hiroo
on modern Chinese history. Needless to say, I am ultimately responsible for any
factual errors. In addition, I wish to thank the many people who have contributed photographs.

Fujiwara Sakuya

291

I was indebted to Niita Sh, Date Munekatsu, and Tanaka Katsuhito for their
warm encouragement and assistance during the two-and-a-half years it took to
complete this book. It Kiwako served not just as editor, but also took on the difficult task as the coordinatorand the lubricantbetween the two authors and
guided us along in our joint enterprise.
Early Summer, 1987

Notes

Introduction: Yamaguchi Yoshiko in Wartime East Asia

1. This essay refers to the singer/actress by her birth name, Yamaguchi Yoshiko, while her Chinese stage name, Li Xianglan, is used when context clearly
warrants it over the former signifier.
2. Liu Xuean (19051985) has generally been credited as the composer of
When Will You Return? while Hattori Ryichi (19071993) wrote the music for
The Suzhou Serenade. For details, see chapter 7 of Yamaguchis autobiography (coauthored with Fujiwara Sakuya), Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei (Tokyo: Shinchsha,
1987), and my annotation in note 14 in that chapter in the translation. Many consider
The Evening Primose (Yelaixiang), composed and with lyrics by Li Jinguang and
performed as early as 1944 in Shanghai, as Yamaguchis most renowned number
during and after the war years. Besides the songs various interpretations by an array
of vocalists in China, Taiwan, and Japan after 1945, there have been other renditions
over the years in Korean and Cantonese. The two versions in Japanese, with lyrics by
Saeki Takao and Fujiura K, respectively, unfortunately do not do justice to the original Chinese, a view shared by Yamaguchi herself, as she told me in my interview
with her on September 6, 2008. For Yamaguchis famous performance Rhapsody of
the Evening Primrose in May 1945 at Shanghais Grand Theater, see chapter 13.
3. Still considered in China to be a controversial fi lm, China Nights was instrumental in establishing Yamaguchi as a transnational star. For an anthropological
study on postwar Japanese nostalgia for the continent and Manchuria, see Mariko
Asano Tamanoi, Memory Maps: The State and Manchuria in Postwar Japan (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009).
4. Fengtian (Hten in Japanese) was the largest city in Manchukuo during the
Japanese occupation; it is the present-day city of Shenyang. Xinjing (Shinky in Japanese) was Manchukuos capital and is now the city of Changchun.
5. The same, however, cannot apply to some of her still sensitive war time
fi lms. For a list of her CDs on sale in Japan in as late as 2003, see Yamaguchi Yoshiko,
Ri Kran o ikite: Watashi no rirekisho (Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shimbun, 2007), pp. 219
220. The attention the media has given her will be discussed later in this essay.

293

294

Notes to Pages xviiixx

6. Acknowledgement (April 1, 1992), in Li Xianglan/Yoshiko Yamaguchi Special, the 16th Hong Kong International Film Festival.
7. Mention of Li Xianglan in Hong Kong often invites a reference to Cheungs
popu lar number. One of my Shanghai acquaintances, who is in her thirties, also remembers Li from the same song. Not unfittingly, it comes with original music by a
Japanese composer, the singer-songwriter Tamaki Kji.
8. The proliferation of television programs and musicals on Yamaguchis life
can be viewed as part of a remarkable revival of transnational interest, starting in
the late 1980s, in the singer and actress in both China and Japan. The China-Japan
coproduction Sayonara Ri Kran (Biele Li Xianglan in Chinese, with Sawaguchi
Yoshiko in the leading role) was made in 1989. The famed Japa nese theater company
Shiki under Asari Keitas artistic direction staged well-received per formances of Yamaguchis life throughout major cities in Japan from 1991 to 2006, with overseas
per formances in China (1992) and Singapore (1997). Its popularity in China can be
seen from Yiman Wangs finding that [it] was staged fifteen times in Beijing, Changchun, Shenyang, and Dalian to a Chinese audience of twenty thousand. See Wangs
Between the National and the Transnational, IIAS Newsletter 38, no. 9 (2005): 7.
An hour-long television program, Ri Kran and Yamaguchi Yoshiko (Ri Kran
soshite Yamaguchi Yoshiko) was aired on Japan Television (Nihon Terebi) on October 15, 2000, dramatizing the actress life and her struggles, with additional commentaries by Fujiwara Sakuya and others. I also wish to call attention to the well-known
two-part TV movie Ri Kran aired on TV Tokyo in February 2007, with Ueto Aya in
the leading role. Other Japa nese television dramas in which the character Yamaguchi Yoshiko appears include Ruten no hi: Saigo no ktei (Terebi Asahi, 2003)
based on the story of Madame Hiro, the Japa nese wife of Pujie and the younger
brother of Puyi, and Dans no reijin: Kawashima Yoshiko no shgai (Terebi
Asahi, 2008), based on the life story of the former Qing imperial princess and later
Kwantung Army spy and collaborationist Kawashima Yoshiko. The Japa nese fi lm
director Koreeda Hirokazu is reportedly making a feature fi lm called Night Fragrant Flower about Yamaguchis life. See http://www.haf.org.hk /haf/pdf/project07
/project14.pdf. The manga production was provided by Fujita Atsuko, Ri Kran (Tokyo: Kadokawa Shoten, 1996). In China, a degree of public curiosity on Li Xianglan
seems to persist to this day. One late example is a special BTV (Television Beijing)
program entitled The Two-faced Woman Li Xianglan: A Story that Needs to be
Told (Shuangmian yiren Li Xianglan: Bu-neng bu-shuo de gushi dated September
16, 2013).
9. Unless, of course, when the name is written out in Chinese characters.
10. Since its first publication, Yamaguchis autobiography became a longtime
bestseller, with more than 100,000 copies sold as of 1991. No sales figures are available
from the early 1990s to this date. See Fujiwara Sakuya, Ri Kran: Ruten no hansei, in
Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni yureta seishun, Mainichi gurafu bessatsu, ed. Tanaka
Kaoru, Shimizu Kiyoshi, et al. (Tokyo: Mainichi Shimbunsha, June 1991), p. 101.

Notes to Pages xxixxiii

295

11. Shelley Stephenson, Her Traces Are Found Everywhere: Shanghai, Li

Xianglan, and the Great East Asia Film Sphere, in Cinema and Urban Culture in
Shanghai, 19221943, ed. Yingjin Zhang (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,
1999), p. 232.
12. Stephenson, in Her Traces Are Found Everywhere, pp. 237241, discusses the universal identification of her physical looks across diverse regions in
East Asia and her wide-ranging linguistic competence. Besides Mandarin Chinese and
Japanese, the two languages that mattered most during her war time career, her linguistic range reportedly included English, Russian, and even Shanghainese and Cantonese, presumably with varying degrees of proficiency. Her autobiography reveals
her familiarity with Russian from the time she was a young girl growing up in Fengtian, and Shanghai was virtually her home from the end of 1944 to her repatriation to
Japan in April 1946.
13. The strong sentiments expressed by the Chinese executive of the Beijing
Press Club who advised against the disclosure of her nationality to the Chinese media after the screening of Glory to Eternity (1943) very likely echoed those of Li Xianglans many Chinese admirers. For details on this incident, see chapter 12 of Yamaguchis autobiography.
14. In the film, Li plays a candy peddler in a British-operated opium den and
later a spirited decrier of the drug. The two songs she sang in the fi lm with much
fanfare, one for peddling candy and the other for warning against the poisonous
effects of opium, immediately gained considerable popularity, despite criticism that
they were too Western-favored for the fi lm. See Lu Ping, Li Xianglan de gechang
shiye he lianai, Shanghai yingtan 11, no. 12 (October 1944), collected in Zhongguo
zaoqi dianying huakan, vol. 8 (Beijing, Quanguo Tushuguan Wenxian Suowei Fuzhi
Zhongxin, undated publication), p. 545. For Yamaguchis own perspective on the fi lm,
see chapter 12. For an interesting study of the fi lm, see Yoshioka Aiko, Ekkysuru
joy Ri Kran: Kas to passhingu no naratib, in Wakakuwa Midori (ed.), Kafuchsei
sekai shisutemu ni okeru senji no josei no sabetsu no kzteki kenky in Kenky
seika hkokusho (March 2007): 103111.
15. See a related discussion in Stephenson, Her Traces Are Found Everywhere, p. 237.
16. The same, of course, can be said of her Japa nese audience during the early
1940s. One case in point was the dramatic tumult caused by a very large number of
her unruly fans during her Nichigeki per for mances in Tokyo in February 1941. For
details, see chapter 8. Ian Buruma, in his The China Lover: A Novel (New York:
Penguin, 2008) explains her popularity in Japan as follows: Listening to Ri Korans
song allowed people to forget, if only for a short while, about wars, economic
slumps, and soldiers slogging through the mud of a blood-soaked land (p. 4). In a
different part of the world, whether the European audiences happened to live under
Nazi occupation or the terror of Allied or Luftwaffe bombings, popu lar entertainment still flourished during the war years. For the popularity of ballet per formances

296

Notes to Pages xxiiixxiv

in war time Paris, for example, see Claire Paolacci, Serge Lifar and the Paris Opera during World War II, trans. Charles S. Heppleston, in Journal of the Oxford
University History Society (2004): 19. In Britain, Tommy Handleys comedy program on BBC, Its That Man Again (ITMA), attracted a huge national audience
during the war years after 1939. See Alan Bennett, Untold Stories (New York: Picador, 2007), pp. 416417. For the apparent popularity of Eu ropean and Hollywood
movies that were allowed to be shown in Hong Kong during the Japa nese occupation, see Yau Shuk Tings well-researched and informative Honkon Nihon eiga
kryshiAjia eiga nettowku no rtsu o saguru (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai,
2007), p. 38.
17. According to one report, from the fall of Shanghai into Japanese hands in
November 1937 until August 1945, only three Western fi lms were screened there
(with Esther Williams, Tyrone Power, and Jane Russell, respectively, in the leading
roles). Those fi lms were apparently shown over and over again to the point where the
reporter became tired of them. See Chen Cunren, Kangzhan shidai shenghuoshi (Guilin: Guangsi Shifan Daxue Chubanshe, 2007), p. 259.
18. Interview with Li Xianglan in Lu Ping, Li Xianglan de gechang shiye he
lianai, p. 545. It is revealing that here Yamaguchi was performing a delicate balancing act by self-consciously taking on a Chinese identity, while continuing to comply
with the wishes of her Japanese political handlers by concealing her own Japanese
nationality. For a discussion of Yamaguchis self-representations, also see Stephenson,
Her Traces Are Found Everywhere, p. 235.
19. For details about this press conference, see chapter 12 of Yamaguchis autobiography.
20. According to chapter 12 of Yamaguchis autobiography, Maneis Director Amakasu committed suicide on August 20, 1945, nine months after Yamaguchi
had discontinued her Manei contract, thereby putting the time of her dissociation
from the studio to be November 1944. Her interview with Lu Ping was published in
October 1944.
21. Kawakita Nagamasa (19031981), fi lm producer, foreign film importer to
Japan through Twa Trading Company he founded in 1928, and a prominent figure
in international film circles with a particularly distinguished reputation in Asia and
Europe. In wartime China, he served as Executive Director (Zhuanwu Dongshi) of
China Film Company (Zhonghua Dianying) and was especially remembered for his
professional collaboration and personal friendship with the Chinese fi lm producer
and director Zhang Shankun (19071957). In occupied Shanghai, the two men worked
closely to avert, as much as possible and with some success, the interference of the
Japanese military in Shanghais fi lmmaking industry. He was also instrumental in
protecting Yamaguchi from repercussions arising from her treason charges and
house arrest in the wars aftermath. In the postwar era, Tokyos Kawakita Memorial
Film Library and the Kawakita Prize have been established in his honor. In April 2010,
his former Kamakura residence was turned into the Kamakura City Kawakita Film
Memorial Hall (Kamakura-shi Kawakita Eiga Kinenkan). On Kawakitas involve-

Notes to Pages xxvxxvi

297

ment with Chinese fi lmmakers after 1939 and rumors of Japanese attempts at his assassination, see chapter 12 of Yamaguchis autobiography.
22. See chapter 11 of her autobiography. Japanese intelligence agents from Harbin apparently also tailed many among the film staff, including the director Shimazu
Yasujir and the fi lm critic and producer Iwasaki Akira.
23. She likened her experience making fi lms in Tokyo to being imprisoned,
while she felt most free in Shanghai, like the free-flowing Huangpu River. See Lu
Ping, Li Xianglan de gechang shiye he lianai, p. 545.
24. For example, in her autobiography and in her newspaper article Kizutsuketa kokoro iyasu doryoku o, Chnichi Shimbun, August 14, 2005.
25. Incidentally, both Yamaguchi and Hara were born in the year 1920. For an
interesting comparison of their careers, see Yomota Inuhiko, Ri Kran to Hara Setsuko (Tokyo: Iwanami Gendai Bunko, 2011), and Yamaguchi Takeshi, Aish no Mansh
eiga: Manshkoku ni saita katsudya-tachi no sekai (Tokyo: Santen Shob), pp. 5051.
26. The dramatic life history and personal struggles of Yamaguchi have understandably made her a tempting candidate for some intriguing international comparisons. Yomota Inuhiko has compared her enticing voice as a frontline entertainer to
that of Marlene Dietrich, her courage in having lived through a tumultuous postwar
Tokyo to the experiences of Maria Braun of Rainer Werner Fassbinders 1979 Die Ehe
der Maria Braun fame, and her ever-sparkling energies as she aged to those of Leni
Riefenstahl. See his article in Chinese Zhanlingdi de nuer: Li Xanglan xiaolun in
Li Xianglan/Yoshiko Yamaguchi Special, p. 15.
27. They included films made by Manei, the ones produced by such Japanese
studios as Th and Shchiku, and joint ventures between them. Her fi lms also included other joint productions between Japanese studios and China Film Company
(Zhonghua Dianying), the Taiwan Governors Office, and independent films made by
the Korean Army Press Division. She continued to play leading female roles in more
than twenty postwar fi lms with studios that included Th (with fi lms such as
Shanhai no onna and Sengoku burai, 1952), Shchiku (Shbun, 1950), Shin-Th
(Akatsuki no dass, 1950), the Shaw Brothers in Hong Kong, as well as U.S. studios
such as Twentieth Century Fox.
28. Later in her war time career, during 19431945, she also received significant
support from other major figures prominent within the Sino-Japanese fi lm industry
such as Kawakita Nagamasa and Zhang Shankun.
29. The most comprehensive study of Manei and its history remains Hu Chang
and Gu Quan, Manying: Guoce dianying mianmianguan (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju,
1990), published as a volume in the series Dongbei lunxian shisinian shi congshu. A Japanese translation with additional useful annotations is provided by Yokochi Takeshi and
Aida Fusako, trans., Manei: Kokusaku eiga no shos (Tokyo: Pandora, 1999); there, a
detailed description of the agencys founding can be found on pp. 2236. Additional
reference works include Sat Tadao, Kinema to hsei (Tokyo: Riburopto, 1985), Mansh
Eiga Kykai in Sens to Nihon eiga, Kza Nihon eiga 4 (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1986),
and Yamaguchi Takeshi, Maboroshi no kinem Manei (Tokyo: Heibonsha, 1989).

298

Notes to Pages xxvixxvii

30. According to Taidong Ribao, dated December 4, 1936, quoted in Yokochi

and Aida, Manei, p. 31.
31. See Yokochi and Aida, Manei, pp. 198204. In November 1944, among
1,858 Manei employees, the distribution was 57.9% Japanese, 38.3% Chinese, 2.8%
Korean, and 1% Taiwanese.
32. See Yamaguchi Yoshiko, Ri Kran, p. 185. For a semi-autobiographical account of Iwasakis prewar career, see his fascinating Nihon eiga shishi (Tokyo: Asahi
Shimbunsha, 1977).
33. See Yokochi and Aida, Manei, p. 279.
34. According to recently disclosed sources from the Xinjing Higher Police, an
investigative unit called Bungei Teisatsu-bu was created within the capital police establishment in 1942 to scrutinize activities of Manchurian artists, with Manei as one
of its major targets. See Yokochi and Aida, Manei, p. 280.
35. For the organization and structure of Manei, see Yamaguchi Takeshi,
Kanojo wa hont ni Manei no joy datta no ka? in Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni
yureta seishun, pp. 140141. For detailed lists of participants involved in the deliberations on and the founding of Manei, see Yokochi and Aida, Manei, pp. 2230.
36. For details on the alleged murders by Amakasu and the controversy surrounding his role, see chapter 6 and my notes.
37. Quoted in Yokochi and Aida, Manei, p. 37. The translation is by Isolde
Standish, A New History of Japanese Cinema: A Century of Narrative Film (New York:
Continuum, 2006), pp. 121122. Based on its mission statements, Hu Chang and Gu
Quan conclude that Manei was a political instrument of Japanese imperialism to promote colonialism through the enslavement of [the film industry] and the Chinese people. Trans. by Yokochi and Aida, Manei, p. 38. Manei was the only film studio allowed
to operate in Manchuria. In a piece published in March 1943, Amakasu also indicated that Manei films were largely aimed at the uncultured masses. . . . We must
treat and educate them like children, and explain things gradually in plain language to
them. Quoted in Ueno Toshiya, The Other and the Machine, in The Japan/America
Film Wars: World War II Propaganda and Its Cultural Contexts, ed. Ab Mark Nornes
and Fukushima Yukio (Langhorne, PA: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1994), p. 85.
38. Out of all the films Yamaguchi made during the war, five were exclusive
Manei productions.
39. See Yokochi and Aida, Manei, p. 198, and Yingjin Zhang, Chinese National
Cinema (New York: Routledge, 2004), p. 84.
40. The stories of such former Manei employees and their postwar contributions were partially recorded in the television program Chgoku eiga o sasaeta Nihonjin: Manei eiga-jin himerareta sengo (NHK ETV Tokush, broadcasted on June
10, 2006). See also Yokochi and Aida, Manei, pp. 254259. Among the notable contributors of such efforts was Kishi Fumiko, the fi lm editor of The Bridge (Qiao, 1949),
the first feature-length film produced in postwar China, along with the film version
of the classic revolutionary opera White-Haired Girl (Baimao-nu, 1950) and others. She
remained in China until April 1953.

Notes to Pages xxviiixxix

299

41. Quoted by Yamaguchi Yoshiko and Fujiwara Sakuya, Ri Kran: Watashi no

hansei, p. 134. The Manei advertisement went on to say, So what we have is truly a
representative knyan [Japanese rendering of the Chinese expression guniang, a
maiden] from an Asia on the rise (ka), a woman who speaks the three languages of
Japanese, Manchurian, and Chinese with remarkable dexterity. While her musical talents have long been recognized along with her beauty, as it so happens, her singing
broadcasted on Fengtian radio stations instantly produced impassioned acclaim like a
whirlwind across the land of Manchuria. Promptly invited to join the Manchurian
Film Association, she soon made her glorious debut as an actress. Bursting upon the
scene like a comet across the sky, it is truly beyond imagination to fathom the degree to
which her striking brilliance has enhanced the developing state of Manchurian films!
42. The noted Japanese fi lm critic Sat Tadao, born in 1930, reminisced that
during his own early teen years he had no doubt that she [Yamaguchi] was Chinese. See Li Xianglan and Yoshiko Yamaguchi, Li Xianglan/Yoshiko Yamaguchi
Special, p. 5. Yamaguchi in her autobiography also recorded the surprise some Japanese experienced upon learning her Japanese nationality after the war.
43. For details, see chapter 12 of Yamaguchis autobiography. Accordingly, the
actress and Yamaguchis coactor in Glory to Eternity, Chen Yunchang, suspected that
Yamaguchi might be Japanese based on the latters cinematic roles in the past. Another actor who might have known the secret was Wang Yin, who played a reformed
opium addict and later her love interest in the fi lm.
44. See Stephenson, Her Traces Are Found Everywhere, p. 235.
45. Yamaguchis autobiography suggests that the action of the Asahi Shimbun might have been motivated by spite due to damages done to the companys vehicles amidst the chaos associated with her Nichigeki per formances on February 11,
1941. For details, see chapter 8. Before its interview with Yamaguchi, Tokyos Miyako
Shimbun had reported on her Japanese identityalbeit misidentifying her Japanese
name and her birth placein a small human interest column, though the piece
apparently did not arouse much attention. Shimizu Akira in his Shanhai sokai eiga
shishi (Tokyo: Shinchsha, 1995) suggests that other newspapers simply obediently
ignored the news [italics mine], as also noted by Shelley Stephenson, A Star by Any
Other Name: The (After) Lives of Li Xianglan, Quarterly Review of Film and Video 19
(2002): 6. Indeed, according to the Yamaguchi autobiography, the Fukuoka Nichinichi Shimbun had also reported her identity as a China-born Japanese a year before.
For details, see chapter 9.
46. This point has been made by Yomota Inuhiko in Ri Kran to Hara Setsuko,
p. 134.
47. The dramatic story is narrated in chapter 14 of Yamaguchis autobiography.
48. She attempted to jumpstart her postwar career by appearing in such early
postwar musicals as My Old Kentucky Home, in Hijikata Yoshis adaptation of Tolstoys Resurrection in 1947, and in the Popular Art Troupes adaptation of Shimazaki
Tsons Broken Commandment (Hakai). For details, see the Addendum to her autobiography entitled The PostLi Xianglan Years.

300

Notes to Pages xxixxxx

49. Based on Tamura Taijirs novel Shunpuden. The film historian Yau Shuk
Ting has paid special attention to this Shin-Th film, not only because it was the first
Japanese production to attempt to break into the Southeast Asian market, but also on
account of its pro-Chinese and antiwar elements. She also notes that, along with
Imai Tadashis Until We Meet Again (Mata au hi made, 1950) and Sekigawa Hideos
Listen to the Voice of the Sea God (Kike wadatsumi no koe, 1950), Escape at Dawn has
been regarded as one of the first antiwar Japanese fi lms in the postwar period. See
Yau, Honkon Nihon eiga kryshi, p. 143. In this connection, one must not forget the
Th fi lm War and Peace (Sens to heiwa) codirected by Yamamoto Satsuo and
Kamei Fumio in 1947.
50. See Yau, Honkon Nihon eiga kryshi, pp. 140141. She reports that merely
publicizing the fact that Li starred in such fi lms as Shooting Star (Nagareboshi, 1949)
and Homecoming (Kikoku, 1949) was enough to cause a stir in Taiwan, and that the
theme songs she sang immediately swept over Taipei.
51. Among her fi lms made in the United States were Japanese War Bride (1952),
a King Vidor production set in rural Salinas, California, with Don Taylor playing the
lead role, as well as House of Bamboo (1955), directed by Samuel Fuller, with Robert
Ryan, Robert Stack, and Cameron Mitchell. A study of Japanese identity reconstruction as revealed in such Hollywood productions can be found in Yoshioka Aiko,
Kykaisenj no aidentiti joy Shirley Yamaguchi/Yamaguchi Yoshiko: Taisha o
meguru gensetsu to shutai no ksa, Hikaku bungaku kenky 73 (August 2006): 79
84. An advertisement for House of Bamboo proclaimed that the story is about how
the U.S. MPCI and the Japanese Security Police used a Kimono girl to smash the
Tokyo Underworld! She also appeared in such Broadway musicals as Marco Polo
and befriended such figures as Yul Brynner, Marlene Dietrich, Charlie Chaplin, and
James Dean. For details, see the Addendum to her autobiography.
52. Her experiences in the United States are recorded in some detail in her
autobiographys Addendum.
53. Following the translation of David Tod Roy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993).
54. The theme song from A Night of Romantic Love, composed by the very talented Yao Min (19171967).
55. The publicity material dated January 1957 from the Shaw Brothers described Yamaguchi as mysterious as the fog. Is her real name Yamaguchi Yoshiko or
Li Xianglan [Lei Heung-lan]? Is she Japanese or Chinese? See Yau, Honkon Nihon eiga
kryshi, p. 144.
56. Her interview with Shigenobu was rewarded in 1973 with the Grand Prize
for Individual Accomplishment on Television.
57. Tanaka reportedly revealed that he had been a Yamaguchi fan since he was
a young man. See Yamaguchis interview with Iwami Takao, Yaritakatta no wa seiji
to jnarizumu no aida mitai-na shigoto deshita, in Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni
yureta seishun, p. 147.

Notes to Pages xxxxxxi

301

58. Given Yamaguchis generally liberal-leaning views and her consistent critique of Japanese imperialism in China after World War II, it came as something of a
surprise that she should have chosen to run on a Liberal Democratic ticket for the
Japanese Upper House. Naturally, the liberals were more disappointed than conservatives by her decision, as illustrated by the comments from Iwasaki Akira, the producer of her former Manei fi lms My Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu) and Winter
Jasmine (Geishunka) in the early 1940s. To his sentiment that it would be nice if you
could run on a socialist if not a communist ticket, Yamaguchi reportedly responded,
Oh, sir, you mean there is a difference between the Liberal Democratic Party and
the Socialist Party? See Yomota Inuhiko, Ri Kran to Hara Setsuko, p. 300. Her political roles in the Diet also included Political Affairs Secretary of the Agency for the
Environment, Director of the Japan-Algeria Association, President of the JapanMyanmar Association, Chair of the Committee for Okinawa Growth, and Chair of
the Special Committee for Policies toward the Elderly. See Fujiwara Sakuya, Ri Kran:
Ruten no hansei, in Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni yureta seishun, p. 112.
59. Among her collaborators in this effort were such prominent intellectual
figures as Tsurumi Shunsuke and Wada Haruki. See Asian Womens Fund News, December 20, 2001, for her interview Nijisseiki no ima wakai hitobito ni tsutaetai koto
with numa Yasuaki. See also Tamura Shizue, Ri Kran no koibito: Kinema to sens
(Tokyo: Chikuma Shob, 2007), pp. 1920.
60. For example, see her interviews with Tanaka Hiroshi, Utsumi Aiko, and
numa Yasuaki, Sekai (September 2003): 171175 and with Tanikawa Takeshi and Kawasaki Kenko on February 8, 2007, Interijiensu 8 (2007): 7493.
61. Yamaguchi Yoshiko, Kizutsuketa kokoro iyasu doryoku o. She writes,
One must not refurbish history for the sake of his own self-satisfaction while closing
his eyes to the acts of his own country as a victimizer. Had Japan truly looked upon
China as an equal, she argues, the Japanese would not have created the puppet state
of Manchukuo or discriminated against the Chinese.
62. Tanikawa and Kawasakis interview with Yamaguchi, Interijiensu, pp.
7879. See also Tanikawa Takeshi, Ri Kran shinwa no saiseisan to jizokusei, in
Ekkysuru popur karuch, ed. Tanikwa Takeshi, Wong Heung-wah, and Wu Yongmei (Tokyo: Seikysha, 2009), p. 27.
63. Based on his and Kawasaki Kenkos interview with Yamaguchi in Interijiensu 8 (2007), Tanikawa Takeshi contends that Yamaguchi at the time had absolutely no self-awareness (mattaku mujikaku da) about the propagandistic nature of
her role as a Manei star at the beginning of her career. He also wonders whether that
lack of self-awareness applied only to the time when she was being scouted by Manei.
See Tanikawa, Wong, and Wu, Ekkysuru popur karuch, p. 29 and pp. 2631.
64. See Okabe Makio, Manshkoku (Tokyo: Kdansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 2007),
pp. 914. The mechanism of transplanting agrarian pioneers (kaitakumin) from destitute Japanese villages to this new continental haven was in many instances the result of harsh takeover of existing local farmland and the exploitation of indigenous

302

Notes to Pages xxxiixxxiv

farm labor. The subject is discussed by Okabe on pp. 221236. Kawamura Minatos
informative Iky no shwa bungaku: Mansh to kindai Nihon (Tokyo: Iwanami Shinsho, 1990), pp. 2860, also depicts this phenomenon from a literary angle by engaging a body of so-called kaitaku bungaku based on Japans pioneering experience in
Manchuria.
65. See a discussion of the novel in Kawamura Minato, Iky no shwa bungaku,
pp. 100105. For an informative discussion of the conditions of literary production in
Manchuria, see Ozaki Hotsuki, Kindai bungaku no shkon: Kyshokuminchi bungaku
ron (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1991), pp. 211294.
66. See Yasuda Yojr, Meiji no seishin, collected in Taikan shijin no goichininsha (1941), and quoted in Oketani Hideaki, Yasuda Yojr (Tokyo: Kdansha Gakujutsu Bunko, 1997), pp. 102103. In Yasudas view, major figures in modern Japanese
literary culture including Yosano Tekkan, Masaoka Shiki, Takayama Chogy, Mori
gai, and Natsume Sseki were all deficient in achieving that feat. Along with Kamei
Katsuichir, Yasuda Yojr was one of the leaders of early Shwas Japan Romantic
School (Nihon Rman-ha). His characteristically impassioned rhetorical style including his use of diction particularly appealed to young contemporary readers.
67. Quoted in Alan Tansman, The Aesthetics of Japanese Fascism (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 2009), p. 100.
68. See Tansman, Aesthetics, p. 100.
69. Quoted in Izu Toshihiko, Nihon rman-ha to sens josh: Yasuda Yojr
o chshin ni in Nihon rman-ha to wa nani ka, Kokubungaku: Kaishaku to kansh
(January 1979): 7677.
70. Tsumura wrote in his Eigasen (Tokyo: Asahi Shimbunsha, 1944): . . . every
war film must have some sort of philosophy (ideology). . . . [W]e must clarify, through
fi lm, the way of thinking of the Japanese people who are pressing on in their crusade
for the construction of a Greater East Asia (quoted in Ueno Toshiya, The Other and
the Machine, p. 73).
71. According to Yamaguchis autobiography, the reason for its negative reception by the Japa nese authorities was apparently based on the Kwantung Armys
assessment that the fi lm had neither enlightenment nor entertainment value for the
people of Manchuria and that it did not follow the directions of Japans national
policy. From Ths perspective, the high probability for the fi lm to fail censorship
criteria also dampened its interest to push for its public release. For details, see
chapter 11 of her autobiography.
72. See Sat Tadao, Shinnichi-ha Chgokujin josei o shinjite-ita Nihonjin in
Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni yureta seishun, p. 137. As far as the music goes, Sat
thinks that it was the best fi lm Yamaguchi has made. On details about the cast, the
fi lming, and the cultural context for the production of My Nightingale, see chapter 11
of Yamaguchis autobiography.
73. For details, see Ri Kran no eiga ga hmu-shiata de yomigaeru, in Ri
Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni yureta seishun, p. 66. The discovered version was an eightyminute fi lm, whereas the original was a two-hour production. For the discoveries of

Notes to Pages xxxivxxxv

303

Manei fi lms in Russia after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the whereabouts of
other Manei fi lms, see Yamaguchi Takeshi, Aish no Mansh eiga, pp. 1745. Another notable Manei production that was never publicly screened was the semidocumentary The Yellow River (Huanghe, 1942), directed by Zhou Xiaobo and
fi lmed on location in the war zone of Liuyuankou in the suburbs of Kaifeng, Henan
Province, with the assistance of the Japanese army and forces from Wang Jingweis
collaborationist government. For a discussion of the fi lm, see Yokochi and Aida,
Manei, pp. 106108. For details about the shooting and the reasons for its fateful outcome, see chapter 11 of Yamaguchis autobiography.
74. The genre began with Song of the White Orchid, which Yamaguchi and
Fujiwara Sakuya describe as a melodramatic representation of Japans dream of
continental expansion in the form of a sweet romance (Ri Kran, Watashi no hansei, p. 136).
75. The Japa nese title of the popu lar Th fi lm was renamed Shanhai no yoru
when it was shown within China. The abridged 2003 video version released in
Japan by Kinema Kurabu, some thirty minutes shorter than the original, was
clumsily called Sosh yakyoku Shina no yoru yori, not to be confused with Sosh
no yoru (1941) in which Yamaguchi starred with Sano Shji. That is the version I
saw and on which I base my discussion here. True, Shanghai provided the urban
backdrop to the dramatic romantic encounter, but the ensuing rural scenes were
largely fi lmed on location in Suzhou, a city about 120 kilometers away, with its old
waterways, willow trees, bridges, and riverboats. Yamaguchis autobiography reports that even though the fi lm was screened in Shanghais Japa nese quarters of
Hongkuo, the more prestigious theaters in other parts of the city never showed the
fi lm. Accordingly, none of the works comprising the continental trilogy was in fact
screened at Jiansi Districts Roxy Theater (Dahua), the only Shanghai cinema exclusively screening Japa nese fi lms. Sat Tadao, on the other hand, reports that
China Nights was a big hit in Japan, and it was also the most popu lar Japa nese fi lm
to run at Shanghais Dahua theater [sic] during the Japa nese occupation. The fi lm
was shown three times a day for 13 days, and around 23,151 people came to see it
during that time, an average of 1,780 people per day. See his Li Xianglan and Yoshiko
Yamaguchi, p. 6.
76. The two most famous entries are Shina no yoru, the theme song, and
Sosh yakyoku, both sung by Yamaguchi in the fi lm.
77. This is underscored by a close-up shot of an evil-looking agent among a
group of mysterious operatives, later revealed to be members of the Chinese resistance who are threatening the trapped Hase. The guerillas ambushing Hases riverboat, brave fighters at least from the Chinese perspective, are shot largely from a long
distance camera, thereby effectively neutralizing any meaningful suggestions of individual personality and personal heroism.
78. Tellingly, there was no attempt to authenticate her name according to its
proper Chinese pronunciation. Perhaps the thought itself never even occurred to China
Nights Japanese fi lmmakers.

304

Notes to Pages xxxvxxxviii

79. Yomota Inuhiko suggests that the Japanese rival has no choice but to leave
the competition to allow the high principle of a Sino-Japanese union to prevail. See
his Ri Kran to Hara Setsuko, p. 126.
80. One of them, played without much distinction by Fujiwara Kamatari, has
been identified as Hases brother (shatei, see Yomota Inuhiko, Ri Kran to Hara
Setsuko, p. 120), although it is also possible to interpret him as a sort of junior member among Hases close associates.
81. Needless to say, much has changed in postwar Japans cinematic depiction
of the Chinese other. Far from single-mindedly caricaturing the Chinese with imperial disdain, the portraits of Chinese soldiers and officers in, say, Taniguchi Senkichis
postwar Akatsuki no dass (1950, screenplay by Taniguchi and Kurosawa Akira and
starring Yamaguchi and Ikebe Ry) represent a most dramatic turnabout. Those
Chinese taking care of Private First Class Mikami appear completely professional,
compassionate, and ready to enlighten. In stark contrast, most of the Japanese soldiers in Mikamis unit are painted in a negative light.
82. Although the character played by Fujiwara Kamatari earlier notices that Guilan
is secretly trying to listen in to the conversations of the Japanese, there is no further
development in the narrativeat least based on the film version I sawthat suggests
that Guilan in fact knows any Japanese or has had any prior training in the language.
83. Those peculiarly comical effects were the result of Japanese actors Shiomi
Hiroshi and Komine Chiyoko playing the roles of Guilans uncle and her housemaid,
respectively.
84. On the eight-year history of the Japa nese occupation of Shanghai from
late 1937 to August 1945, see Chen Cunrens intimate memoirs Kangzhan shidai
shenghuoshi.
85. Tanikawa Takeshi, Ri Kran shinwa no saiseisan to jizokusei, p. 14.
86. Peter B. High, The Imperial Screen: Japanese Film Culture in the Fifteen
Years War 19311945 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), pp. 278279.
87. Kimura Chiio, Nihon eiga sh, Kinema Junp (July 1, 1940): 24. See
ja.wikipedia.orgs entry on Shina no yoru.
88. See Harald Salomon, National Policy Films (kokusaku eiga) and Their
Audiences: New Development in Research on Wartime Japanese Cinema, Japonica
Humboldtiana 8 (2004): 168. See also Naomi Ginoza, Dissonance to Affi nity: An
Ideological Analysis of Japanese Cinema in the 1930s (Ph.D. Dissertation, UCLA,
2007), pp. 4849. Both studies discuss Furukawas argument as contained in his
Senjika no Nihon eiga: Hitobito wa kokusaku eiga o mita ka (Tokyo: Yoshikawa
Kbunkan, 2003).
89. See, for example, Naomi Ginoza, Dissonace to Affi nity, pp. 4849.
90. A view attributed to Tokyo University fi lm historian Karima Fumitoshi,
according to Yau Shuk Ting in a communication to me, dated March 14, 2013.
91. I wish to thank Sheldon Garon for making this suggestion to me in December 2012.
92. See chapter 7 of Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, p. 155.

Notes to Pages xxxixxli

305

93. Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, pp. 155156.

94. See Zadankai, Nihon no tairiku eiga o Chgoku bunkajin wa d miru and
Hazumi Tsuneo, Dai Ta eiga kensetsu no yume to genjitsu, in Eiga hyron (February 1942): 78 and 49, as discussed by Yau, Honkon Nihon eiga kryshi, pp. 9899.
95. See Sat Tadao, ed. Nihon no eigajin: Nihon eiga no szsha-tachi (Tokyo:
Nichigai Asoshietsu, 2007), p. 134. Conceived as a self-sustaining rural utopia and a
physical extension of the goodness in the human spirit, the new village movement was
first organized in Miyazaki Prefecture in southern Kyushu in 1918 before it was finally
relocated to Saitama Prefecture after World War II. Denouncing wars between nations and struggles between classes, the communal rural organization was infused
with an idealist spirit with aspirations toward individual self-actualization. Among its
foreign admirers were the Chinese writer Zhou Zuoren, and through him, such prominent leaders as Zhou Enlai and Mao Zedong. See Christopher T. Keaveney, Beyond
Brushtalk: Sino-Japanese Literary Exchange in the Interwar Period (Hong Kong: Hong
Kong University Press, 2008), pp. 8794. On the other hand, many Japanese commentators and thinkers including Kat Kazuo, Yamakawa Hitoshi, sugi Sakae, Sakai
Toshihiko, and Kawakami Hajime were critical of Mushanokjis efforts and his unrealistic idealism. See, for example, tsuyama Kunio, Atarashiki-mura no hanky,
Bungaku (October 1974). For details on the subject, see Kindai sakka kenky jiten
kankkai (ed.), Kindai sakka kenky jiten (Tokyo: fsha, 1985), pp. 394398.
96. One of the most useful discussions on the philosophy of the White Birch
School writers remains Honda Shgos classic Shirakaba-ha no bungaku (Tokyo:
Shinch Bunko, 1972). See particularly the chapters entitled Shirakaba-ha no bungaku and Shirakaba to jindshugi, pp. 37154.
97. That was Yamamoto Satsuos opinion as stated in his postwar autobiography Watakushi no eiga jinsei (Tokyo: Shin Nihon Shuppansha, 1984), p. 84, even
though Peter B. High comments that Yamamotos statement tells us more about the
shame and embarrassment he experienced postwar at having collaborated with the
war time regime (The Imperial Screen, p. 377). For a discussion of Yamamotos two
national policy fi lms Tsubasa no gaika (1942, with Kurosawa Akira as the scriptwriter) and Nepp (1943), see High, The Imperial Screen, pp. 377381 and pp. 414416,
respectively, as well as pp. 439442 on Imai Tadashis national policy fi lm Br no
kesshitai (1943). On Kameis wartime documentary Tatakau heitai (1939), see Ab
Mark Nornes, Japanese Documentary Film: The Meiji Era through Hiroshima (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2003) and Donald Richie, A Hundred Years
of Japanese Film (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 2005), pp. 103104.
98. Oguni was particularly known for his screenplays written in collaboration
with the famed Kurosawa team from the early 1950s to the mid-1980s. They include
some of the most distinguished Japanese fi lms ever made: Ikiru (1952), Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai, 1954), Yjimb (1961), High and Low (Tenkoku to jigoku, 1962),
Red Beard (Akahige, 1965), and Ran (1985). Notably, the Writers Guild of America, West
(WGAW) has named the four as honorees of its 2013 Jean Renoir Award for Screenwriting Achievement.

306

Notes to Pages xlixlv

99. See Salomon, National Policy Films (kokusaku eiga) and Their Audiences,
p. 168. For a report on the at-once chilling and tragicomic realities of intelligence
surveillance on literary production and other publications in Japan in 19401941, see
Takami Juns Shwa bungaku seisuishi (Tokyo: Bunshun Bunko, 1987), pp. 524528.
100. See Yamamoto Satsuo, Watakushi no eiga jinsei, pp. 8384.
101. High, The Imperial Screen, p. 271.
102. High, The Imperial Screen, pp. 271272. Used during the Bakumatsu and
the early Meiji period, the term originated from a reference to sheep (rashamen) purportedly kept by Western sailors as sex objects during their long journeys at sea.
103. Quoted in High, The Imperial Screen, pp. 271272.
104. See her China Nights [Japan, 1940]: The Sustaining Romance of Japan at
War, in World War II, Film, and History, ed. John W. Chambers and David Culbert
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), pp. 3637.
105. See Wang, Between the National and the Transnational, p. 7.
106. Sat Tadao, Kinema to hsei (Tokyo: Riburopto, 1985), quoted in Yamaguchi Yoshiko and Fujiwara Sakuya, Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, p. 140.
107. See Yau, Honkon Nihon eiga kryshi, pp. 141142, n. 105.
108. Produced by Iwasaki Akira and directed by Sasaki K; the latter had worked
as an assistant director for Ozu Yasujir. The postwar version made available in DVD
format as part of the Manei-sakuhin: Eiga-hen series and released through
Kamutekku Company comes with some Chinese subtitles. When the dialogue is in
Chinese, Japanese subtitles appear intermittently as a ser vice to Japanese viewers.
Yamaguchi sings the theme song Geishunka (composed by Koga Masao with lyrics
by Saij Yaso), while Kirishima Noboru performs Wakare-dori with lyrics by Sat
Hachir.
109. His historical chronology was inaccurate. Speaking presumably from his
vantage point in the early 1940s, the careers of the Japanese painters dated about
three to three-and-a-half centuries earlier, not five hundred years ago.
110. See Sat Tadao, Shinnichi-ha Chgokujin josei o shinjite-ita Nihonjin,
p.135. Sat includes in this genre fi lms such as Shimazu Yasujirs Midori no daichi
(1942) and Naruse Mikios Shanhai no tsuki (1941).
111. When Will You Return was subsequently banned in Japan for its allegedly
uninhibited celebration of love at a time of national emergency.
112. Standish, A New History of Japanese Cinema, p. 124.
113. Quoted in Standish, A New History of Japanese Cinema, p. 124.
114. A maiden in Chinese and rendered knyan in Japanese, the expression
unfortunately came to take on overt sexual overtones in war time Japan. The word
still exists in contemporary Japa nese vocabulary and is usually represented in
katakanaas it appears in Iwanami Shotens standard Kjienbut mercifully with
more tempered sexual associations.
115. Meaning something like sexual aura, or erotic air. Miriam Silberberg
has offered an incisive and provocative examination of how ero, a reference to the
Western notion of eroticism, had influenced Japanese popu lar culture in the early

Notes to Pages xlvxlix

307

1930s. See her Erotic Grotesque Nonsense: The Mass Culture of Japanese Modern Times
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), pp. 108121.
116. A Kabuki actor who specializes in female roles.
117. Yamaguchi Yoshiko and Fujiwara Sakuya, Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, pp.
137138.
118. Ikedas view, in Shina-fuku no onna to iu ywakuTeikokushugi to modanizumu, Rekishi kenky 765 (August 2002): 114, is briefly discussed in Yoshioka Aiko,
Ekkysuru joy Ri Kran, p. 107.
119. Peter Duus, Abacus and the Sword: The Japanese Penetration of Korea 1895
1910 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), p. 398. In having to reconcile with
their outward physical similarities, the Japanese attitude toward the Koreans was, according to Duus, more akin to nineteenth-century English attitudes toward the Irish
than toward the Indians.
120. For a discussion of this subject, see Michael K. Bourdaghs, The Dawn that
Never Comes: Shimazaki Tson and Japanese Nationalism (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003).
121. See Takeuchi Minoru, Nipponjin ni totte no Chgokuz (Tokyo: Djidai
Raiburarii, 1992), pp. 152157. Ishikawa story was published in Ch Kron, February
1937, and Hayashis in Ch Kron, 600th temporary ed., 1937. See also a translation of
Ishikawas work by Zeljko Cipris as Soldiers Alive (Honolulu: University of Hawaii
Press, 2003).
122. Out of his brief China trips to Suzhou, Hangzhou, Nanjing, and Manchuria
came such essays as Ksh, Ksh yori Nankin, Sosh, Shina yori kaerite, and
Mansh no insh written between May 1938 and June 1939.
123. See Zeljko Cipris, Responsibility of Intellectuals: Kobayashi Hideo on
Japan at War, Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus, available at http://www.japanfocus
.org/-Zeljko-Cipris/1625.
124. Published in the journal Kaiz, Sens ni tsuite privileged winning wars
over literary pursuits if the latter served no useful function in the ser vice of the former. See Zeljko Cipris, Responsibility of Intellectuals.
125. Quoted from Kobayashi Hideos Mansh no insh in James Dorsey, Critical Aesthetics: Kobayashi Hideo, Modernity, and Wartime Japan (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2009), p. 208.
126. His own words are Shina no minzokusei o atarashii hygen ni sakatta kindai bungaku to iu mono o Shina ga maru de motte inakatta koto ga donna ni omoigakenai shgai to natte arawarete-iru ka ni bokura wa kizuku no da. The revealing use of
the collective pronoun bokura (we) at the end of the sentence implies that his sentiments, at least in Kobayashis mind, were not particularly unique to himself.
127. One cannot help wondering what serious engagements Kobayashi actually
had with Lu Xuns works before his trips to China.
128. Lao She, Mao Dun, Ba Jin, and Tian Han come more immediately to mind,
even if one could not reasonably expect Kobayashis engagements with Duanmu Hongliang, Xiao Hong, and Xiao Jun, all his contemporaries from Northeast China.

308

Notes to Pages xlix8

129. Mansh no insh, quoted in Takeuchi Minoru, Nipponjin ni totte no

Chgokuz, p. 165, and in Dorsey, Critical Aesthetics, p. 208. For four different but all
interesting discussions of Kobayashis travel sketches of China and Manchuria, see
Dorsey, Critical Aesthetics, pp. 196210, Takeuchi Minoru, Nipponjin ni totte no
Chgokuz, pp. 165 66, Zeljko Cipris, Responsibility of Intellectuals, and Kamei
Hideo, Kobayashi Hideo ron (Tokyo: Hanawa Shob, 1983), pp. 277282. On an otherwise more somber occasion, Kobayashi himself realized that the real issue had to do
with the general ignorance about China on the part of the modern Japanese in favor
of Western learning. See his comments on China in a Bungakukai roundtable with
Kishida Kunio, Shimaki Kensaku, Hayashi Fusao, Kawakami Tetsutar, et al., held
in January 1938 and quoted in Kobayashi Hideo Hikkei, Bessatsu Kokubungaku 18 (1983):
185. Naturally, not all Japanese war time writings on China shared Kobayashis supercilious proclivities as manifested in his China essays. Even Hino Ashiheis depictions
of Chinese peasants and the effects of their war-ravaged environment on Japanese combatants in his 1938 bestseller Wheat and Soldiers (Mugi to heitai) exhibit a capacity
for humble reflection on Japanese military presence in China, black humor, and a degree of narrative poignancy. See, for example, Takeuchi Minoru, Nipponjin ni totte
no Chgokuz, pp. 159163.
130. Kobayashi Hideo, in Kobayashi Hideo sh, Gendai bungaku taikei, XXXXII
(Tokyo: Chikuma Shob, 1965), p. 449, quoted in Zeljko Cipris, Responsibility of
Intellectuals.
131. Shimizu Akira, Joy-hen, Nihon eiga haiy zensh (Tokyo: Kinema Jumpsha,
1980), quoted in Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, p. 140.
132. Alan Tansman, The Aesthetics of Japanese Fascism, p. 102.
133. The five races were, according to this schema, Han, Manchurian, Mongolian, Japanese, and Korean.

Chapter 1: My Fushun Years

1. A branch temple of Kyotos Higashi Honganji, the head temple of the
tani Branch of the True Pure Land Sect of Buddhism.
2. The accurate name of Miyajima Daihachis Chinese language academy was
Zenrin Shoin. For a study of other Chinese language texts compiled in the Meiji period and the contents of Miyajimas Kyshhen, see Paul Sinclair, Thomas Wades
Y yen tz rh chi and the Chinese Language Textbooks of Meiji-Era Japan, Asia
Major 16, no. 1 (2003): 147174.
3. Ma Zhanshan (18851950) became Governor and Commander-in-Chief of
Heilongjiang Province in October 1931 and soon acquired wide recognition as a national hero in his war of resistance against the Japanese invaders. Ostensibly brought
by Doihara Kenji to defect to Manchukuo, Ma orga nized the Northeast AntiJapanese National Salvation Army to continue his war of resistance without assistance from Chiang Kai-shek. As Commander of the Northeastern Advance Force after

Notes to Pages 1015

309

the Marco Polo Bridge Incident, Ma cooperated with the Chinese Communist Party
before becoming Chairman of the Provisional Government of Heilongjiang from
August 1940 to the end of the war.
4. For the Pingdingshan Massacre, see Honda Katsuichis report along with
eye witnesses accounts in his Chgoku no tabi (Tokyo: Asahi Shimbunsha, 1981),
pp. 95118, and Rana Mitter, The Manchurian Myth: Nationalism, Resistance, and
Collaboration in Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000),
pp. 112114.
5. The number of casualties has remained a controversy. Honda Katsuichi reports the approximate number of victims as three thousand (Chgoku no tabi, pp. 96
and 111), while Tanabe Toshio, a relative of Kawakami Seiichi, a captain of the Fushun
garrison, gives the number as being between four hundred and eight hundred in his
Tsuiseki Heichsan jiken (Tokyo: Tosho Shuppansha, 1988).
6. Matsuoka Ysuke (18801946) was a strong advocate of the ManchurianMongolian Lifeline (Man-M seimeisen) for Japan in the Diet before transforming
himself into the hero of Geneva for walking out of the General Assembly of the League
of Nations in 1933 in opposition to its censure of Japans imperialist enterprise in Manchukuo. He served as President of Mantetsu from 1935 to 1939 and as Foreign Minister in the Second Konoe Fumimaro cabinet before he was named a Class-A war criminal by the Military Tribunal of the Far East.
7. According to a May 5, 2009, report by Xinhua Net, a letter of apology
signed by twenty-four members of the Japanese Diet was delivered by Aihara Kumiko,
a member of the Upper House, to the survivors of Pingdingshan. According to the same
report, there were twenty to thirty survivors from the massacre at the time, only five
of them were still alive in May 2009, and all were in their late eighties. Three survivors had brought a lawsuit against the Japanese government, only to be rejected by
the Japanese Supreme Court on May 16, 2006.
8. The original text also describes the dagger as having a shirasaya wood
sheath, likely to be unvarnished and presumably to accentuate her sincerity of spirit
at the time of her suicide.

Chapter 2: My Fengtian Years

1. The city name Fengtian reverted to Shenyang after Japans defeat in
1945. As a sub-provincial city, Shenyangs population in 2010 was reported to be 8.1
million, or 18.5 percent of the entire province of Liaoning, making it the ninth largest
among the fifteen sub-provincial class cities in China.
2. The first Qing Emperor Shunzhi moved the capital to Beijing after the demise of the Ming Dynasty in 1644.
3. After the establishment of the Qing Dynasty, a minister of the interior and
other governors with such titles as the General of Liaoning were given the responsibility of maintaining a garrison in Chengjing (the name for present-day Shenyang).

310

Notes to Pages 1620

After 1747, the name of the position was changed to the General of Chengjing before the Fengtian area was administered by the Viceroy of the Northeast Provinces
after 1907.
4. The Ming Tombs are situated fift y kilometers north of Beijing, a site selected by the third Ming Emperor Yongle, who reigned from 1402 to 1424.
5. Li Jichun (1877 ?) joined the army at sixteen or seventeen, became a military officer serving Yuan Shikai, and was promoted to the rank of General in October
1922. While appointed in 1925 as the commander officer of the Ninth Army by
Zhang Zongchang, his failed campaign against Li Jinglin led to his flight to Beijing
and Tianjin. Shortly after the Manchurian Incident, Li actively collaborated with the
Japanese general and master conspirator Doihara Kenji (see Note 9 below) to promote the political autonomy of North China, including launching military operations from his base inside Tianjins Japanese Concession and assisting clandestine
Japanese efforts to move Puyi from Tianjin to Manchuria to be crowned as puppet
emperor. After the establishment of Manchukuo in 1932, Li was made Commanding
Officer of the National Salvation Army (Jiuguojun) and, in January 1933, participated in Japanese military operations around the Great Wall before becoming Head
of Political Affairs of the Joint North Chinas Peoples Autonomous Military Government in May. However, the establishment of the East Hebei Anti-Communist Autonomous Council in November 1935 convinced the Japanese that Li had largely exhausted
his political usefulness. In 1936, he founded the Bank of Shenyang and became its
president. He was executed in Tianjin as a hanjian after the establishment of the
Peoples Republic of China.
6. Presumably, the fi lm Yamaguchi saw as a child in Fengtian was the 1926
production Baishe-chuan produced by Shanghais Tianyi Film Company with Hu
Die in the starring role.
7. The Shaw Brothers (1956).
8. Awaya Noriko (19071999), popular singer and the queen of Japanese blues,
with such hits as Wakare no bursu (discussed in chapter 7), Ame no bursu,
and Kimi wasureji no bursu. Yamaguchis reminiscences of Awaya also appear
inchapter 7.
9. Doihara Kenji (18831948), a general in the Imperial Japa nese Army and
one of the most notorious architects of Japa nese conspiracies leading to the 1931
invasion and subsequent occupation of Manchuria. The intrigues he engineered
and his wide-ranging activities as an intelligence officer under the Kwantung
Army contributed to the effective collapse of sustained Chinese resistance under
Japa nese rule. Reputed to be the mastermind of the Manchurian drug trade and
the behind-the-scenes figure dominating underworld intrigues in China, Doihara
was found guilty at the International Tribunal for the Far East and was hanged in
December 1948.
10. A Japanese military campaign following its invasion of Northeast China in
the early months of 1933. The now defunct province of Rehe was subsequently annexed
to Manchukuo until Japans defeat in 1945.

Notes to Pages 2136

311

11. After Nanjing became the official capital of the Republic of China, in 1928,
the name Beijing was changed to Beiping. After Beiping was occupied by Japanese forces from July 1937, the citys name became Beijing again. Beijings name was
again changed to Beiping with Japans surrender in August 1945, and remained thus
until September 1949, the eve of the establishment of the Peoples Republic of China,
which made Beijing its capital. According to Yamaguchis chronology in Ri Kran o
ikite: Watashi no rirekisho (Tokyo: Nihon Keizai Shimbunsha, 2005), she went to the
city to study in May 1934, when its proper name was Beiping rather than Beijing. To
avoid confusion, however, throughout this translation I follow the original authors
rendition of the citys name instead of strictly following its changing official designations in different periods from 1928 to 1949.
12. The Japanese saying is kawaii ko ni wa tabi o saseyo.
13. A popu lar form of chanting and singing based on n scripts.
14. Chorbungen der Mnchener Musikschule, a work by the composer and
conductor Franz Wllner (18321902).
15. Popu larized in postwar Japan in the 1960s and early 1970s as Akai Sarafan by such singers as Kat Tokiko.
16. Mikhail Ivanovich Glinka (18041857).
17. The hotel, established in 1927 and renamed Liaoning Binguan, is still open
for business today. It is just east of Zhongshan Square, not far from the new Shenyang
Station. Visitors and guests would still be impressed by the classic elegance and atmosphere of the place as they enter into the hotels grand hall on the fi rst floor.
18. Composed in 1901 by Taki Rentar with lyrics by the poet Doi Bansui.
19. Morishige Hisaya (19132009). After an early career as a stage actor and an
announcer for the Fengtian Broadcasting Station, Morishige subsequently appeared
in well over 150 fi lms and in a variety of television programs. He was also well known
as the composer and lyricist for the popu lar Sentimental Journey in Shiretoko
(Shiretoko-ryoj), a sweet melody that Kat Tokiko made into one of her most recognizable signature pieces.
20. Two of the most propagated political slogans used by the Japanese occupiers of Manchuria. The five ethnic races were the Han Chinese, Manchus, Mongolians,
Japanese, and Koreans.
21. Released in 1934, the fi lm enjoyed unprecedented popularity when it was
screened in Shanghai before winning an international award at the Moscow Film Festival in 1935.

Chapter 3: My Beijing Years

1. A wide waistband made of cloth or woolen material, worn to keep warm.
2. Umehara Ryzabur (18881986), a distinguished Western-style painter
known for his vibrant colors and bold lines, and for incorporating the traditional
techniques of yamato-e with the styles of nanga and Ogata Krin. After 1933, he

312

Notes to Pages 3639

made repeated trips to China and Taiwan before producing some of his most beloved
works, including scenes of Beijings Imperial Palace.
3. Traditionally a one-piece garment, the qipao was forced upon the Han
women by the Manchus after the establishment of the Qing Dynasty at the middle of
the seventeenth century. Modern stylistic variations after the turn of the twentieth
century have resulted in very considerable changes in both the design and use of
fabrics.
4. Appeared to have been derived from the Mongolian word hudag, a water
well, or what the Manchus called hucin, the term hutong originated from the Yuan
Dynasty and was referred to, for example, in Guan Hanqings historical play Dandaohui. Measuring at the Yuan Dynasty at roughly 30 feet in width, there were estimated to be 400, 458, and 978, and 6,000 hutongs in the Yuan, early Ming, Qing, and
the Republican periods, respectively. See Yan & Coco, Beijing guangjie ditu (Beijing:
Xinxing Chubanshe, 2006) with photography by Huang Renda, pp. 1012. For a richly
photographed section introducing the Beijing hutong, see pp. 965. See also Yamaguchi/
Fujiwaras description below.
5. Drawing inspirations from Xu Wei, Bada Shanren, and Wu Changshuo, Qi
Baishi (18641957) has often been regarded as one of the most celebrated contemporary Chinese painters, whose water colors exhibit broad artistic temperament, extraordinary range of subject matter, bold colors, subdued humor, and vibrant imagination. A native of Hunan, Qi made Beijing his home after 1919.
6. The expression happyakuya-ch underscores the very large number of
quarters and neighborhoods in Tokugawa Japans capital of Edo before the city was renamed Tokyo in 1868.
7. Shu and Yoshi are written with the same Chinese character.
8. Pan Yugui (18841961). In July 1937 in Beijing, his collaboration with the
Japanese by passing military secrets of the Twenty-Ninth Army was said to have resulted
in the tragic deaths of more than a thousand former university students and young
men who had just been recruited less than a year before. Beyond the positions mentioned in the original text, he also served as head of public security in Beijing. He died
while serving his prison sentence in Shanghai in November 1961. For details, see Ma
Yutong, Pan Yugui jiuju: Hanjian qi pei tan lichang, Tianjinwang Chengshi Kuaibao
(December 24, 2010) available at http://cul.sohu .com /20101224/n278493372.shtml.
9. A reference to Qionghua Island at the center of a large lake in Beihai Park,
formerly an imperial garden constructed in the tenth century and a part of the Forbidden City. The Taimiao was constructed in 1420 for Ming and Qing emperors to
pay homage to their imperial ancestors before it was renamed in 1950 as the Cultural
Palace of the Laboring People of Beijing.
10. In the original text, Yamaguchi/Fujiwara invoke a common Sino-Japanese
saying Sanjaku sagatte shi no kage o fumazu that students were supposed to walk at
an appropriate distance behind their teacher and be mindful not to step on the latters shadow as a sign of paying proper respect.

Notes to Pages 3947

313

11. More popularly referred to simply as Sanmao, the popular comic book
character representing the plight of homeless children during the harsh years of the
Japanese invasion was created by Zhang Leping in 1935 and has remained a staple
cartoon figure in the Chinese popu lar imagination.
12. Dongyang-guizi, literally dev ils from the Eastern Ocean, was a popu lar
term used especially during the war years to refer to the much-hated Japa nese invaders.
13. Dongniang and Xiniang literally mean mother from the east and mother
from the west respectively, references that apparently hint at their relative positions
within the complex family hierarchy.
14. Wang Kemin (18731945) served such positions as President of the Bank of
China and multiple stints as Minister of Finance in the Republican period before becoming President of the Provisional Government of the Republic of China formed in
December 1937 as a Japanese puppet state. Arrested as a traitor after the war ended,
he committed suicide in December 1945.
15. Wu Peifu (18721939) was a prominent Zhili-clique warlord from the late
1910s before his subsequent defeat by the Nationalist forces during the Northern Expedition in 1927. After the outbreak of the Second Sino-Japanese War, Wu refused to
collaborate with the Japanese by leading a puppet government in North China unless
Japanese troops agreed to withdraw from China. He died in 1939, presumably from
blood poisoning.
16. Mai-xiao literally means selling ones smile.
17. The game is referred to in the original text by the Japa nese name Kotorokotoro (snatching this and that child.)
18. Todays Fengyang is a county in Chuzhou City in Anhui Province. The
lyrics of Fengyangge are as follows: Let me speak and tell you about Fengyang.
Originally, Fengyang was a wonderful place. After Zhu Huangdi appeared, famines visited the land as frequently as nine years in a decade. Richer families sold
their cows and horses, while poorer families sold their sons. But I, a humble woman
having no sons to sell, will carry my flower drum and roam the four corners of
theland.
19. I have found no evidence indicating that Zhu Huangdi (literally, the Zhu
Emperor) was a Warring-States period bandit. Rather, it is worth noting that todays
Fengyang County in Anhui Province was the birthplace of Zhu Yuanzhang (1328
1398), the founder of the Ming Dynasty who reigned as the Hongwu Emperor (1368
1398) and was the obvious model for Zhu Huangdi in the popu lar song.
20. Zhu is a common classical allusion to individuals or families with great
wealth, as members of the nobility and the aristocracy used to paint the front gates of
their houses crimson to reveal their special status.
21. Yanan, the famous destination of the Long March and both physically and
symbolically a significant historic site celebrated as the birthplace of the Chinese Communist revolution, is situated in the Shaanbei (northern Shaanxi) area.

314

Notes to Pages 5159

Chapter 4: The Tianjin Encounters

1. Meaning something like Good Old Mr. Wang the Second.
2. One of the oldest neighborhoods in the capital dating back to the Yuan
Dynasty, Wangfujing literally means a well inside a princes residence and has become one of the most famous and fashionable shopping streets in Beijings Dongcheng
district. Apparently, the discovery of a wellanother theory says two wellscontaining
sweet water, a site still remembered at a designated spot in the area, gave rise to the
streets name in the Qing Dynasty. For a brief history and pictures of the area, see
Yan and Coco, Beijing guangjie, pp. 168171.
3. Donglaishuns history can be traced back to as early as 1903, when Ding
Deshan, a Muslim, first peddled noodles with mutton, congee, and a delicacy called
qiegao in a small establishment at the east side of Dongan Market. His increasingly
popu lar shop was named Donglaishun in 1906. Its signature dish, shuayangrou,
was already very famous around the city in the 1930s and 1940s, even though the fall
of Beijing into Japanese hands in 1937 didnt help its business. Its guests over the
years have included Deng Xiaoping, Wan Li, Henry Kissigner, and Tanaka Kakuei.
For a brief introduction and pictures of the restaurant, see Yan and Coco, Beijing
guangjie, p. 146.
4. On Kawashima Yoshiko, or Aisin Gioro Xianyu, her original Manchu
name, or Jin Bihui, her name in Chinese, see the following narrative and chapter 10,
The Two Yoshikos.
5. Also known as the January 28th Incident. The Japanese military instigated
a war between the Republic of China and Japan in Shanghai from January 28 to
March 3, 1932, after anti-Japanese sentiments of Shanghais citizens manifested
themselves in street demonstrations and calls for boycotting Japanese goods. Shanghai
was bombed from the air on January 28th, and three thousand Japanese troops initially attacked the citys various targets before meeting resistance from the Chinese
19th Route Army. In early March, both the 19th Route Army and the 5th Army withdrew from Shanghai in the face of heavy Japanese bombardments. The Shanghai
Ceasefire Agreement was signed on March 5th, allowing Japanese military presence
in the city. The event served as a prelude to Japans invasion and occupation of Shanghai five years later. See Donald A. Jordan, Chinas Trial by Fire: The Shanghai War of
1932 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001).
6. A male actor playing female roles in Kabuki plays, also known as onnagata.
7. Tada Hayao (18821948) served in that role from 1932 to 1934. After his arrest at the end of the war by the Allied forces for alleged war crimes as a Class-A war
criminal, Tada died in prison in December 1948.
8. Ganjuurjab (19031968?), whose Chinese and Japa nese names were Han
Shaoyue and Kawashima Takayoshi, respectively, was the second son of Inner
Mongolian Army General Jengjuurjab, leader of the Mongolian-Manchurian Independence Movement. His marriage with Kawashima Yoshiko lasted from 1927
to 1929.

Notes to Pages 5977

315

9. From Tianjin to Dalian in 1931 in the aftermath of the Manchurian Incident.

10. Wanshou Hill, the Mountain of Longevity at the Summer Palace, is one of
the most celebrated Chinese garden landscapes.
11. The Japanese rendering of Xinjing, the capital of Manchukuo, is Shinky.

Chapter 5: The Birth of Li Xianglan

1. PCL stands for Photo Chemical Laboratories; Tei CMs full name is Tei
Shemu Kabushikigaisha, which was established in October 1969 with Yamanashi as
its first president.
2. The endearing exchange between the newlyweds (Anata!/Nandai?) has
been immortalized in the ever-popular Koga Masao song Futari wa wakai mentioned
later in this chapter.
3. A tsubo is 3.954 square yards.
4. For a brief discussion of the fi lm, see Donald Richie, A Hundred Years of
Japanese Film (Tokyo: Kodansha International, 2005), p. 34.
5. The fitting expression used here is kakka sy, a Japanese rendering of the
original Chinese saying Gexue saoyang.
6. Instructor Kond in Chinese pronunciation.
7. Ishii Baku (18861962) was often regarded as the father of modern Japanese dance. A student of ballet under the Italian choreographer and stage director
Giovanni Vittorio Rosi and an advocate of the pure dance movement, he joined the
New Theater founded by the renowned composer Yamada Ksaku and the dramatist
Osanai Kaoru. After an extended sojourn in Europe and the United States, he founded
the Ishii Baku Dance Research Institute and the Ishii Baku Dance School in Tokyo.
Among his many works, the most renowned was Yomigaeru shinsekai published in
1933.
8. Built in honor of Dr. Henry Norman Bethune (18901939), a Canadian
physician who joined the Chinese Communist Party after traveling to Yanan in 1938
to offer his medical expertise and ser vices to the Chinese Communists in their struggle against the Japanese invaders.
9. Qiguanyan means something like having to live under the authoritarian
control of ones wife.
10. Also known as rkyoku, chongare-bushi, or ukare-bushi, naniwa-bushi is a
popular genre of narrative singing by a solo performer with the accompaniment of
shamisen. It originated in the Osaka region during the Edo period before achieving
greater popularity after Meiji. The art form continued to gain public appeal until it
declined in the aftermath of World War II.
11. The Liu-Chang act was described colorfully in Japanese as a dekoboko
combi, something like an asymmetrical duo.
12. The classic fi lm from postwar Chinese cinema famously depicts Chinese
resistance against the Japanese during the occupation of Manchuria, with a main

316

Notes to Pages 7883

cast consisting of Zhang Ruifang, Pu Ke, Zhu Wenshun, and Fang Hua. It was also
the name of a much celebrated war time song composed by Zhang Hanhui in 1936.
13. The Chinese name of the fi lm is Bailan zhi ge.
14. Tamura Taijir (19111983) was best known for his Nikutai no mon (1947),
a bold study of existentialist contradictions and brutal survival among a group of
prostitutes in a burnt-out ghetto of postwar Tokyo, a work that Suzuki Seijun turned
into a 1964 fi lm. Yamaguchis postwar fi lm Akatsuki no dass (1950, directed by
Taniguchi Senkichi) was based on Tamuras 1947 Shunpuden and represented a dramatically different direction from her other works in the so-called continental trilogy. Tamura was conscripted into the army in 1940 and fought in China before his
return to Japan in early 1946, an experience that decisively shaped his postwar literary vision. An account of his brief wartime interactions with Yamaguchi can be found
in chapter 11.
15. Katyusha is the female protagonist in Tolstoys Resurrection (1899). Shimamura Hgetsu wrote the script when it was adapted for the stage. It opened to wide
appeal in Japan in 1914, with Matsui Sumako playing Katyusha and singing Katyushas Song, composed by Nakayama Shimpei.
16. The literary career of Niwa Fumio (19042005) first began in the late 1920s,
but it was Ayu (1932) and especially Zeiniku (1936), a portrait of an entangled sonmother relationship, that established him as a rising novelist. A series of so-called madame fiction focusing on the lives of abandonment led by bar madames gave way to
a new creative trajectory toward urban realism during the war years, during which
time he fought in China and in the Solomon Islands. Postwar realities and changing
social mannerisms inspired such works as Iyagarase no renrei (1947), a study of the
cruel physiology and mental attitudes of old age, whilst a new spirit of experimentation produced works such as Shadanki (1952). Aomugi (1953) gives an impressively unsettling portrait of his father, a True Pure Land Sect priest. His most important works
in his later life brought him back to the study of the Buddhist sect and its saints, as
manifested in Shinran (1965) and Rennyo (19711973).

Chapter 6: My Xinjing Years

1. The year was 1941, when Yamaguchi was twenty-one.
2. Chankoro, a derogatory word to refer to a Chinese person, is believed to be
a corruption of Zhongguoren.
3. Its nothing, or Thats all right, in Chinese.
4. Pechka, a Russian-style stove made of brick or clay and connected to a
cooking stove accessorized with a chimney. Ondol, a device of Korean origin built
under the bed to channel heat from such sources as cooking for warmth.
5. The famous emporium chain Takashimaya was first founded in 1831 in
Kyoto as a cotton-wear store. By the 1930s, it had branches in some of the largest cities in the Kansai and Kant areas. First built in 1933 in Tokyos Yrakuch area, the

Notes to Pages 8390

317

three-story Nihon Gekij (Japan Theater), or Nichigeki for short, was the largest
structure of its kind in Asia at the time with a capacity of more than 2,600 seats. It
was opened in January 1934 under the management of the Japan Theater Company
(Nihon Gekij Kabushikigaisha) and subsequently was beset by fi nancial difficulties.
It was then incorporated into Th in 1935. In the postwar period, it continued to
serve as a major venue for the popu lar arts, including its well-known striptease performances at the Nichigeki Music Hall. The theater closed in February 1981 due to
local land redevelopment initiatives.
6. Meaning a Chinese maiden, the expression guniang (knyan in Japanese)
was apparently gaining a degree of popu lar recognition among urbanites in Japan at
the time.
7. Edogawa Rampo (18941965), the doyen of mystery and detective stories in
modern Japan. For an English translation of his works, see Japanese Tales of Mystery
and Imagination by Edogawa Rampo, trans. James B. Harris (Tokyo, Rutland: Charles
E. Tuttle, 1960).
8. Since Yamaguchi was born in 1920, the correct year should be the ninth
year of the Chinese Republic, as indicated in an explanatory note in her original text.
9. Hasegawa joined Th in September 1937. On the attack itself and its aftermath, see Peter B. High, The Imperial Screen, pp. 154156.
10. For another synopsis of the fi lm, see High, The Imperial Screen, p. 271.
11. A male actor playing female roles in the Kabuki or Shimpa theater, sometimes referred to as oyama.
12. The name of Mikami Otokichis 19341935 story about the female impersonator Nakamura Yukinojs revenge for his family members who were executed in
Nagasaki on false charges. Hasegawa Kazuo played multiple roles in a famous 1935
1936 fi lm version directed by Kinugasa Teinosuke. A later 1963 fi lm version, more
readily available today under the title An Actors Revenge, was directed by Ichikawa
Kon, with Hasegawa in the leading role.
13. Iwasaki Akira (19031981), a left-wing fi lm critic and producer whose intriguing and important prewar career traversed the establishment of the Proletarian
Film League of Japan and the tumultuous war years of intellectual and political suppression under the notorious Peace Preservation Law and the Film Law. Much of that
history, including his experiences in prison, is recorded in his Nihon eiga shishi
(Tokyo: Asahi Shimbunsha, 1977). He worked at the Tokyo office of the Manchurian
Film Association, producing such ill-fated fi lms as My Nightingale (Watashi no
uguisu) with Yamaguchi Yoshiko in the leading role. His postwar activities included
the production of the noted documentaries The Effects of the Atomic Bomb Against
Hiroshima and Nagasaki (1946), as well as Kamei Fumios Nihon no higeki (1946). He
was often seen as the first Japanese fi lm critic to be translated into Chinese, by none
other than Lu Xun, in January 1930. Iwasakis interest in Chinese fi lms began in the
spring of 1935, when he visited Shanghai and film artists there. He was said to have been
impressed with left-wing tendencies in some fi lms made in the city before publishing
his reactions in such magazines as Kaiz. See Yau Shuk Ting, Honkon Nihon eiga

318

Notes to Pages 9196

kryshi, pp. 1011 and p. 77. On the Proletarian Film League, see Makino Mamoru,
Rethinking the Emergence of the Proletarian Film League of Japan [Prokino], trans.
Abe Mark Nornes, in In Praise of Film Studies: Essays in Honor of Makino Mamoru,
eds. Abe Mark Nornes and Aaron Gerow (Victoria: Trafford/Ann Arbor: Kinema Club,
2001), pp. 1545.
14. On September 16, 1923, sugi, It, and their six-year-old nephew were said
to have been murdered by Amakasu Masahiko, Mori Keijir, and three other military
officers. Amakasu was given a ten-year prison sentence at his court martial but released in secret after serving only less than three years in Chiba Prison. For a study of
Amakasu Masahiko that revises and complicates the popular perception of the man
as the butcher of sugi Sakae et al. and his behind-the-scenes exploits in Manchuria,
see Tsunoda Fusako, Amakasu Taii (Tokyo: Chikuma Bunko, expanded edition, 2007),
with a commentary by Fujiwara Sakuya. A more recent study is Sano Shinichis
Amakasu Masahiko: Ranshin no kya (Tokyo: Shinchsha, 2008), which was the winner of the thirty-first Kdansha Non-Fiction Prize in 2009. See also Kajima Shigerus
review of Sanos work in Mainichi Shimbun (Tokyo Morning Edition, July 13, 2008).
15. In 1931, Colonel Doihara Kenji and Colonel Itagaki Seishir planned the
secret operations of putting Puyi on the throne of Manchukuo, despite opposition
from the Japanese Foreign Minister Shidehara Kijr. In November, Puyi was secretly
taken from his Tianjins Jing Yuan residence in the Japanese Concession to Tanggu
by motorcar and a Japanese military launch before reaching Yingkow in Liaoning
Province aboard the Awaji Maru.
16. Published in Eigashi kenky: 19, 1984 as indicated in the original.
17. Both were directed by Leni Riefenstahl on the XI Olympic Games held in
Berlin, 1936.
18. Given in the original text is the following note: Hasegawa Shun was the
younger brother of [novelist] Maki Itsuma who used the pseudonym Hayashi Fub,
and the older brother of the now deceased writer Hasegawa Shir.
19. A note in the original text reads: One executive officer of the Datong
Troupe was Betsuyaku Hiroo, the father of the playwright Betsuyaku Minoru.
20. See chapter 12.
21. A note in the original indicates that the de facto person in charge at the institute was Akagawa Kichi, the father of the popu lar novelist Akagawa Jir. Kimura
Sotoji was the younger brother of the famed Western-style painter Kimura Shachi.
22. Suzuki Shigekichi (19001976) was most celebrated as the director of the
silent fi lm Nani ga kanojo o so saseta ka (1930), based on the work of the proletarian
writer Fujimori Seikichi on the plight of a downtrodden girl. Uchida Tomu (18981970)
appears later in this autobiography; for his career and relationship with Amakasu,
see Craig Watts, Blood Spear, Mt. Fuji: Uchida Tomus Confl icted Comeback from
Manchuria, Bright Lights Film Journal 33 (July 2001), online at http://www.bright
lightsfi lm.com/33/tomu1.htm. Kat Tai (191685), the nephew of pioneering director
Yamanaka Sadao, was later to make a name for himself making period films and gangster movies for Tei with such celebrated stars as Fuji Junko.

Notes to Pages 97100

319

23. On October 6, 1932, the mori branch of the Kawasaki Daihyaku Bank
was robbed of thirty thousand yen by three armed men who, upon their subsequent
arrest, were found to be members of the illegal Japanese Communist Party which
needed funds to support its activities. (tsuka was not among the three men.) The
instigator of the plan was Matsumura Noboru, who in fact had been working as a spy
for the Special Higher Police (Tokk-keisatsu).
24. My Nightingale will be discussed in detail in chapter 11.

Chapter 7: The Days of The Suzhou Serenade

1. Enomoto Kenichi (19041970), comedian, singer, and the founder of the
Enoken Troupe in 1932, who went on to achieve considerable popularity on radio, in
films, and musicals.
2. In China Nights, the sailor Hase Tetsuo played by Hasegawa Kazuo is called
for duty the night of his marriage to Zhang Guilan, played by Yamaguchi, only to be
ambushed by Chinese resistance fighters on a river journey. Heartbroken over the news,
Guilan is about to attempt suicide when Hase miraculously reappears on the scene
completely unharmed, leading to a happy ending accentuated by the theme music of
the fi lm.
3. Specifically, a traitor to China.
4. Fujiwara Kamatari (19051985), who had a supporting role in China Nights,
was perhaps best remembered for his appearances in a number of Kurosawa Akiras
classic fi lms, including Ikiru (1952, playing the government bureaucrat no), Seven
Samurai (1956, playing the farmer Manz), Yojimbo (1961, playing the towns silk
merchant Tazaemon), High and Low (1963, playing the garbage man), and Red Beard
(1965, playing the dying artisan Rokusuke). Fujiwara no Kamatari (614669), an important force behind the Taika Reforms as Inner Minister (uchitsuomi) during the
reign of Emperor Ktoku, was later the founder of the Fujiwara clan. While their
names have the same pronunciation, the Chinese character for their respective
kama is different, though this did not prevent Fujiwara the actor from suffering
his fate.
5. Dick (Dikku) Mine (19081991), jazz singer and actor. His name was first
changed to Mine Kichiwithout his consent when Mine was touring China as a
singer in 1938. Mines protest resulted in his successfully getting his original name
back in 1939, only to be changed again in 1940 under the order of the Ministry of the
Interior. See ja.wikipedia.orgs entry on Dikku Mine.
6. Presumably as opposed to foreign concessions where the films original
title Shina no yoru prevailed. For one thing, many wartime Chinese in particular
looked upon Shina, a Japanese word used to refer to China from the mid-Edo period
until the end of World War II, as derogatory.
7. Tsuji Hisaichi, Chka Denei shiwa, Eigashi kenky 415. The original
text carries the following note on Tsuji: After the war, Tsuji joined Daiei and was

320

Notes to Pages 101103

remembered in the history of fi lmmaking as the producer of a series of internationally acclaimed works by director Mizoguchi Kenji.
8. A note in the original text reads: Byakuran no uta was composed by Takeoka
Nobuyuki, with lyrics by Kume Masao, and sung by It Hisao and Futaba Akiko. [Itoshi
ano hoshi] was composed by Hattori Ryichi, with lyrics by Sat Hachir, and sung
by Watanabe Hamako.
9. Emmanuel Metter (18841941), a Ukrainian who turned to music after his
earlier career in law. After his exile to Japan subsequent to the Bolshevik Revolution,
he served as the conductor at the Osaka Philharmonic Orchestra and the Kyoto
Imperial University Symphony Orchestra. See Okano Ben, Metteru Sensei: Asahina
Takashi Hattori Ryichi no gakufu, bmei Ukurainajin shikisha no shgai (Tokyo:
Rittmjikku, 1995). Asahina Takashi (19082001), an internationally acclaimed conductor who debuted at the New Symphonic Orchestra (currently the NHK Symphonic Orchestra) in 1939 before continuing his illustrious career by engaging the
Austro-German repertoire and by conducting, among others, the Shanghai Symphonic Orchestra during the Japanese occupation, the Kansai Philharmonic Orchestra
(currently the Osaka Philharmonic Orchestra), and the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra as a guest conductor.
10. Koga Masao (19041978), a distinguished popu lar song composer who
began his career as a member of Meiji Universitys famous Mandolin Club before
becoming exclusively affi liated with Japan Columbia Recordings. Inspired by the
compositions of Nakayama Shimpei, Koga was particularly known as the creator of
such popu lar Koga melodies as Sake wa namida ka tameiki ka, Oka o koete,
Yu no machi erej, and Kanashii sake. The poet and lyricist Saij Yaso (18921970),
a graduate and later a professor at Waseda University, helped to popularize French
symbolist poets including Mallarm and Rimbaud.
11. Also known as Nanzonghua, a mainly monochrome genre of painting established during the end of the Ming Dynasty and imported into Japan at around the
mid-Edo period with renowned practitioners such as Ike no Taiga and Yosa Buson.
12. The Japanese titles of the songs are Gdenburijji no tsuki, Shanhai-dayori,
Shanhai no hanauri-musume, Shanhai bursu, Shanhai no machikado de, and
Shanhai riru, respectively.
13. Zhou Xuan (19181957), much celebrated as a singer for her golden voice
and one of the most well-known Chinese actresses from the late 1930s to the 1950s.
Of her more than three dozen fi lms, the one with the most enduring fame was Street
Angel (Malu tianshi, 1937) with Zhou playing the role of a young, ill-fated singer in
Shanghais brutal underclass world. The Wandering Songstress (Tianya genu),
one of its themes songs and Zhous signature number, remains much cherished to
this day.
14. Originally a theme song for the film Three Stars Accompanying the Moon
(Sanxing banyue, 1937) with Zhou Xuan as its first recording vocalist. Li Lili then performed the song for the 1939 Hong Kong resistance fi lm Paradise on Solitary Island
(Gudao tiantang) before Yamaguchi brought the number to the height of its popular-

Notes to Pages 104112

321

ity during the war years. Opinions vary as to who the original composer and lyricist
were. Nakazono Eisuke suggested Liu Xuean, then a student at National Shanghai
Conservatory, and Huang Jiamo, the scenario writer of Three Stars Accompanying
the Moon, using their pseudonyms Yan Ru and Bei Lin, respectively. For this reference
and a discussion of the matter, along with the political controversies surrounding the
song, see Nakazonos Heri jun zai lai monogatari (Tokyo: Kawade Shob Shinsha,
1988). I also wish to note that the Chinese character for Bei in the pseudonym Bei
Lin was erroneously printed as Ju (gu in Japanese) in the Yamaguchi/Fujiwara
original, p. 160.
15. See Christine Reiko Yano, Tears of Longing: Nostalgia and the Nation in
Japanese Popular Song (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002), p. 36. For a study
of the history of Japanese jazz, see E. Taylor Atkins, Blue Nippon: Authenticating Jazz
in Japan (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001).
16. Shanhai bansukingu (1984) was an award-winning production directed by
Fukasaku Kinji with Matsuzaka Keiko and Kazama Morio.
17. Hanshansi (Kanzanji in Japanese) is mentioned specifically in the last line
of Suzhou Serenade. First built in the early sixth century during the Six Dynasties
and celebrated in a well-known poem by the Tang Dynasty poet Zhang Ji, the temple
has made the vicinity around it one of the most renowned spots in the city of Suzhou.
The fact that the celebrated poet-monks Hanshan and Shide (Kanzan and Jittoku in
Japanese) were residents of the temple in the mid-seventh century has further added
to its appeal. Young women of Suzhou have popularly been celebrated for their beauty
presumably the reason for Hattoris rather abrupt reference here.
18. Published by Asahi Shimbunsha, the book is not only useful for the understanding of the zeitgeist of Japan in the late 1920s through the war years, but also a
valuable guide to such subjects as the history of the Proletarian Film League, wartime
Japanese cinema, and Iwasakis career and his prison experiences.
19. Pujie (19071994). His full name in Japa nese reading was Aishinkakura
Fuketsu.
20. Before the war, children from the Imperial family and families of the peerage
were educated at the Gukushin. The Higher Division (kt-ka) referred to the last
three years of the seven-year school curriculum in the prewar higher school system.
21. Puyis Wode qian ban sheng (Beijing: Qunzhong Chubanshe, 2007) was a
revised version of the old 1964 publication. For an English translation, see W. J. F.
Jenner, trans., From Emperor to Citizen: The Autobiography of Aisin-Gioro Pu Yi (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987).
22. A note in the original identifies Yoshiokas official title in 1938 as Colonel,
Staff Officer of the Kwantung Army Command, and Attach to the Emperor of Manchuria, and in August 1939 as Major General, Vice Chief of the General Staff Office of
the Kwantung Army Command, and Attach to the Emperor. In December 1942, he
occupied the same positions with the rank of Lieutenant General. For more information on Yoshioka Yasunao and his relationship with Puyi, see Irie Yko, Kihi dokusatsu
sareta ka? Ktei Fugi to Kantgun sanb Yoshioka no nazo (Tokyo: Shinchsha, 1998).

322

Notes to Pages 113130

Chapter 8: The Nichigeki Incident

1. Chikuma Shob Sensho.
2. Zhang Jinghui (18711959) became Manchukuos second Premier from May
1935 until the demise of the Japanese puppet state in August 1945. For an account of
Zhangs relationship with Zhang Xueliang and his early collaboration with the Kwantung Army, see Rana Mitter, The Manchurian Myth, pp. 8791.
3. Yamashita Tomoyuki (18851946), nicknamed the Tiger of Malaya for his
military takeover of the British colonies of Malaya and Singapore in February 1942.
Given command of the Japanese army in the Philippines, he and his remaining forces
surrendered to the Allies in September 1945. Sentenced to death by a military tribunal for war crimes, he was hanged in February 1946.
4. The Empress opium addiction will be discussed later in this chapter.
5. As Staff Officer of the Japanese China Garrison Army. A note in the original text indicates that he was a major at the time.
6. The daughter of Marquis Saga and a distant relative of the Shwa Emperor, Saga
Hiro (19141987) was known as Aisin Gioro Hiro or Aisin Gioro Hao after her marriage
to Pujie in February 1938. Considering the fact that Emperor Puyi did not have a direct
heir, the marriage was seen as Japans attempt to further integrate Manchuria into the
Japanese Empire by introducing Japanese blood into the Imperial family.
7. Roughly, pop or old man.
8. Descended from one of the most distinguished Manchu families, Wan
Rong was married to the Xuantong Emperor (i.e., Puyi) at the age of seventeen; the
latter was then sixteen.
9. She was given the title Imperial Concubine of Good Fortune (Xiang Guiren), a consort of the Fift h Rank.
10. On Negishi Kanichis role within Manei, see chapter 6.
11. Ozakis novel, published in 1935, is a popular story about the passions and
rebelliousness of youth centering on the main character Hykichi. Katczinsky is a
play on the onomatopoeic kachin or kachin-kachin, a reference to one or a series of
sharp metallic sounds. On Ozaki Shir and his well-known autobiographical novel,
see Donald Keene, Dawn to the West: Japanese Literature in the Modern EraFiction
(New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1987), pp. 926933.
12. Hyga is the old name for the area in southeastern Kyushu corresponding
more or less to present-day Miyazaki Prefecture.
13. The popular 1937 musical was screened in Japan under the name kesutora no
shjo. Distributed by Universal Pictures and directed by Henry Koster, it belonged to a
Japanese subgenre sometimes referred to as human-sentiment comedy (ninj kigeki).
14. Apparently, water was actually sprayed on the fans in an attempt to maintain order.
15. The original calls it the Nichigeki nanamawari-han jiken, a reference to
the swarm of fans encircling the Nichigeki building seven and a half times at the
height of the congestion.

Notes to Pages 132142

323

Chapter 9: The Spring of My Youth

1. A heavily government-sanctioned para-fascist organization created in
October 1940 under the second Konoe Fumimaro cabinet to promote the administrations New Order movement and to centralize Japans war time efforts by merging political parties and mobilizing the domestic population. By June 1942, it absorbed
under its wings such broadly based organizations as the Great Nippon Patriotic Industry Association, the Great Nippon Womens Association, and various neighborhood associations.
2. Nogami Yaeko (18851985), one of the most prominent writers of modern
Japan whose career spanned from the late Meiji period into the postwar decades.
Socially and politically engaging, with an imagination often informed by a bold, liberal sensibility, her major works included Machiko (19281930), Watashi no Chgoku
ryok (1959), and Hideyoshi to Riky (19621963). Particularly notable was her ambitious Meiro (six vols., 19361956), a massive work reimagining the intellectual and
spiritual vicissitudes of Japans war time years and a work that the renowned fi lm director Yamamoto Satsuo aspired to turn into a fi lm before his death in 1983.
3. Miyazawa Kiichi (19192007), Finance Minister in the Takeshita Noboru
cabinet in 1987, went on to serve as Prime Minister in 19911993 and again as Finance
Minister in 19982001 under the Obuchi Keiz and Mori Yoshir administrations.
4. The Japanese name for the school is Gysei.
5. Directed in 1934 by Marcel LHerbier (of LArgent [1929] fame) and screened
in Japan under the name Karisome no kfuku (A Transient Happiness). Charles Boyer
plays Philippe Lutcher, an anarchist artist, while Gaby Morlay takes the lead female
role as the popu lar music hall star and actress Clara Stuart.
6. Their Japa nese names are Jiji Tsshinsha and Kyd Tsshinsha, respectively.
7. For an appraisal of Matsuoka Ysukes diplomatic career in English, see
David J. Lus Agony of Choice: Matsuoka Ysuke and the Rise and Fall of the Japanese
Empire, 18801946 (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2002). For a contrasting evaluation, see Frederick R. Dickinsons review of Lus book in Journal of Japanese Studies
30, no. 1 (Winter 2004): 167171.
8. The original text identifies Nomonhan as currently in the County of New
Barag Left Banner in the Inner Mongolian Autonomous Region in the Peoples Republic of China.
9. The original text gives its source as Kantgun I from Beich Senshishitsu.
10. For studies on the Nomonhan Incident in English, see Alvin D. Coox, Nomonhan: Japan Against Russia, 1939 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1985), and
Edward J. Drea, Nomonhan: Japan-Soviet Tactical Combat 1939 (Fort Leavenworth,
Combat Studies Institute, U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, 1981).
11. The original text identifies Maki as being active in Europe in the early
Shwa period and as the founder of the Maki Operatic Troupe upon his return
toJapan.

324

Notes to Pages 142150

12. Kikumasamune is a famous sake brand; indeed, a popu lar commercial

song was called Yappari ore wa Kikumasamune! (Kikumasamune is my kind of
sake!), composed and with lyrics by the memorable Nakamura HaichidaiEi Rokusuke duo. One g is about 0.18 liter. A mid-size bottle today usually contains 4 g.
13. In A Warblers Song in the Dusk: The Life and Work of tomo Yakamochi
718785 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982), Paula Does translation of the
same poem reads: From today on, Without a look back, I go to be the emperors damn
shield (p. 218). For brief summaries of the controversy over the translation of shiko
no mitate, an expression used in the poem, see Doe, Warblers Song, p. 218, and Emiko
Ohnuki-Tierney, Kamikaze, Cherry Blossoms, and Nationalisms: The Militarization
of Aesthetics in Japanese History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002), p. 353,
n. 24. For a study on the subject, see Tesaki Masao, Shiko no mitate k: Many sakamori uta no ksatsu (Tokyo: Kasama Shoin, 2005).
14. In Azabu in Tokyos Minato Ward. The place name, meaning the raccoon hole, presumably alluded to the many raccoon dogs that lived in the area in
the past.
15. The original carries a note identifying him as the father of Vice President
Laurel under the Aquino administration.
16. Kon Hidemi (19031984), novelist, critic, translator of Gide, Professor of French
literature at Meiji University from 1933, and widely known for his wit and erudition.
Conscripted into the armys Press Division, he was first sent to the Philippines in 1941
and again in 1944 to report on the war situation on the island of Leyte, a duty that led
to his fl ight into the mountains of the Philippines with the withdrawing Japa nese
troops. His reminiscences of that experience, Sanch hr (Tokyo: Hibiya Shuppansha, 1949), is regarded as his representative work and a masterpiece in Japanese war
literature.
17. Yoshimura Kzabur (19112000) established his reputation with such Shchiku
productions as Danry (1939) before making fi lms for the Modern Film Association
he established in 1950 with Shind Kaneto. Among his more well-known postwar works
are Mori no Ishimatsu (1949), Ashizuri-misaki (1954), Kokoro no sanmyaku (1966),
and Ranru no hata (1974).
18. For a detailed description of the fighting, see Thomas M. Hubers online
and undated article The Battle of Manila, at http:// battleofmanila .org /pages/01
_huber.htm.

Chapter 10: The Two Yoshikos

1. The Chinese character for their family name, Li, is the same.
2. Yellowish-brown Chinese rice wine particularly treasured when aged;
hence the name, literally meaning old wine. Some of the varieties produced at Shaoxing in the Greater Yangtze delta are especially cherished by connoisseurs.

Notes to Pages 151156

325

3. A former instructor at the Beijing Military Academy in 19261927 and in

19311932, Tada Hayao (18821948) served as Manchukuos chief military advisor
in 19321934 before attaining the position of Vice Chief of the Army General Staff in
1937. His initiatives at rapprochement with Chiang Kai-shek led to differences between him and Tj Hideki, who favored expanding the Chinese theater of war. Arrested as a Class-A war criminal in December 1945, Tada died in prison three years
later before his trial was concluded.
4. Jin Bihui was Kawashima Yoshikos Chinese name. For details on Kawashima and her activities in Dongxinglou, see chapter 4.
5. The prewar activities of Sasakawa Ryichi (18991995) were punctuated by
his ties to the Japa nese army, his role as head of the small right-wing orga nization
Kokusui Taisht from 1931, his admiration for Benito Mussolini, his arrest, trial,
and subsequent exoneration on charges of blackmailing such establishments as Takashimaya (19351941), and his 1942 success in winning a Diet seat. After the war, he
volunteered to be arrested as a Class A war criminal even though he was not tried
at the Military Tribunal for the Far East and was subsequently released in 1948.
See Sat Seizabur, Sasakawa Ryichi: A Life (Norwalk, Connecticut: East Bridge,
2006), p. 78.
6. Meaning something like my dear older brother Sasakawa.
7. The original text has the following note: At the time, there was no Major
General called Yuri. The name was thought to be an alias as [Yamaokas work] was
crafted as fiction.
8. A type of obi worn by men and children.
9. Situated in Kyotos Uky-ku, the Myshin Temple is the head temple of
the Myshinji School of the Rinzai Sect.
10. The name incorporates her Manchu family name and one character each from
her personal Chinese and Japanese names. Its rendering is here given in Japanese.
11. Li Gang and He Jingfang, in their Chuandao Fangzi shengsi zhi mi xinsheng
(Jilin Wenshi Chubanshe, 2009), have attempted to resolve lingering controversies surrounding the circumstances of Kawashima Yoshikos real or alleged execution in March
1948. Based on their assessments of material evidence and personal interviews, Li and
He assert that Kawashima had in fact made good her escape before her impending
execution and continued to live after 1948 in the suburbs of Changchun under an assumed name until her death in early 1978. I wish to thank Fujiwara Sakuya for giving
me a copy of this book. For another more recent entry into this continuing debate,
this time providing evidence that Kawashima was indeed executed by the Kuomintang, see Ty no Mata Hari yahari shokei? Taiwan de kbunsho hakken, Asahi Shimbun (January 22, 2010), online at http://www.asahi.com /international /update/0119
/TKY201001190482.html. One demonstration of the continuing public interest in the
life of Kawashima in China was the release of a documentary film on her life in January 2011; see http://v.ifeng.com/documentary/figure/201101/bfc5ade80315456b-8bb3
-ca1cbc2f0aab.shtml.

326

Notes to Pages 157166

12. Suruga, also known as Sunsh, was an old name for the central and eastern
part of present-day Shizuoka Prefecture. Kfu in the central part of Yamanashi Prefecture is currently the seat of the prefectural government. The position of Kfu kinban, previously occupied by the Yamaga family, was responsible for the defense of Kfu
castle.
13. Kawashima Naniwa (18661949), a native of Nagano Prefecture and a socalled continental adventurer (tairiku rnin) who had studied Chinese and served as a
translator for the Japanese army in the Sino-Japanese War (18941895) before becoming an official in colonial Taiwan and an instructor of Chinese in the Army Academy.
During the Boxer Rebellion, he came to Beijing and became in due course the head of
the Beijing Police Affairs Academy. His close friendship with Prince Su of the Qing
Dynasty at least partly provided the impetus for his adoption of the latters daughter
in 1913.
14. An old district southeast of the Forbidden City, Nanchizi in the Republican
period became the residential area for descendants of the old imperial family, political figures, and other celebrities.
15. The original identifies the area as a bustling shopping district in Beijing
comparable to Wangfujing Street. Today, it is still a tourist spot fi lled with all sorts
of commercial activities and restaurants.
16. See chapter 12.
17. Bai Guang (19201999), a Beijing native, was one of the most celebrated
singers in Shanghai in the 1940s, rivaling Zhou Xuan, Yao Li, Wu Yingyin, and Zhang
Lu. Performed inimitably with tantalizing seductiveness, some of her songs, such as
Ruguo meiyou ni and Hunying jiumeng, are still cherished in China. Like Yamaguchi, she was a pupil of the Japanese vocalist Miura Tamaki. She also appeared in
more than twenty films, including Taoli zhengchun (1943), Shisanhao xiongzhai (1948),
and an adaptation of Tolstoys Resurrection under the name Dangfuxin (1949). After
her business ventures in the Ginza in 1953 (mentioned later in the text), she returned
to Hong Kong before immigrating to Malaysia where she died at the age of seventyeight in Kuala Lumpur.
18. The Japanese original mato also conveys a dark allure of grotesque decadence
and macabre charm. For a study of the city and its connection with modern Japanese
intellectuals, see Ry Kenki, Mato Shanhai: Nihon chishikijin no kindai taiken
(Tokyo: Kdansha, 2000). See also Shu-mei Shih, The Lure of the Modern: Writing
Modernism in Semicolonial China 19171937 (Berkeley: University of California Press,
2001), especially pp. 231301.
19. No reliable evidence exists to authenticate this ghastly tale of palace power
struggle between Cixi and Emperor Xianfengs consort Li Fei, but the fictional account
was at least partly channeled into popular imagination through such media as Li Hanhsiangs fi lm Chui-lian ting-zheng (Reign behind a Curtain, 1983).
20. Kitaji Rosanjin (18831959), a calligrapher in his early career and an innovative ceramic artist inspired by the aesthetics of the Momoyama period before
acquiring an international reputation after the end of the war.

Notes to Pages 167174

327

21. For details, see addendum.

22. Hakk is the Japanese pronunciation of Bai Guang.
23. A name perhaps inspired by Princess Odette from Swan Lake, but it is difficult to tell.

Chapter 11: Two Phantom Films

1. Kaifeng, now a prefecture-level city with a population of approximately 4.6
million (2010 census) and situated on the Yellow Rivers south bank, was once the
glorious capital of the North Song Dynasty when it was known famously as Bianjing
or Dongjing. In the eleventh century, it was believed to be the largest city in the world.
The cultural richness and prosperous economic life of the city were vividly portrayed
in the renowned Qingming Scroll (Qingming shanghe-tu), attributed to the Song artist
Zhang Zeduan (10851145) and The Eastern Capital: Reminiscences of Dreamy Splendor
(Dongjing meng hua lu, first printed 1187), a ten-volume memoir by Meng Yuanlao (circa
10901150).
2. Yogore-yaku refers to a movie part requiring the actor to wear dirty clothes
or play a role not considered respectable by conventional standards.
3. For background information, see Yingjin Zhang, Chinese National Cinema,
pp. 8485. Among Zhou Xiaobos other fi lms for Manei were Fengchao and Doushi
de hongliu (1940), Tianshang renjian (1941), and Dade fengchun (1945).
4. Man-made flooding of the Yellow River as a military strategy was employed as early as 1642 by Kaifengs governor during the siege of the city against Li
Zichengs rebel forces during the last breaths of the Ming Dynasty, producing one of
the most horrendous human casualtiesan estimated death of over 300,000in
Chinese and world history.
5. These were apparently estimates that have yet to be established. Another
source gives the death toll as 500,000 and lists the flood as the third worst in history. See
http://www.armageddononline.org/worst-floods.html.
6. The original authors have chosen here to paint a sanitized view of the Chinese countryside as represented in Hino Ashiheis 1938 documentary novel. In fact, the
foremost wartime bestseller, Mugi to heitai, depicts muddy battle skirmishes, Japanese
soldiers encroaching on desolate Chinese villages, Hinos own invasion of the bedroom of a young Chinese couple with his dirty military boots, and, most disturbingly, the brutal beheading of captured Chinese resistance fighters before an open
wheat field, a scene that inspires the novels name. The quotation To Xuzhou . . . in
the original text refers to the first line of the lyrics of the theme song when Mugi to
heitai was put on screen in 1938. Composed by mura Nsh with Fujita Masatos
lyrics, the song was popu larized by the singer Shji Tar.
7. Based on a Many poem by tomo no Yakamochi and set to music in 1880
and again in 1937, the song was sung before fighting men were sent off to the front. It
also became a favorite before the takeoff of kamikaze suicide pilots.

328

Notes to Pages 175182

8. For a short discussion of the revival of this old Russo-Japanese war song in
the Manchurian context, see Louise Young, Japans Total Empire: Manchuria and the
Culture of Wartime Imperialism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), p. 91.
The translation of the first line is Youngs.
9. First established as Hokkai Dressmaking Academy (Hokkai Doresu-mk
Jogakuen) in 1939, the school was renamed Asai Academy (Asai Gakuen) in 1957 before it turned into Hokkaido Womens Junior College (Hokkaido Joshi Tanki Daigaku)
in 1963. The school site was moved to Ebetsu in 1966. After a series of name changes
and curricular expansions, the institution is now called Hokush University (Hokush
Daigaku).
10. While the Japanese uguisu is commonly rendered in English as Japanese
bush warbler, here the bird does not seem to be related to any native Japanese setting.
11. The Chinese characters for Mariko allude to a child from Manchuria.
12. Beginning in 1948, Kuroi continued his acting career using the stage name
Nihonyanagi Kan (Hiroshi) and appeared in the works of directors such as Ozu Yasujir
and Naruse Mikio.
13. Making her debut in Uchida Tomus Sakebu Ajia (1933), Chiba Sachiko
appeared in such fi lms as Tsuma wa bara no y ni (1935) and Wagahai wa neko de
aru (1936). Watashi no uguisu marked her fi nal fi lm appearance before leaving
Th in 1943.
14. His full name is given as Dmitrii Panin. See Thomas Lahusen, Dr. Fu
Manchu in Harbin: Cinema and Moviegoers of the 1930s, South Atlantic Quarterly
99, no. 1 (Winter 2000): 155158, which has a brief discussion of the fi lm.
15. The English translation is Dark Eyes.
16. Formerly the Harbin Eastern Railway Symphony Orchestra formed in 1908
with mostly Russian players, the Harbin Symphonic Orchestra is now one of Chinas
most renowned orchestras with occasional overseas performances, such as in 2009.
17. The 1.4 kilometer Central Boulevard, or Zhongyang Dajie, leading to the
south shore of Songhua River continues today as the most famous showpiece of
Harbins international heritage. For a collection of essays on the history, migr identity, cinema, architecture, the Korean and Japanese presence, and other subjects in
connection with Harbin, see Thomas Lahusen, et al., Harbin and Manchuria: Place,
Space, and Identity, South Atlantic Quarterly 99, no. 1 (2001).
18. Built in 1906 in a classic French Renaissance style with its exterior painted
in pink, the establishment was purportedly patronized by such guests as Edgar Snow,
Puyi, and Guo Morou. Still in business today, it elegantly stands at the northern end
of Zhongyang Dajie.
19. Regarded as one of the best early European musicals, it was directed by
Erik Charell in 1931.
20. A 1955 film starring Kishi Keiko and Okada Eiji about the Gunma Symphonic Orchestra. From 2013 through 2014, thanks to the work of Tokyos Dokuritsu
Puro Meiga Hozonkai (Society for the Preservation of Independent Film Productions), twenty-six of postwar Japans independent fi lms have been or are scheduled to

Notes to Pages 182186

329

be redistributed in DVD format and made commercially available through Kinokuniya

Shoten. The list includes Imai Tadashis masterpiece, along with Yamamoto Satsuos
Shink chitai, Kamei Fumios Onna hitori daichi o yuku, Imai Tadashis Nigorie and
Hashi no nai kawa, Sekigawa Hideos Hiroshima, Ieki Miyojis Ibo kydai, Tomoshibi,
and many others. This endeavor represents a major undertaking in the preservation of
one of postwar Japans most significant cinematic legacies.
21. The original text identifies the source as Sat Tadaos Kinema to hsei
(Tokyo: Ripuropto, 1985).
22. Qiazi, 2 vols. (Tokyo: Bungei Shunj, 1990) describes the struggles between
the Kuomintang and the Chinese Communist forces in the suburbs of Changchun
and the accompanying human tragedy in the aftermath of War World II. Qiazi refers
to the buffer zone between the two opposing forces outside Changchun.
23. The Army Nakano School (Rikugun Nakano Gakk) started in 1938 before
it was put under the administration of Lieutenant Colonel Ueda Masao in 1940. It
provided training in military intelligence and counterintelligence, covert operations,
propaganda, and sabotage. Its over 2,500 graduates were variously involved in capturing oil facilities in southern Sumatra, forming the Indian National Army, and flooding forged Chinese currency into the fi nancial system of the Nationalist government. See Stephen C. Mercado, The Shadow Warriors of Nakano: A History of the
Imperial Japanese Armys Elite Intelligence School (Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2002),
Hatakeyama Kiyoyuki, Rikugun Nakano Gakk, 6 vols. (Tokyo: Banch Shob, 1974),
Kat Masao, Rikugun Nakano Gakk no zenb (Tokyo: Tendensha, 1998). Daiei
made a series of five fi lms on the Nakano School from 1966 to 1968, with Ichikawa
Raiz in the leading role.
24. First published in Tokyo in 1958, Kya no hana was edited by Ishimitsus
son Mahito based on his fathers diaries and notes. For a brief study of Ishimitsu in
English, see Ian Nish, A Spy in ManchuriaIshimitsu Makiyo, Collected Writings
of Ian Nishi (Surrey and Tokyo: Japan Library and Edition Synapse, 2001), 2:13338.

Chapter 12: Glory to Eternity

1. Sat Tadao, Kinema to hsei (Tokyo: Riburopto, 1985); Shimizu Akira,
Chka Denei to Kawakita Nagamasa, in Kza Nihon eiga, IV, Sens to Nihon eiga
(Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1986). To this list one might add Twa no hanseiki: 1928
1978 (authorship unspecified) in Twa no hanseiki (Tokyo: Twa Th Kabushikigaisha, 1978), especially pp. 282299. See also n. 4, below, for a bibliographical reference
to Kawakitas own autobiographical account.
2. The original uses the expression bunka ksaku, an innocuously sounding
euphemism for advancing cultural propaganda, especially in Japanese-occupied territories.
3. On Twas history and its contributions, see Twa no hanseiki, pp. 231350.
On over sixty short essays and various reflections by prominent Japanese film critics

330

Notes to Pages 187191

(Iwasaki Akira, Sat Tadao, et al.), writers (Kawabata Yasunari, Shiga Naoya,
Mishima Yukio, et al.), artists (Umehara Ryzabur), performers (Band Tamazabur,
Yamaguchi Yoshiko, et al.), and fi lm directors (shima Nagisa, Shind Kaneto) on
fi lms Twa brought to Japan, see Twa no hanseiki, pp. 12209. On the impact of
imported European fi lms by Twa as seen through the eyes of a precocious child
growing up in prewar Tokyo, see Kat Shichi, A Sheeps Song: A Writers Reminiscences
of Japan and the World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), pp. 8384.
4. For those episodes and a brief account of Kawakita Nagamasas early life,
see Fu Poshek, Between Shanghai and Hong Kong: The Politics of Chinese Cinemas
(Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003), pp. 9597. Kawakita himself wrote
about his own discoveries of the circumstances surrounding his fathers death in My
Recollections, trans. Kikuko [sic] and Bill and Irene Ireton (unspecified date or place of
publication, private edition), an English version of his reminiscences Watakushi no
rirekisho, Nihon Keizai Shimbun, April 3May 2, 1980, pp. 23, 1619. According
to Whos Who in China (Shanghai: Mirros Review, 1920), quoted in My Recollections,
p.17, General Ding Jin (18791958) was one of the young Chinese officers trained by
Kawakitas father.
5. A district in the northeastern part of Shanghai and the site of Chinas
League of Left ist Writers and the original residences of such prominent figures as Lu
Xun, Mao Dun, and Guo Morou.
6. Produced in 1939 by Shanghais Huacheng Film Company, a subsidiary of the
Xinhua Film Company, based on a time-cherished Chinese legend set in the Northern Wei Dynasty. The screenplay was by the playwright Ouyang Yuqian.
7. Published from July 1919 until the present except for a war time interruption from 1940 to 1946, the authoritative film magazine Kinema Junp (or Kinejun for
short) initially covered foreign fi lms before enlarging its critical range to include domestic productions as well. Its annual Best Ten lists of foreign and Japanese films
have received considerable media and public attention. A Kinema Junp Readers
Award was established in 1974 to recognize the most popu lar fi lm of the year.
8. Based on a Kawaguchi Matsutar story, the film starred Sakai Yoneko, Nakano Eiji, and Okada Yoshiko.
9. The Iwasaki piece Lu Xun translated was Senden send shudan toshite no
eiga. Iwasaki also wanted to see the Chinese fi lm Yuguang-qu (Song of the Fisherman, directed by Cai Chusheng, 1934), which had won an award at the Moscow
Film Festival. Apparently, the visit generated considerable suspicion from the Japanese Special Higher Police, who feared that Iwasaki had had communications with
the Chinese Communist Party. See Yau Shuk Ting, Honkon Nihon eiga kryshi,
pp. 1011.
10. Directed by Sun Yu, Xiao-wanyi narrates with considerable dramatic force
the vicissitudes of a traditional woman toymaker against the backdrop of war and
extraordinary human misery. Wu Yonggang, then only twenty-seven, directed the
memorable Shennu in which Ruan Lingyu gives a brilliant performance playing a
nameless prostitute whose motherly instincts lead to crime and imprisonment yet

Notes to Pages 191193

331

elevate her to the level of a virtual goddess. The fi lm has remained one of the most
memorable in early Chinese fi lm history.
11. Directed by Cai Chusheng, New Women tells the experiences of a young woman
named Wei Ming, a music teacher and an aspiring writer who is forced to become a
prostitute before committing suicide. Mercilessly hounded by Shanghais gossipy tabloids over her private life and alleged abuse by her lover, Ruan Lingyu took her own
life shortly before reaching twenty-five and just a little over a month after the release
of New Women in Shanghai. Center Stage (distributed by Golden Harvest, 1992), an
acclaimed Hong Kong fi lm directed by Stanley Kwan and starring Maggie Cheung,
is based on the life of the actress. See also Richard J. Meyer, Ruan LingYu: The Goddess of Shanghai (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2005), packaged with a
DVD of Ruans The Defiled Goddess.
12. The two still much cherished theme songs in the classic film Street Angels
(Malu tianshi, directed by Yuan Muzhi, who also wrote the screenplay, 1937) and subsequently performed by an array of singers from China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan, including memorably Zhang Yan. For Zhou and Zhangs perfomances of Tianya genu,
see, respectively, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gL9J4ODyMr4 and http://www
.youtube.com/watch?v=dGs1-WfOSqI.
13. Set against the background of the Taiping Rebellion and directed by Yue
Feng and Inagaki Hiroshi with Band Tsumazabur as the Bakumatsu Chsh samurai Takasugi Shinsaku (18391867), the fi lm ostensibly celebrates Sino-Japanese collaboration against British imperialism and political treachery in the tumultuous
years of the Qing Dynastys decline. For a study of the controversial fi lm, see Bi
Kewei [Paul G. Pickowicz] and Liu Yuqing, Chunjiang Yihen de shishifeifei yu lunxian shiqi de Zhongguo dianying, Wenyi yanjiu (January 2007), available online at
http://movie.douban.com/review/5703692/.
14. In May 1942, after the Japanese occupation of Shanghai and the citys international settlements, Japanese films previously shown only in Japanese quarters started
to find their way into the former foreign concessions. China Nights and Winter Jasmine, for example, were screened in Shanghai in 1943. See Yoshioka Aiko, Ekkysuru
joy Ri Kran, p. 104.
15. A collective term for Chinese liquor with high alcohol content, such as
maotai.
16. See chapter 4.
17. Bu Wancang (19031974), an Anhui native who came to Shanghai in 1921,
worked with Ruan Lingyu in such noted silent films as Love and Duty (Lianai yu yiwu,
1931) and Peach Blossom Weeps Tears of Blood (Taohua qixieji, 1931) before directing
Mulan Joins the Army (1939). He continued his fi lmmaking career in Hong Kong in
the 1950s and 1960s, directing such fi lms as The Evening Primrose (Yelaixiang, 1957),
Strange Bedfellows (Tongchuang yimeng, 1960), and Happy Encounter (Xi Xiangfeng,
1960). Zhu Shilin (18991967), especially known for his Mothers Song (Cimu-qu, 1937),
likewise moved to Hong Kong after the war and directed his controversial Qinggong
mishi (Sorrows of the Forbidden City, 1948) as well as The Happiness of Living Together

332

Notes to Pages 194197

(Yiban zhige, 1952). Ma-Xu Weibang (19051961) is still remembered for his classic
Song at Midnight (Yeban gesheng, 1937), a loose adaptation of Phantom of the Opera
and reportedly the first horror fi lm in Chinese fi lm history.
18. During the Second Sino-Japanese War, Gao Zhanfei (19041969) made patriotic fi lms in Wuhan and Chongqing before returning to Shanghai in 1942 and
starring in Glory to Eternity. Besides Mulan Joins the Army, Chen Yunchang (1919 )
starred in such fi lms as Biyuzhan (1940) and Boai (1942) before appearing in Glory to
Eternity. After the fall of Shanghai in 1937, Yuan Meiyun (19171999) made two notable fi lms, Xishi (1941) and Hongloumeng (1944). Wang Yin (19111988) starred in
about thirty fi lms in the 1930s before becoming a director for the Shaw Brothers
in Hong Kong after the war ended. Yamaguchi and Wang worked again in 1955, when
the latter directed Jin Ping Mei with Yamaguchi playing the role of the seductress
Pan Jinlian.
19. From the Chinese perspective, Japanese efforts at the production of opium
in Inner Mongolia and its distribution within Japanese-occupied territories in China
were naturally seen as a nightmarish replay of what the British had done to their
country in the early nineteenth century. The fact that the British opium entrepreneurs in the fi lm were played by Chinese actors, complete with fake noses and exaggerated wigs, has been seen as a caricature of the Japanese attempt to imitate the
British. See Yoshioka, Ekkysuru joy Ri Kran, p. 106.
20. A comprehensive study of the life and works of Zhang Shankun, from his
early days as a henchman to Shanghais gang boss Huang Jinrong to his exile to Hong
Kong after the war and his subsequent filmmaking career therein, is provided by Ai Yi,
Shanghaitan dianying dawang Zhang Shankun (Shanghai: Shanghai Renmin Chubanshe, 2007).
21. A note in the original indicates that Kogure Michiyos appearance in the
fi lm led to her subsequent marriage to Wada Hidekichi, a Manei director.
22. Yamaguchis deduction here is not entirely convincing. Her failure to comprehend supposedly heavily Shanghainese-accented speech alone would hardly have
convinced Wang of her foreign nationality. Not a few non-Shanghainese-speaking
Chinese would probably have the same experience. Additionally, Bu Wancang was
an Anhui native, not a Shanghainese, even though he had lived in Shanghai for more
than two decades and might very well have spoken Mandarin with a Shanghainese
accent.
23. Liang Leyin (19101989), a native of Guangdong Province who had studied
music theory and composition in Japan, was also an expert erhu player. He began
his illustrious career as a composer for film toward the end of the 1930s; he wrote the
theme songs for Yujianu, Boai, and Fenghuang yufei during the fall of Shanghai before continuing his composers career in Hong Kong in the 1950s and later in Taiwan.
One of his most popu lar and still cherished melodies was Yueer wanwan zhao jiuzhou. An audio version of Yamaguchi singing The Candy Peddling Song, along
with short clips from Glory to Eternity, can be seen at http://www.lyrics5.com
/videos.html?vid=GMrYnf2rH6Y.

Notes to Pages 197207

333

24. Brindisi from Verdis opera La Traviata.

25. The leading cast with Li Xianglan and Chen Yunchang attracted considerable media attention in Shanghai. The Shanghai Evening Post correspondent Bill Funk
greeted the fi lm in his preview on March 28, 1943, by saying, [Glory to Eternity] . . .
is so magnificent artistically and so gripping dramatically that it stands practically
alone on my private and unofficial recommended list for a Must see picture of the
year. See Tanaka Kaoru, Shimizu Kiyoshi, et al., eds. Ri Kran: Futatsu no sokoku ni
yureta seishun, pp. 2425.
26. For a recent critique of the fi lm from Taiwanese commentators and academics such as Lin Qing-chi, Yang Meng-zhe, and Wang Fuxiang who unsurprisingly
regard it as blatant Japanese colonial propaganda, see the report on http://www.you
tube.com/watch?v=kUAykNHTG0g.
27. Published in 1940 by the noted literary critic and scholar of English literature Nakano Yoshio (19031985).

Chapter 13: Rhapsody of The Evening Primrose

1. Opened in January 1908, the famous steel bridge over Suzhou Creek connecting the Huangpu and Hongkou districts has long been one of the enduring symbols of Shanghai.
2. While it has been argued that the signs exact wording might have been a
popu lar myth, the first public park in China established in 1886 was closed to the
Chinese people until 1928. According to the regulations by order of Secretary, Council
Room, Shanghai, N. O. Liddell, on September 13, 1917, the Public Garden was reserved for the Foreign Community and dogs and bicycles are not permitted. In Robert
A. Bickers and Jeffrey N. Wasserstrom, Shanghais Dogs and Chinese Not Admitted Sign: Legend, History and Contemporary Symbol, China Quarterly 142 (June
1995): 444466, the authors write, For over 60 years before June 1928 most Chinese
certainly were barred from the parks administered by the foreign-controlled Shanghai Municipal Council (SMC) of the International Settlement in Shanghai (p. 444).
3. Mei Lanfang (18941961) famously declined all invitations to perform under Japanese patronage during the Second Sino-Japanese War and supported his
family by selling off his paintings. While in Hong Kong during the war, he reportedly practiced tai chi, played badminton, and studied English, but devoted most of
his time to painting. In October 1945, Mei gloriously returned to perform on stage at
Shanghais Majestic Theater (Meiqi Daxiyuan) with the Beijing Opera performer
Yu Zhenfei. Among their performances were Broken Bridge (Duanqiao) and Peony Pavilion (Mutan-ting).
4. For details, see Jubin Hu, Projecting a Nation: Chinese National Cinema
Before 1949 (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2003), pp. 131133.
5. Different versions and retellings of the Xiangfei legend exist regarding the
fate of a Uyghur girl taken as a consort by Qing Dynastys Qianlong Emperor in the

334

Notes to Pages 208212

eighteenth century. For a discussion in English on the Xiangfei controversy, see

James A. Millward, A Uyghur Muslim in Qianlongs Court: The Meaning of the Fragrant Concubine, Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 2 (May 1994): 427458.
6. Short for Nakagawa Chi, or Lieutenant Nakagawa.
7. Constructed in 1928 with the attendance of Mei Lanfang at its opening ceremony, the theater was reputed to be Shanghais most elegant structure during the
1930s and the best cinema in the East. It underwent a grand renovation in 2008 to
restore its former splendor.
8. Noguchi himself wrote about jazz in Nemoto Ryichir, ed., Jazu dandizumu Noguchi Hisamitsu Jasu no gonjidai (Tokyo: Kdansha, 2012). For a collection
of Noguchis poster works, see Tsutsui Takeshi and Nemoto Ryichir, eds., Yroppa
meigaza: Noguchi Hisamitsu gurafikku shsei (Tokyo: Asahi Sonorama, 2001). An
earlier version of Izakaya, similarly based on Zolas LAssommoir (1877), was screened
with little success in Japan in 1934.
9. Li Jinguang (19071993) and his other distinguished siblings in such fields
as Sinology and musical composition have been collectively called the Eight Horsemen
of the Li Family. Li began his artistic career in Shanghai in 1927 working for the China
Performance Troupe before writing music for cinematic productions starting in 1939.
Besides Yelaixiang, his long-cherished works included Xianggelila, Cai binlang,
and Fengkuang shijie. After 1949, Li worked for the Shanghai Record Company and
served for a time as Head Conductor of the Chinese Central Ballet Symphonic
Orchestra.
10. For an informative account of Shanghais premier record company Baidai
Gongsi, see Jindai Shanghai Baidai Changpian Gongsi chengshuai ji, Shi Lin 5 (2008),
which is available online at http://www.55id.cn/post/158/. The old site of the two-story
company, now transformed into a stylish European-style coffee shop, still stands
within the grounds of Xujiahui Park in southwestern Shanghai.
11. For audio per formances of the song by Yamaguchi (in both Chinese and
Japanese) and Zhang Yan, a contemporary Chinese singer, see http://www.youtube
.com/watch?v=Dt7QJ9_nY38&feature=related and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v
=MCPYNcijVkE& feature=related, respectively.
12. For Aoe Minas performance of the song with Saekis lyrics, see http://www
.youtube.com/watch?v=iNwaBwuACns.
13. Directed by Yuan Muzhi, the fi lm has enjoyed a distinguished reputation
as one of Chinas classic leftist productions with its portrayal of the Shanghai underclass in the 1930s, including prostitutes and various other members of the lower
working classes. Playing Xiao Hong (her real name as an adopted child), a poor teahouse singer, Zhou Xuan performs the theme songs Tianya genu and Sijige. See,
respectively, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxu8Kxuf-Sg&feature=related and
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIEUeMiJBhY& feature=related.
14. See chapter 7 for a translation of part of the songs lyrics.
15. Tebie kuaiche was the name of a dance and singing show from Shanghais Mingyue Troupe.

Notes to Pages 213234

335

16. With a long history dating back to 1867, the two-story theater was built by
British residents in the French Concession in 1930 and opened in 1931 with a seating
capacity of 749. After a number of name changes, one of the oldest theaters in Shanghai reverted to its original name in 1991.
17. For Nakazonos book, see also chapter 7, n. 14.
18. First built in 1928, then demolished and rebuilt in 1933, the Daguangming
Daxiyuan had 1,900 seats and screened mostly foreign films. See Paola Iovene, Phony
Phoenixes: Comedy, Protest, and Marginality in Postwar Shanghai, in China on the
Margins, ed. Sherman Cochran and Paul Pickowicz (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University
Press, 2010), pp. 267287.
19. Constructed in 1934 in art deco style, the elegant hotel was the tallest building, the oldest skyscraper, and a symbol of Shanghai for over half a century.
20. For a version of Tokyo Boogie-Woogie and its more recent reincarnation
as an advertisement song Shanghai Boogie-Woogie, visit http://www.youtube.com
/watch?v=6SfpSymF0MI and http://www.youtube.com /watch?v=QkCBWldqL4o&
feature=related, respectively.
21. The translation follows the original Chinese lyrics. The song was performed
by Zhou Xuan in the popu lar fi lm Yujianu directed by Bu Wancang in 1943.
22. See Zhou Xuans performance of the song at http://www.youtube.com/
watch?v=kNvKtVXadFE. The lyrics of the song as sung in the fi lm, however, show no
indication that the girl will die mad, even though she laments the mad world in
which she lives. The rest of the lyrics are as follows:
What are thrills?
What are mysteries?
What is affection?
What is love?
Birds! From now on, you are not allowed to sing!
Flowers! From now on, you are not allowed to bloom!
I dont need this mad world!
This mad world!
23. On the fate of Liubas brother, see chapter 15, n. 4.

Chapter 14: Shanghai, 1945

1. The original refers to President Chen Gongbo from the Wang Zhaoming
government. Chen became President of the pro-Japanese Nanjing Nationalist government after the death of Wang in November 1944. Chen was subsequently extradited from Japan, tried, and executed as a traitor on June 3, 1946.
2. No specific names of any of the dozen or so female broadcasters collectively
known as Tokyo Rose, including that of Iva Toguri, was identified in the original text.
3. The name Shigaota Road (Scott Road) was only used from 19111943
and now its new name is Shanyin Road. An informative essay dated June 30, 2009, by

336

Notes to Pages 234246

an unnamed author about the history of the Shanghai neighborhood is provided by

Tanfang Shanghai shenchu: Shanghai Hongkou-qu Shanyin Lu. See it online at
http://s.dianping.com/topic/934535. For another excellent online essay describing the
history of Shigaota Road, see Zhu Wei, Shigaota Lu ji Shigaota Lu di posted on
August 26, 2010, at http://www.shsz.org.cn/news/20108/i-201082681649.html.
4. First established in Shanghai in 1901, the school was closed in 1945 as a result of Japans defeat in World War II with a total number of graduates numbering as
many as five thousand. For some forty years, its students traveled extensively in
Chinawith permission from the Chinese authorities until 1931to pursue on-site
investigations of the countrys geography and its wide-ranging commercial, cultural,
and political developments. While noting its positive contributions to Sino-Japanese
exchange and the considerable historical and sociological value of its publications,
Chinese authors have also pointed out its connections with the Japanese military
during the Second Sino-Japanese War. See Feng Tianyus undated online essay Luelun Donya Tongwen Shuyuan de Zhongguo diaocha, at http://www.ewen .cc
/qikan /bkview.asp?bkid=2053&cid=4959 and another related article http:// baike
.baidu.com /view/4220593.htm. Upon their return to Japan, some of the schools academic staff and alumni established Aichi University in 1946. See also Aichi Universitys history on its own webpage at http://www.aichi-u.ac.jp/profi le/history.html.
5. On General Ma Zhanshan, see chapter 1, n. 3.
6. Himeda Yoshir (19081967), novelist noted particularly for providing
Japanese subtitles to French fi lms.

Chapter 15: Farewell, Li Xianglan

1. The two friends did meet in 1998, after the publication date of Yamaguchis
autobiography. See n. 4 on details.
2. Gomikawa Junpei (19161995), a Dalian-born Japanese novelist whose celebrated novel Ningen no jken (6 vols., 19561958), based partly on his own war experiences at the Manchurian-Soviet border and subsequently made into a major fi lm by
Kobayashi Masaki (in six parts, 19591961), was an emblematic figure in Japanese
antiwar literature after World War II. A recipient of the Kikuchi Kan Prize in 1978,
he was also the author of such major works as Jiy to no keiyaku (6 vols., 19581960)
and Sens to ningen (18 vols., 19651982), the latter also adapted into a major threepart fi lm (19701973) by the director Yamamoto Satsuo.
3. Edokko, literally a child of Edo, refers also to a native of Tokyo. A common
saying Edokko wa satsuki no koi no fukinagashi underscores his or her blunt candor as expressed typically in speech.
4. On October 28, 1998, at the age of seventy-eight, Yamaguchi was reunited
with Liuba in Yekaterinburg, Russia, after a fi ft y-three-year separation. Liuba by
then had forgotten her Japa nese, and the two old friends communicated in Russian
and English. In 1946, after her marriage in Shanghai, Liuba went to Yekaterinburg

Notes to Pages 247259

337

with her husband Yuri, who, for unspecified reasons, was arrested by the KGB on
treason charges, given a twenty-five-year sentence, and exiled to Siberia. During
the Khrushchev era, he was freed after serving a seven-year prison term. When
Yamaguchi met Liuba, Yuri and Liubas only son had died. Yamaguchi also learned,
if only most cryptically from Liuba, that the fate of the latters brother was connected with the 731 Unit, the notorious Japa nese covert biological and chemical
warfare research unit based in the suburbs of war time Harbin. Yamaguchi had no
idea whether he was one of the very large number of victims of the units brutal
biological experiments on human subjects; Liuba died the following year on September 24, 1999, at the age of seventy-nine. See Yamaguchi Yoshiko, Ri Kran o
ikite, pp. 178183.
5. For a study of the Green Gang and Du Yuesheng in English, see Brian G.
Martin, The Shanghai Green Gang: Politics and Organized Crime, 19191937 (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1996). For the Kuomintangs Bureau of Investigation
and Statistics and the Blue Shirts, see Frederic Wakeman, Jr., Spymaster: Dai Li and
the Chinese Secret Service (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).
6. The original text gives the name shikishi in Japanese. It was more likely
xuanzhi, a writing paper used for practicing calligraphy, composing poems and the
like, and often erroneously called rice paper.
7. Typically wearing a sedge hat and resting a wisteria branch on her shoulder.

Addendum: The PostLi Xianglan Years

1. Since April 2010, the former Kawakita residence situated in Kamakuras
Yuki-no-shita area has been turned into the Kamakura City Kawakita Film Memorial Center (Kamakura-shi Kawakita Eiga Kinenkan). See its webpage at http://www
.kamakura-kawakita.org/.
2. The thirty-nine-minute documentary Nihon no higeki, directed by Kamei
Fumio in 1946, gave a critical overview of the economic and political conditions leading to Japans war of aggression in Asia and offered thinly disguised insinuations about
Emperor Hirohitos war responsibility. Apparently for those reasons, the film was
banned, with the positives and negatives confiscated, by the Occupation forces at the
urging of none other than Prime Minister Yoshida Shigeru. See Yamane Sadaos commentary on the film in Ab Mark Nornes and Fukushima Yukio, eds., The Japan/
America Film Wars: World War II Propaganda and Its Cultural Contexts (Langhorne,
PA: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1994), pp. 265268 and Hirano Kyoko, The Occupation and Japanese Cinema, in The Occupation of Japan: Arts and Culture, ed.
Thomas W. Burkman (Norfolk, VA: General Douglas MacArthur Foundation, 1988),
pp. 145146.
3. Constructed in the French Renaissance style in Tokyos Marunouchi area
in 1911 as Japans first modern European-style theater, it was rebuilt after its destruction in the aftermath of the 1923 Great Kant Earthquake.

338

Notes to Pages 259262

4. Hijikata Yoshi (18981959), a student of Osanai Kaoru and German theater,

was the major force behind the 1924 establishment of Tokyos Tsukiji Little Theater
and the center of Japans New Theater (Shingeki) movement. The founder of the 1929
New Tsukiji Troupe, he staged performances based on such classic proletarian works
as Kobayashi Takijis Kani-ksen (The Cannery Boat) and Kubo Sakaes Kazanbai-chi
(Land of Volcanic Ash). An exile to the Soviet Union and then Paris during a tumultuous period of authoritarian suppression, Hijikata returned to Japan in 1941, only to be
given a five-year prison sentence. A Japan Communist Party member after the war,
he continued to be active in Japanese theater. See his Hijikata Yoshi engeki ronsh:
Enshutsuka no michi (Tokyo: Meiraisha, 1969).
5. Takizawa Osamu (19062000), an extraordinarily accomplished actor in prewar left-wing theater, established the Popular Art Troupe (Minsh Geijutsu Gekij)
with Uno Jkichi and came to be known as the god of Shingeki (Shingeki no kamisama). Especially noted for his performances in Death of a Salesman, The Merchant
of Venice, and his much-acclaimed interpretation of Van Gogh, he was perhaps best
remembered by English-speaking audiences for his memorable portrait of the cannibalistic soldier, Yasuda, in Ichikawa Kons film Nobi (Fires on the Plain, 1959). Uno
Jkichi (19141988) fashioned his stage name from Chinese characters from the names
of the novelists Nakano Shigeharu and Suzuki Miekichi and became an active member
in the prewar proletarian theater movement. His postwar career was largely associated
with Peoples Art Troupe (Gekidan Mingei), punctuated by his performances in such
unforgettable cinematic roles as a shady financier and political operative in Yamamoto
Satsuos dark political drama Kinkanshoku (1975). Mori Masayuki (19111973), son of
the novelist Arishima Takeo and perhaps best known in the West for his role as the illfated samurai Takehiro in Kurosawa Akiras Rashmon (1950), was one of the most
prominent and acclaimed actors in Japanese cinema during the 1950s and 1960s.
6. With a screenplay by Shind Kaneto and music by Kinoshita Chji, the fi lm
has sometimes been compared to Kurosawa Akiras Drunken Angel (Yoidore tenshi,
1948) in terms of their respective depiction of the changing postwar milieu. Besides
Yamaguchi and Mori, the fi lm also stars many Mingei Geijutsu stage actors, including Takizawa Osamu playing a yakuza boss and Uno Jkichi in his role as a newspaperman.
7. During the Occupation period, the Civil Information and Education Section (CIE) of the General Headquarters (GHQ) apparently encouraged the making of
so-called kissing fi lms (seppun eiga) as a symbol of moral liberation. The first
kissing scenes in Japanese fi lms were reportedly seen in Twenty-Year-Old Youth
(Hatachi no seishun) and A Certain Nights Kiss (Aru yo no seppun), both released in
May 1946. See Hirano Kyoko, The Occupation and Japanese Cinema, p. 144.
8. Established in 1919 and generally known as Kinejun, the magazine was first
concerned with fi lm criticism of non-Japanese fi lms before branching out into Japanese productions in its annual selection of the ten best fi lms for each category. The
best Japanese fi lm in 1948, the year The Shining Day of My Life was screened, was
Kurosawa Akiras The Drunken Angel.

Notes to Pages 262266

339

9. Taniguchi was also a co-scriptwriter. The fi lm was remade by Nikkatsu in

1965 under the direction of Suzuki Seijun with Nogawa Yumiko playing the lead female role.
10. Kinema Junp picked Ozu Yasujirs Late Autumn (Banshun) as the best
Japanese fi lm for the year 1949.
11. With lyrics written in memory of Marcel Cerdan, Piaf first performed the
song at the Versailles in September 1949, a version of which can be seen at http://www
.youtube.com/watch?v=1gTGmbA40ZQ. Reinvented in Japan as Ai no sanka with
Iwatani Tokikos new passionate lyrics, the song has achieved continuing popularity
since the early 1950s, with performers ranging from Koshiji Fubuki, Kishi Yko, Fuse
Akira, and Iwasaki Hiromi to a considerably different 2010 interpretation by Utada
Hikaru.
12. Yamaguchis original text gives a memorable Japanese rendition of the
frogs par ticu lar conditionfrog tempura.
13. His own colorful concoctions notwithstanding, biographical evidence shows
that Yul Brynner was born in Vladivostok as Yuli Borisovich Bryner and that he spent
time with his mother and sister in Harbin, not Beijing, before the family moved to
Paris. See Rock Brynners account of his familys extraordinary multi-generational saga,
Empire and Odyssey: The Brynners in Far East Russia and Beyond (Hanover, NH: Steerforth, 2006).
14. Yukawa Hideki (19071981), a professor of theoretical physics at Kyoto University known for his study of elementary particles and his theory of mesons. In 1949,
he became the first Japanese winner of the Nobel Prize.
15. Ishigaki Eitar (18931958), a Western-style painter known for his Marxist
leanings, his participation in Katayama Sens socialist group among Japanese expatriates in the United States, and his critique of Japanese militarism. Karen Boone,
Stacie Diedrichsen, and BreAnn Fosses Ayako Ishigaki (December 20, 2006), a
short but informative article on the remarkable career of Ishigaki Ayako, produced
for Voices for the Gaps at the University of Minnesota and containing useful bibliographical information, can be found online at http://voices.cla.umn.edu/artistpages
/ishigakiAyako.php.
16. First established in 1948 by Sawada Miki (19011980), the Elizabeth Sanders
Home in iso, Kanagawa Prefecture, was often credited as the fi rst orphanage in
Japan that cared for mixed-race babies born of Japanese women and American soldiers. See a description of the orphanage and Japanese racial attitudes regarding such
babies in Yukiko Koshiro, Trans-Pacific Racisms and the U.S. Occupation of Japan
(New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), pp. 163168. For Bucks work on behalf
of disadvantaged children and her life story, see Peter Conn, Pearl S. Buck: A Cultural
Biography (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996).
17. Inspired by Joaquin Miller and others, Noguchi Yonejir (or Yone Noguchi, 18751947) established his literary fame on the West Coast of the United States
during the late 1890s before gaining recognition in New York and London in the
1900s. A modernist poet, he was perhaps best known for his 1909 poetry collection

340

Notes to Pages 267281

The Pilgrimage along with his novel The American Diary of a Japanese Girl (1902), even
though his critical fame witnessed much fluctuation over time. A professor of English literature at Kei University starting in 1905, he published his much admired
Japanese language poetry collection Nijkokusekisha no shi in 1921.
18. An image inspired by Mura no kajiya (The Village Blacksmith), an early
Taish song for children.
19. After their marriage in 1943, Chaplin and Oona alone produced eight children. He had a total of elevenor twelvedepending in one case on the contested
identity of the father.
20. The theme music, written by Chaplin himself, famously earned the 1972
Oscar for Best Original Dramatic Score.
21. The broad artistic range of Kitaji Rosanjin (18831959) included calligraphy,
seal engraving, and Nihon-ga (traditional Japanese-style painting) before he branched
out to the study, styling, and production of cooking utensils and food containers. Inspired especially by Momoyama-era aesthetics, his imaginative passions in ceramic
production were often mentioned along with his well-deserved reputation as a culinary connoisseur.
22. A twenty-kilometer river flowing through the city of Ise in eastern Mie
Prefecture.
23. Tokugawa Musei (18941971), one of the most prominent fi lm interpreters
(katsud benshi) during the age of the silent fi lm in Japan before becoming a pioneer
comic-chat artist (mandanka), film actor, and innovative radio storyteller of such classics as Miyamoto Musashi and The Monkey Goes West.
24. It needs to be clarified that what Joseph McCarthy headed was the Senate
Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations (PSI) in 19531954, not the House UnAmerican Activities Committee.
25. Yamaguchis responses to such charges were given in smaller print in parentheses in the original text.
26. For a brief description of the Canon Unit, see Eiji Takemae, The Allied Occupation of Japan (New York: Continuum, 2003), p. 165.
27. To help lubricate the sale of its own Lockheed Tristar 1011s over its rivals,
the McDonnell Douglas DC-10 and the Boeing-747, officials of Lockheed, a U.S. aerospace company, proceeded to bribe officials in the highest levels of the Japanese government, including the office of Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei and All Nippon Airways personnel, with the connivance of the right-wing underworld figure Kodama
Yoshio. ExPrime Minister Tanaka, along with high-ranking government officials
involved with this incident, were arrested in 1976 in one of the most publicized bribery scandals in postwar Japan.
28. A review in the New York Times (January 30, 1952) describes Yamaguchi
as pretty and doll-like while noting the credibility and polish she gives to the
heroines role and her impeccable English. It concludes, The trials of Japa nese
War Bride, as set down in Catherine Turneys script, have the impact of a twice-told
tale.

Notes to Pages 281285

341

29. The rest of Kiplings refrain in his The Ballad of East and West reads But
there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth, / When two strong men
stand face to face, / tho they come from the ends of the earth!
30. Noguchi died in December 1988 at the age of eighty-four, about a year and
a half after the publicationof Yamaguchis autobiography. For two studies of this
prominent figure in twentieth-century American art and landscape architecture, see
Masayo Duus, The Life of Isamu Noguchi: Journey Without Borders, trans. Peter
Duus (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004), and Dore Ashton, Noguchi
East and West (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).
31. Yamaguchi and taka Hiroshi were married in Rangoon, Myanmar. Hiroshi came from a family of diplomats; his father, Masajir, served as a diplomat in
Belgium, Harbin, Tianjin, Germany, and Austria before becoming Consul General in
Qingdao in 1937. Hiroshis two younger brothers were also diplomats; Sh was Japanese Ambassador to Paraguay and Czechoslovakia, and Ichir was Ambassador to
Finland. Hiroshi himself served as the Japanese Minister to Belgium and as its Ambassador to Sri Lanka (19831987) and Myanmar (19871990). He died in 2001.
32. Incidentally, sanji no anata is also another name for the coral flower (hazeran), which is said to bloom at three in the afternoon. The Fuji Televison show ran
from April 1969 to March 1974.
33. The Red Army member Yamaguchi interviewed in 1973 was Shigenobu Fusako. Arrested in Osaka in 2000, Shigenobu received her final verdict of a twenty-year
prison term from the Supreme Court in 2010.
34. Japanese Prime Minister Tanaka Kakuei visited the Peoples Republic of
China from September 25 to September 30, 1972, at the invitation of Premier Zhou
Enlai. The Joint Communiqu of the Government of Japan and the Government of
the Peoples Republic of China was formally signed on September 29, not September
25 as stated in the original.

Filmography

1938

Honeymoon Express (Miyue kuaiche; Japa nese rendering, Mitsugetsu

kaisha; Manei)

1939

Spring Dream of Great Fortune (Fugui chunmeng; Japa nese rendering,

Fki shunmu; Manei)
Retribution of the Vengeful Spirit (Yuanhun fuchou; Japanese rendering,
Enkon fukky; Manei)
Travels to the East (Dongyouji; Japa nese rendering, Tyki; Manei/
Th)
Blood of Arms and Heart of Wisdom (Tiexie huixin; Japanese title, Utsukushiki gisei; Manei)
Song of the White Orchid (Byakuran no uta, Th)

1940

China Nights (Shina no yoru, Th)

The Monkeys Journey to the West (Songok, Th)
Pledge in the Desert (Nessa no chikai, Th)

1941

You and I (Kimi to boku, Press Division, Korean Army)

Suzhou Nights (Sosh no yoru, Shchiku funa)

1942

Winter Jasmine (Geishunka, Shchiku Kyoto and Manei)

Yellow River (Huanghe; Japanese rendering, Kga; Manei)

1943

Sayuns Bell (Sayon no kane, Shchiku, Manei, and the Governors Office
of Taiwan)
Chorus of Prayer (Chikai no gassh, Th and Manei)
The Fighting Street (Tatakai no machi, Shchiku funa)
My Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu, Manei)
Glory to Eternity (Wanshi liufeng; Japa nese rendering, Bansei ryh;
Zhonghua Dianying, Zhonglian, and Manei)

1944

Field Army Orchestra (Yasen gungakutai, Shchiku Kyoto)

343

344

Filmography

1948

Lucky Chair (Kun no isu, Nichiei)

The Shining Day of My Life (Waga shgai no kagayakeru hi, Shchiku
funa)
The Passionate Mermaid (Jnetsu no ningyo, Daiei Tokyo)

1949

The Shooting Star (Nagareboshi, Shin-Th)

The Human Condition (Ningen moy, Shin-Th)
Homecoming (Kikoku, Shin-Th)

1950

Escape at Dawn (Akatsuki no dass, Shin-Th)

First Love Hullabaloos (Hatsukoi mond, Shchiku funa)
Womanly Craze (Onna no ryk, Shchiku funa)
Scandal (Shbun Sukyandaru, Shchiku funa)

1951

Japanese War Bride (Japanese title, Higashi wa higashi; Twentieth Century Fox)

1952

Foghorn (Muteki, Th)

Sword for Hire (Sengoku burai, Th)
The Woman from Shanghai (Shanhai no onna, Th)
The Ship of Tumultuous Fortune (Fun senrysen, Th)

1953

Last Embrace (Hy, Th)

1954

Heavenly Bliss (Tianshang renjian, Shaw Brothers)

The Saturday Angel (Doybi no tenshi, Th)

1955

House of Bamboo (Japa nese title, Tokyo ankokugai; Twentieth Century Fox)
The Plum in the Golden Vase (Jin Ping Mei, Shaw Brothers)

1956

Madame White Snake (Byakufujin no yren, Th and Shaw Brothers)

1957

Mysterious Beauty (Shenmi meiren, Shaw Brothers)

A Night of Romantic Love (Yiye fengliu, Shaw Brothers)

1958

The Angkor Wat Story: Beautiful Melancholy (Ankru Watto monogatari:

Utsukushiki aish, Th)
Tokyo Holidays (Tokyo no kyjitsu, Th)

Index

Abe Kb, 29
Actors Studio, xxix, 263, 279
Aisin Gioro Pujie. See Pujie
Aisin Gioro Puyi. See Puyi
Aisin Gioro Xianyu. See Kawashima
Yoshiko
Aizawa (intelligence agent), 4951, 52
Amakasu Masahiko: death, 203, 296n20;
intelligence agents, xxvi; Kawakita
Nagamasa and, 192; as Manei
director, xxv, xxvii, 91, 9294, 9597,
121, 298n37; meetings, 202203;
sugi Sakae Incident, xxvii, 91, 92,
94, 193, 318n14; political activity, 92,
193; Shigeki and, 120
Andrews, Julie, 283
Arichi Ichir, 233, 234
Arthur, Jean, 259
Asahina Takashi, 96, 101, 320n9
Asahi Shimbun, xxviii, 123, 127128,
129130, 131132, 133, 260, 299n45
Asai Takeshi, 177
Atsumi Masako, 74, 84, 138, 143, 144, 153,
154, 171174, 175, 176, 258
Awaya Noriko, xix, 19, 104, 105, 310n8
Azuma Keiz, 2627, 28, 51
Bai Guang, xviii, 150, 159160, 162163,
167, 326n17
Bai Hong, 217
Bai Juyi, 107
Bai Mei, 73, 76
Bai Yang, 191
Bei Lin, 103, 320321n14

Beijing: anti-Japanese sentiment, 44,

45, 4648, 5051, 5859; cinemas,
60; demonstrations, 46, 50; films
set in, 98; Forbidden City, 36, 37;
hutongs, 37, 312n4; markets, 5354,
314n3; parks and lakes, 39, 42,
45, 4647, 6162, 201202, 312n9;
Picai Hutong pigeons, 40; press
conference, 200201; restaurants,
54, 62, 314n3; schools, 38, 3940,
44, 45, 50, 51, 61; Tiananmen
Square, 37; train journey to,
3235; Yamaguchi family in, 241,
250252; Yamaguchi Yoshiko in,
28, 29, 3548, 4954, 5863,
148151, 199
Beijing Opera, 18, 95, 206207
Beltramelli, Yoshiko, 259
Benedict, Ruth, 108109
Berlin Film Festival, 273
Bernhard, Joseph, 264
Blood of Arms and Heart of Wisdom
(Tiexie huixin; Japanese title,
Utsukushiki gisei), 77
Bogarde, Dirk, 274
Bogart, Humphrey, 274
Booth, Robert H., 277
Boyer, Charles, 137, 323n5
Brancusi, Constantin, 273
Brynner, Yul, xxix, 264265, 339n13
Bu Wancang, 188189, 193, 197, 331n17,
332n22, 335n21
Buck, Pearl, 265266, 278
Buruma, Ian, The China Lover, xviii

345

346

Index

Cai Chusheng, 28, 191, 330n9, 331n11

Candy Peddling Song, The (Maitang-ge),
197198, 212, 213
Canon, Jack, and Canon Unit, 276277
Capra, Frank, 259
Chagall, Marc, 273
Changchun Film Studio (Changchun
Dianying Zhipianchang), 73, 74, 7576
Change Flies to the Moon (Change
benyue), 207
Chaplin, Charlie, xxix, 267269, 273, 278,
300n51, 340n19
Chaplin, Oona, 268, 273, 340n19
Chen Boer, 191
Chen Gexin, 212, 213, 214
Chen Gongbo, 231, 233, 335n1
Chen Yanyan, 207, 231
Chen Yunchang: fame, xxv, 196197; fi lms,
189, 193, 194, 195, 197, 207, 332n18;
Japanese ship visit, 196197; Li
Xianglan and, 195, 299n43; treason
charges, 231
Cheung, Jacky (Cheung Hok-yau), xviii,
xx, 294n7
Chiang Kai-shek, 152, 154, 171, 231, 275,
325n3. See also Kuomintang
Chiba Sachiko, 179, 328n13
China: anti-Japanese resistance, 3233, 43,
44, 4546, 50, 160, 199200; antiJapanese sentiment, 194, 195, 196, 199;
atrocities in, xlviii, 1013; Baoding
Military Academy, 187; collaborators
with Japanese, 2021, 4243, 231,
310n5, 312n8; cultural differences
from Japan, xlvxlvi, 44, 53, 9091;
currency reform, 34; end of, 230231;
fi lm audiences, xviixviii, xxiixxiii,
xlii, 9596, 100; fi lms, 18, 188189,
193194; foot-binding, 18, 41;
Japanese writers on, xlviixlix;
opium, xxiixxiii, 4344, 197198,
332n19; Opium War, 193, 194. See also
Beijing; Shanghai
China Nights (Shina no yoru), 101, 102,
126
China Nights (Shina no yoru): audiences,
xvii, xxii, xxxviiixxxix, 100;

characters, xxxivxxxvi, 303

304nn7780, 304nn8283; Chinese
title, 99, 100, 303n75, 319n6; violence
scene, xxxvii, xxxviiixxxix, l,
99100; fi lming, 88, 98, 108, 109, 134,
191, 303n75; music, xvii, 102, 105108,
109, 303n76; plot, xxxvxxxvii,
xxxixxl, xlix, 319n2; as propaganda,
xxxvixxxviii, xxxixxl; screenwriter,
xlxli; script, xxiii, xli; success, 98,
106, 303n75; used to train U.S.
intelligence officers, 108109
Chinese Communist Party, 4546, 171,
173, 205
Chinese language: Beijing dialect, 18, 52,
71; learning, 2, 35, 1617, 18, 21, 39;
proficiency in, 21, 50, 75, 295n12;
Shanghainese accent, 197, 332n22
Chorus of Prayer (Chikai no gassh), 199
Cixi, Empress Dowager, 61, 62, 162, 326n19
Columbia Recordings, 103, 104105, 121,
122, 211
Communism: in Japan, 319n23; U.S.
blacklist, xxix, 273276. See also
Chinese Communist Party
Comrades (Seny), 175
Conference on the Alliance of Continental
Films (Tairiku Eiga Renmei Kaigi),
192, 193
continental trilogy (tairiku sanbusaku),
xxxiv, xlii, 8890, 98, 99101. See also
China Nights; Pledge in the Desert;
Song of the White Orchid
Cooper, Gary, 274
cultural traitors (wenhua hanjian),
231233. See also treason trials
Daiei, 182, 189, 262, 319320n7, 329n23
Date Munekatsu, 184, 291
Dean, James, xxix, 278280
De Havilland, Olivia, 274
Diet, Upper House, taka Yoshiko as
member, xxx, 111, 243, 301n58
Dietrich, Marlene, 264, 297n26
DiMaggio, Joe, 264
Ding Jin, 187, 330n4
Dmytryk, Edward, 274

Index

Doihara Kenji, 20, 310n5, 310n9, 318n15

Donglaishun restaurant, 54, 62, 314n3
Dongxinglou restaurant, 54, 5556, 58, 59,
151
Drinking Song, The (La Traviata), 126,
197, 214
Du Hanxing, 67
Du Yuesheng, 247
Duan Qirui, 187
Durbin, Deanna, 126, 197
Duus, Peter, xlvii
Eames, Charles, 268
Eastern Hebei Anti-Communist
Autonomous Committee, 41, 46
Ed Sullivan Show, 283
Elim, Nina, 242243
End Homare, 183
Engelhardt, Nina, 179
Enomoto Kenichi, 98, 319n1
Escape at Dawn (Akatsuki no dass), xxix,
262, 297, 300n49, 304n81, 316n14,
339n9
Et Shinkichi, 29
Evening Primrose, The (Yelaixiang),
xviii, 103, 210, 211212, 215216, 217,
238, 255256, 293n2
Farewell Blues (Wakare no bursu),
104105, 310n8
Farewell Shanghai (Saraba Shanhai), 103
Fengtian, 293n4; birth in, 1; history, 6, 1516;
Russian exiles, 16, 2225, 218219,
242243; schools, 21, 2930, 244;
Yamaguchi family move to, 1314,
2223; Yamato Hotel, 2526, 311n17
Fengtian Broadcasting Station, xxxiv,
2628, 51, 63
Field Army Orchestra (Yasen gungakutai),
202
Fighting Street, The (Tatakai no machi), 199
films. See propaganda films; and individual
studios and titles
First Love Hullabaloos (Hatsukoi mond),
262
Foghorn (Muteki), 272, 277
Fonda, Henry, 274

347

Fragrant Concubine, The (Xiangfei), 207

Freiberg, Freda, xli
Fuji Television, xxx, 285, 341n32
Fujiura K, 104, 212, 293n2
Fujiwara Kamatari, 77, 98, 304n80,
304n82, 319n4
Fujiwara no Kamatari, 98, 319n4
Furukawa Roppa, 79
Furukawa Taik, 155156
Furukawa Takahisa, xxxviii
Furumi Tadayuki, xxvii, 94
Fushimizu Osamu, 98, 105, 106, 107, 108,
109. See also China Nights
Fushun: bandit attacks, 69; coal mines, 1,
69; schools, 1, 6; Yamaguchi family
in, 114
Gandhi, Indira, 273
Ganjuurjab, 59, 314n8
Gao Zhanfei, 193, 194, 332n18
German fi lms, 90, 93, 190, 210
Gershwin, George, 209, 214
Glory to Eternity (Wanshi liufeng;
Japanese rendering, Bansei ryh),
xxxiv, 96, 193; cast, 193194, 195,
196197, 332n18; critical reception,
198199, 333n25; fi lming, 159, 197;
meaning to Chinese audiences,
xxiixxiii; popularity, 197, 199; songs,
xxii, 197198, 295n14
Going Out to Sea (Umi yukaba), 174, 177,
327n7
Gomikawa Junpei, 243, 336n2
Green Gang (Qingbang), 247248
Gurinets, Liuba Monosova: character
modeled after, 180; death, 336337n4;
departure from Fengtian, 29, 245;
family register obtained by, 249,
250252; friendship, 2223, 24, 27,
2931, 218219, 221222, 336337n4;
in Harbin, 223; languages spoken, 22,
25, 220; postwar life, 241242, 243,
245246, 336337n4; in Shanghai,
218219, 220, 221222, 240241,
244245
Gurinets family, 22, 23, 218219, 220,
241242, 244, 245

348

Index

Hakata: harbor, 258; hotels, 151, 153155

Hammerstein, Oscar, 265
hanjian (traitors), 231, 233. See also treason
trials
Hara Setsuko, xxv, 77
Hara Kenichir, 97
Harbin, xxxiiixxxiv, xliixliv, xlviii,
178185
Harbin Opera Troupe, 178, 179
Harmony among the Five Races
(gozoku kywa), l, 27, 63, 66, 75, 86,
95, 181, 311n20
Hasegawa Kazuo, xlvxlvi, 86, 8788, 272,
317n12. See also China Nights;
continental trilogy; Song of the
White Orchid
Hasegawa Shun, 94, 318n18
Hashimoto Shinobu, xli
Hattori Ryichi, 211; career, 109;
concerts, 225226; Farewell Blues,
104105; fi lm scores, xvii, 101102,
178, 208; interest in jazz, 216; Li
Xianglan performances and,
208209, 210, 213214, 215, 217;
repatriation to Japan, 238; Suzhou
Serenade, 107108; travel in China,
106107
Hattori Tomiko, xxxv, 208209
Hayashi Fusao, xlvii, 18, 308n129
Hazumi Tsuneo, xxxix, 191, 208
He Yingqin, 230231
He Zhongshan, 231
Heavenly Bliss (Tianshang renjian), 273
Hepburn, Katherine, 274
High, Peter B., xxxvii, 305n97
Hijikata Yoshi, 259, 260, 338n4
Hilton, James, Lost Horizon, 281
Himeda Yoshir, 191, 238, 336n6
Hino Ashihei, Wheat and Soldiers (Mugi
to heitai), 170, 327n6
Hirata Ryei, 191
Hiro, Madame, 111112, 113, 114, 117, 118,
294n8, 322n6
Hirohito, Emperor, 222, 226, 228, 337n2
Holden, William, xxix
Homecoming (Kikoku), 164, 262, 300n50
Honami Ketsu, xliii

Honeymoon Express (Miyue kuaiche;

Japanese rendering, Mitsugetsu
kaisha), xxiv, xxxiv, 6769
Hong Kong, xxix, 205, 206, 241242. See
also Shaw Brothers
Hoshino Naoki, 94
House of Bamboo (Tokyo ankokugai), 167,
278, 279, 281, 300n51
House Un-American Activities
Committee, 273, 274
Huabei Dianying (North China Film
Studio), 96, 186, 188, 192
Huang Jiamo, 320321n14
Huang Jinrong, 247
Huaying. See Zhonghua Dianying
Human Condition, The (Ningen moy),
164, 262
Ichiji Susumu, 189
Ikari Miyako, 2931, 244
Ikebe Ry, xxix, 18, 262
Ikeda Shinobu, xlvi
Ikeda Tadasu, 179, 181, 185
Imai Tadashi, xl, 182, 328329n20
Inagaki Hiroshi, 272
Inokuma Genichir, 269
Inoue Masao, 261
Ishigaki Ayako, 265266, 276, 339n15
Ishigaki Eitar, xxix, 265266, 276,
339n15
Ishii Baku, 71, 315n7
Ishimitsu Makiyo, 184
Itagaki Seishir, xxvi, 318n15
It Hisao, 102, 106
It Noe, xxvii, 91, 318n14
Iwabuchi, Rear Admiral, 146, 147
Iwasaki Akira: assault on, 258259; fi lm
criticism, 190; fi lms produced, 97,
110, 178, 181182, 183, 184, 195, 259,
337n2; imprisonment, xl, 90, 110, 182;
Kawakita and, 189190, 195; life of,
190, 317n13; at Maneis Tokyo office,
xxvi, 90, 97, 120; in postwar Japan,
258259; relationship with
Yamaguchi, 90, 110111, 195, 202,
301n58; in Shanghai, 190191;
writings, 190, 330n9

Index

Japan: Allied occupation, 108109,

139140, 167, 276277, 338n7; atomic
bombings, 225, 226; fi lm audiences,
xvii, xlii, xlivxlv; fi rst visit by
Yamaguchi, 7980, 8183;
imperialism, xxxxxxiii, xxxvi, xl,
xlvixlvii, 89; Interior Ministry,
9899, 104, 184; prewar fi lms, 18;
relations with China, 285286;
relations with Soviet Union, 136,
219222; views of foreigners, xlvi
xlix, 8182, 307n119; writers, 7780
Japanese-Manchurian Friendship: Li
Xianglan as singing ambassadress,
xxii, xxv, 66, 120130; Maneis
mission, 63, 81, 95; radio program, 27;
songs celebrating, 102. See also
propaganda
Japanese military: China Expeditionary
Army, 220, 230; intelligence, xxi,
183184, 329n23; Kawashima
Yoshiko and, 151153; Matsumoto
Regiment, 59, 149, 158; medical
trains, 176177; navy, 137, 138139,
174, 196197, 207; Nomonhan
Incident, 141142; North China
Army, 152153, 158; performances
for, 101, 104, 105, 227228; Special
Attack Unit, 115116. See also Pacific
War; Second Sino-Japanese War
Japanese military, Press Division: in
Beijing, 148, 158159; censors, 100,
104, 184, 220, 302n71; in Nanjing, 159;
in Shanghai, 100, 189, 206, 208, 209,
219220, 224, 225, 226227, 228;
Yamaga and, 5152, 148, 158161. See
also propaganda
Japanese Red Army, xxx, 285, 341n33
Japanese War Bride (Higashi wa higashi),
264, 265, 268, 269, 281, 300n51, 340n28
Ji Pengfei, 285
Jin Bidong, 92
Jin Bihui. See Kawashima Yoshiko
Kaifeng, 169171, 172, 200, 327n1, 327n4
Kamei Fumio, xl, 300n49, 329n20, 337n2
Kamikichi Seiichi, xxvii

349

Kamisaka Fuyuko, 155

Kasagi Shizuko, 216
Kat Tai, 96, 318n22
Kat Yoshi, 260
Kawabata Ryshi, 116
Kawakita Daijir, 187, 330n4
Kawakita Kashiko, 186, 190, 192, 223, 233,
258, 269
Kawakita Kazuko, 187, 223, 233, 258
Kawakita Nagamasa: Amakasu and, 192;
in Beijing, 223; Chinese fi lmmakers
and, xxiv, 189; concerts, 213; family,
187; fi lms, 150, 191, 194, 198, 207;
Iwasaki and, 189190, 195; in Japan,
271; Kamakura house, 258, 259, 276,
296n21, 337n1; Mei Lanfang and,
206; in New York, 282; overseas
connections, xxix; in relocation
camp, 233234, 235, 237238, 241,
246, 248250, 252; repatriation to
Japan, 253256, 258; rumored
assassination plot, 192193; Shanghai
apartment, 225, 229230; Soviet fi lm
distribution, 220; Th Twa Film
Company, 186; at wedding, 269;
Zhang and, 191, 206, 296n21; at
Zhonghua Dianying, 96, 186, 187188,
202, 207, 208, 221, 233, 296n21. See
also Twa Trading Company
Kawashima Naniwa, 4, 55, 156157, 158,
326n13
Kawashima Yoshiko: adoptive father,
55, 156157, 326n13; assassination
order, 151153; brother, 92; Chinese
nationality, 56, 156157; clothing, 56,
57; death and funeral, 155156,
325n11; deportation, 152; Dongxinglou,
54, 5556, 58, 59, 151; Li Xianglan
and, xviii, 5458, 5961, 149150,
153155; marriage, 59, 314n8; play and
fi lm on, 55, 294n8; political activity,
58, 92, 151152, 154; treason trial, 155,
156157, 232, 236; Yamaga and, 54, 59,
148151, 154, 158, 162
Kazan, Elia, xxix, 263
Kikushima Ryz, xli
Kim Il-sung, 199

350

Index

Kimura Chiio, xxxviii, xli

Kimura Sotoji, 73, 96, 318n21
Kirishima Noboru, 108
Kiritachi Noboru, 77
Kishi Nobusuke, xxvii, 92, 94
Kishida Kunio, 78
Kitabayashi Tanie, 260
Kitaji Rosanjin, 166, 269, 280, 326n20,
340n21
Kobayashi Hideo, xlviiixlix, 307
308nn126129
Kodama Eisui, 122124, 125, 126, 127, 130,
133, 136, 141147
Kodama Yoshio, 277, 340n27
Koga Masao, 68, 102103, 107, 122,
306n108, 319n5, 320n10
Kogure Michiyo, xliii
Koide Takashi, 209, 213, 230, 233, 235, 237,
253255
Koizumi Junichir, xxx
Komaki Masahide, 209, 213
Kon Hidemi, 146, 147, 324n16
Kondaib Gor, 191, 208
Kond Iyokichi, 7071, 81
Konoe Fumimaro, 138, 139, 140, 222, 323n1
Konoe Toshiaki, xliii
Korea, xlvii, 199, 240, 307n119
Korean War, 264, 274
Kubo Makoto, 10, 11
Kumagai Hisatora, 68
Kume Kyko, 1112
Kume Masao, 7879, 88, 90, 320n8
Kuno Kentar, 9
Kuomintang (Nationalist Party): army,
170, 230231, 235236; civil war, 46;
government, 10, 34, 41, 246248. See
also Chiang Kai-shek; treason trials
Kuroi Jun, 178179, 181, 182, 328n12
Kurosawa Akira: fi lms, xxix, 165, 262,
319n4, 338n5, 338n6, 338n8;
screenplays, xlxli, 262, 304n81,
305n98
Kusabue Keiz, 115
Kusakari Yoshito, 209, 213
Kwantung Army: agreements with
Chinese, 41; censors, 184, 302n71;
Fushun garrison, 9, 10; intelligence,

xix, xxv, 183184; Li Jichun and,

2021; Manei and, xxvixxvii; Puyi
and, 113, 117; Soviet defeat of, 142;
Xinjing headquarters, 72
Last Embrace (Hy), 272
League of Nations, 10, 12
Li Jichun, xx, 23, 1718, 1921, 28, 310n5
Li Jinguang, 211212, 215, 217, 293n2, 334n9
Li Lihua, 207, 231
Li Lili, 191, 320n14
Li Ming, 76, 9394, 150, 151, 154, 159160,
162, 231
Li Wenda, 113
Li Xianglan: adoption of name, xx, 3, 20;
apology to Chinese, xxiv, 201, 202,
253; execution rumors, 238, 239, 248,
251; rumors about, xviiixix; spying
allegations, 275277; spying proposal,
246248, 275; as stage name, xix
xxii, 20, 28, 75, 134135; treason
suspicions and investigation, xix,
xxviiixxix, 98, 229, 232233,
234235, 236, 238, 239241, 246253;
treason trial, 99, 252253, 255. See
also national identity; Ri Kran;
Yamaguchi Yoshiko
Li Xianglan, fi lm career: acting lessons
from Hasegawa, xlvxlvi, 8788;
beginning, xxxiv, 6264, 6566; as
Chinese guniang, xlivxlvi, 83, 85,
299n41; decisions, xxiv, 287288;
fame, xviii, xxii, xxiv, xxv, xxix,
xxxiv, xlv, 130; fan club, 9495, 114;
fans, xx, xxi, xxii, 124133, 135136;
first fi lm, xxxiv, 6769; image, xxi
xxii, xlvxlvii, xlixl; in Japan, xlix,
76, 8385, 9091; with Manei, xxv
xxvi, xxviixxviii, 6264, 6567,
7375, 148, 169, 299n41; political
context, xxixxiii, xxiv, xxv, lli;
publicity, xlv, 8586, 90, 299n41; as
puppet, xxii, xxiii, xxivxxv, xxxi,
266267, 301n63; screen persona, xxi,
xlv, l; screen test, 6667; in Shanghai,
207219. See also propaganda fi lms;
and individual films

Index

Li Xianglan, singing performances:

Fengtian recital, 2526; in fi lms, xxi,
101103; for Japanese troops, 101, 104;
at Nichigeki, xxii, xxviii, 80, 83, 91,
120130, 132, 133, 295n16; for Puyis
court, 111112; on radio, xxxiv, 2628;
recordings, xviii, xxi, xlv, 102, 103,
104, 121, 122, 212; Rhapsody of the
Evening Primrose, 209211, 213218,
223, 225226; as singing
ambassadress, xxii, xxv, 66, 120130
Li Yuqin, 119
Li Yushi, 179
Liang Leyin, 197, 212, 332n23
Liang Xifu, 13
Liberal Democratic Party, xxx, 301n58
Lin Zexu, xxii, 193, 194, 198
Liu Enjia, 76, 77
Liu, Major General, 236238
Liu Xuean, 213, 293n2, 320321n14
Lockheed Scandal, 277, 340n27
Longing for Brother (Skeifu), 102
Lu Xun, xlix, 190, 207, 317n13, 330n9
Ma Zhanshan, 8, 237, 308n3
MacArthur, Douglas, 146
Madame White Snake (Byakufujin no
yren), 18, 281, 344
Mad World, The (Fengkuang shixie),
217218, 335nn2122
Makino Masahiro, 272
Makino Mitsuo, 63, 64, 6768, 78, 193
Makino Shz, 68
Manchuria (Manchukuo): anti-Japanese
resistance, 610, 1112, 13, 33,
308309n3; bandits, 69;
discrimination against Chinese, 75;
fi lms set in, xvii, xxxiiixxxiv,
xliixliv, 178185; intelligence agents,
xxvi, 182184, 297n22, 298n34;
Japanese rule, xxi, xxxixxxiii;
Japanese settlers, xvii, xxxixxxii,
7778, 301302n64; Pingdingshan
Incident, 1013, 309n5, 309n7; police,
xxvixxvii; Soviet invasion, 117, 203,
226; symbolism, xxxiixxxiii, l. See
also Fengtian; Fushun; Harbin;

351

Japanese-Manchurian Friendship;
Kwantung Army; Puyi; Russian
exiles; Xinjing; Yamaguchi Yoshiko,
early life
Manchurian Film Association. See
Manei
Manchurian Incident, 6, 13, 15, 179
Manei (Manchurian Film Association):
Chinese actors, 7071, 7377, 91,
9394, 150; contracts, 69, 202203;
directors, 9194, 9597; dissociation
from, xxiv, xxvxxvi, 296n20;
employees, xxvi, xxvii, 7071, 7374,
93; establishment, xxvi, 51, 62; joint
productions, 77, 7879, 83; Kwantung
Army and, xxvixxvii; Li Xianglans
career with, xxvxxvi, xxviixxviii,
6264, 6569, 7375, 148, 169, 299n41;
mission, xxvii, xxxiii, 6263, 9596,
298n37; period fi lms, 86, 95, 193;
publicists, xxixxii, xxv, xlv, 8485,
90, 96; Th and, 120121; Tokyo
office, xxvi, 90, 97, 120121;
unreleased fi lms, xxxiiixxxiv, 178,
184, 302303n73; Xinjing office, 69,
73, 91, 93; Xinjing studio, 6667,
6971, 73, 7576, 7778. See also
propaganda fi lms
Mansh Eiga Kykai. See Manei
Mantetsu. See South Manchurian Railway
Company
March, Fredric, 274
Marco Polo, 264, 300n51
Martin, Mary, 283
Martin, Tony, 264
Masui Kichi, 38, 231
Matsu Akira, 55
Matsudaira Akira, 103, 106
Matsuoka Kenichir, 135141, 143
Matsuoka Ysuke: career, 12, 309n6;
death, 140; as foreign minister, 136,
137, 138, 140, 152, 154, 309n6; health,
138, 139140; war crimes trial, 140
Matsuura Takeo, 96
Ma-Xu Weibang, 193, 331332n17
Mazel, Bella, 221, 223, 226, 243, 263, 264,
275

352

Index

McCarthyism, 274, 340n24

Mei Lanfang, 206207, 333n3, 334n7
Mei Xi, 231
Meng Hong, 76, 81, 8283
Metter, Emmanuel, 101, 209, 320n9
Mifune Toshir, xxix, 165, 262, 272
Mikami Ryz, 121122, 142143
Mine, Dick (Kichi), 99, 319n5
Mitchell, Cameron, xxix, 300n51
Miura Tamaki, 120, 123, 126, 326n17
Miyagi Yotoku, 276
Miyajima Daihachi, 4
Miyako Shimbun, xxvii, 133134, 299n45
Miyazawa Kiichi, 121, 133, 323n3
Mizoguchi Kenji, 190
Mizuhara Hiroshi, 115
Mochizuki Yko, 260
Molotov, Vyacheslav, 222
Monkeys Journey to the West, The
(Songok), 98
Moon over the Castle Ruins, The (Kj
no tsuki), 26, 83, 224
Mori, Colonel, 220, 221222
Mori Iwao, 90, 178, 271
Mori Keijir, 318n14
Mori Masayuki, xxix, 259, 260, 261,
338n5
Morishige Hisaya, 27, 311n19
Morishima Morito, 10
Mulan Joins the Army (Mulan congjun),
188189, 194, 195, 330n6
Mushanokji Saneatsu, xl
musicals: Broadway, 259, 264, 265,
281283; European, 179, 181182. See
also My Nightingale
Mut Tomio, 92
My Nightingale (Solovej moj) , 178,
179
My Nightingale (Watashi no uguisu): cast,
178, 179, 181, 182; fi lming, xxv,
180181, 182183, 199, 240; not
released, xxxiiixxxiv, 184, 302n71;
plot, 178179; producer, 97, 110, 178,
181182, 184; rediscovery, xxxiv, 184,
302303n73; screenplay, 178, 179;
stage recreation, 208; theme song,
178

My Old Kentucky Home (Kentakk hmu),

259
Mysterious Beauty (Shenmi meiren), xxx
Nagata Tsuneo, 103
Nakagawa Makiz, 208, 209, 210, 214, 223
Nakano School (Rikugun Nakano
Gakk), 183, 329n23
Nakazono Eisuke, 213
Nanjing, Treaty of, 193
national identity, Li Xianglan/Yamaguchi
Yoshiko: in childhood, 2; confl icts,
xxiiixxiv, 4445, 4648, 5051,
78, 200203; facial features and,
239240; guilt for deception, 199;
Japanese identity concealed, xxi
xxii, xxviixxix, 75, 127, 134, 199;
news stories on Japanese identity,
133135, 299n45; presented as
Chinese, xxixxiv, xxv, xxviixxix,
83, 8586, 266267, 296n18; proving
Japanese identity, xxix, 239241,
248253, 271; rumors about, xxii, 85;
seen as Chinese, xxviii, xxxix,
xlvixlvii, 75, 79, 8890, 135, 197,
299n42; self-image as Chinese, 50,
75, 91; suspected to be Japanese,
xxviii, 7475, 195, 197, 299n43; as
teenager, 4951, 52, 56; treason issue,
234235, 247; visits to Japan as
Chinese woman, xxv, 7980, 8183,
9091, 133134; wish to reveal
Japanese identity, xxii, 200201,
202203, 207208, 229230
Nationalists, Chinese. See Kuomintang
national policy fi lms (kokusaku eiga),
xxvii, xxxivxl, 6263, 95, 186, 192.
See also continental trilogy;
propaganda fi lms
Natsukawa Shizue, 260
Negishi Kanichi, 68, 78, 97, 177
Nehru, Jawaharlal, 273
Netke-Lwe, Margarete, 259
New Village Movement (atarashiki mura),
xl, 305n95
Nichigeki Incident, 120130, 131133,
322n14

Index

Nichigeki Theater (Nihon Gekij): movies

shown, 87, 123; opening, 316317n5;
performances, xxii, xxviii, 80, 83, 91,
120130, 132, 133, 295n16; staff, 141,
142143
Night of Romantic Love, A (Yiye Fengliu),
xxx, 300n54
Niwa Fumio, 75, 79, 80, 316n16
Nogami Yaeko, 133, 323n2
Noguchi Hisamitsu: musical
performances and, 209, 213, 214, 216;
posters, 210211; in relocation camp,
233, 235, 236, 238, 239; repatriation
to Japan, 253255; in Shanghai, 191,
208, 210211, 223224, 225, 230
Noguchi, Isamu: career, 272, 278, 280;
death, 341n30; divorce, 280281, 284;
in Japan, 269, 280; marriage, xxix,
166167, 267, 269, 273, 274, 277278,
280281; meeting, 265, 266267;
sculpture, 266, 267, 272
Noguchi Yonejir, 266, 339340n17
Nomonhan Incident, 141142
North Korea, 199. See also Korea
Ogawa Heikichi, 121
Oguni Hideo, xlxli, 305n98
hira Masayoshi, 285
Okamura Yasuji, 230
kchi Denjir, 103
Onodera Naosuke, 119
opera: Beijing, 18, 95, 206207; Western,
23, 26, 126, 226, 259
opium, xxiixxiii, 4344, 118, 161, 197198,
332n19
Opium War, 193, 194
Osaragi Jir, xxxiii, 178, 182
sugi Sakae, xxvii, 91, 92, 94, 193, 205,
305n95, 318n14
taka Hiroshi, xx, xxx, 282284, 341n31
taka Yoshiko. See Yamaguchi Yoshiko
tani Toshio, 68, 69, 77
Ozaki Shir, The Theater of Life (Jinsei
gekij), 121, 322n11
Pacific War: American victories, 207,
208, 245; Japanese defeat, 223224,

353

226231; Pearl Harbor attack,

130; in Philippines, 145147, 207,
208
Pan Shuhua, xx, 3, 38, 49. See also
Yamaguchi Yoshiko, early life
Pan Yugui: as adoptive father, 21, 29, 38,
58; friendship with Yamaguchi
Fumio, 23; household, 3839, 40, 41,
4344, 4951, 5253, 5455; life of, 38,
4243, 312n8; political activity, 38, 41,
4243, 46, 49; as Tianjin mayor, 38,
43, 44, 49, 50, 5455; wives, 41, 4344,
5253, 5455, 57
Passionate Mermaid, The (Jnetsu no
ningyo), 164, 262
Peck, Gregory, 274
Pedrov, Madame, 28, 52
Philippines, 144147, 207
Piaf, dith, xxix, 263, 339n11
Pingdingshan Incident, 1013, 309n5,
309n7
Pledge in the Desert (Nessa no chikai),
xxxiv, xlii, 88, 98, 102103
Plum in the Golden Vase, The (Jin Ping
Mei), xxx, 332n18
Podlesov, Madame, 2327, 28, 52, 221, 275
Popular Art Troupe (Minsh Geijutsu
Gekij), 260261, 338n5
propaganda, xxi, 196197. See also
Japanese military, Press Division
propaganda fi lms: Chinese audiences,
xxiixxiii, xlii, 100; Chinese
characters, 100; interracial or
transnational romances, xxxiv, xli
xlii, xlvi, 98; Japanese actors playing
Chinese roles, xxxvi, xli, xlii, 304n83;
Japanese audiences, xlii, xlivxlv; Li
Xianglans guilt for, xxii, xxiiixxiv,
xxxi, 197, 287288; messages, lli,
298n37; national policy, xxvii,
xxxivxl, 6263, 95, 186, 192; songs,
100101, 102, 196198. See also
continental trilogy; Manei; and
individual films
Pu Ke, 73, 74, 76, 77, 315316n12
Pujie (Aisin Gioro Pujie), 111112, 113, 114,
117118, 322n6

354

Index

Puyi (Aisin Gioro Puyi): autobiography,

113, 117, 118; health, 116117; interest
in, 113; Japan visits, 120; Li Jichun
and, 20; as Manchurian emperor,
3233, 111112; performance for, 111112;
smuggled to Manchuria, 92, 193, 310n5,
318n15; wife and concubines, 59,
118119, 322n8; Yoshioka and, 113, 115,
116117, 118119
Qi Baishi, 37, 312n5
radio. See Fengtian Broadcasting Station
rashamen fi lms, xli, xlv, 306n102
Reagan, Nancy Davis, 274
Reagan, Ronald, 274
Red Water Lilies (Akai suiren), 102103,
126
Resurrection (Tolstoy), 259260, 275, 316n15
Retribution of the Vengeful Spirit
(Yuanhun fuchou; Japanese
rendering, Enkon fukky), 69
Rhapsody of the Evening Primrose,
209211, 213218, 223, 225226
Ri Kran: death, 258; Japanese
performances, xxviii, 80, 83, 91,
295n16; publicity, 85; use of name, xx.
See also Li Xianglan; Nichigeki
Incident; Yamaguchi Yoshiko
Ri Kran: Watashi no hansei, xx, 257, 294n10
Robinson, Edward G., 274
Rogers, Richard, 265
Roosevelt, Eleanor, 265
Ruan Lingyu, 191, 330331nn1011, 331n17
Russian exiles: in Fengtian, 16, 2225,
218219, 242243; in Harbin, xxxiii
xxxiv, xlviii, 179180, 181183; in
Hong Kong, 241242; in Manchuria,
178180. See also Gurinets family;
Soviet Union
Russian folk songs, 2425, 221, 265
Russo-Japanese War, 15, 71, 142, 187
Ryan, Robert, xxix, 278, 300n51
Saeki Takao, 212, 293n2
Saga Hiro, 117, 322n6. See also Hiro,
Madame

Saga Sanet, 111

Saiapin, Grigorii, 179, 183
Saij Yaso, 102, 103, 107, 320n10
Sait Aiko, 96
Sakaguchi Ango, Snowstorm (Fubuki
monogatari), xxxii
Sakane Tazuko, 7374
Sano Shji, xxxiv, xliii, 303n75
Sasakawa Ryichi, 151, 152153, 154, 156,
325n5
Sasaki K, xliii, 195, 306n108
Sat Hachir, 68, 306n108, 320n8
Sat Masami, 128129, 141, 142, 143
Sat Naotake, 222
Sat Tadao, xxxiii, xlixlii, xliv, 8990,
182, 186, 193, 299n42, 302n72
Saturday Angel, The (Doybi no tenshi), 277
Sawachi Hisae, 12
Sawada Miki, 265, 339n16
Sawamura Sadako, 77
Sayuns Bell (Sayon no kane), 199, 240
Scandal (Shbun), xxix, 165, 262
Screen Actors Guild, 274275
Second Sino-Japanese War: battles, 50;
beginning, 6, 48; Japanese surrender,
230231; in Shanghai, 314n5; in
Yellow River basin, 170175. See also
Japanese military; propaganda
Seki Taneko, 103
Shanghai: anti-Japanese feelings, 314n5;
bombings, 207, 224225; end of war,
226231; film industry, 188189,
190191; films set in, xxxvi, 98; foreign
concessions, 188, 204205, 225, 227,
333n2; Japanese occupation, 160161,
191, 195197, 205206, 208210, 331n14;
Japanese relocation camps, 230, 232,
233238, 239241; Li Xianglan in,
160161, 191, 195196, 204, 205, 207219,
221222, 223, 224230; music, 106107;
popular songs, 212, 217; racecourse,
225226, 238; recitals, 208209;
Rhapsody of the Evening Primrose,
209211, 213218, 223, 225226; secret
organizations, 247248; Soviet
consulate, 218219, 220, 245; theaters,
xxv, 100, 208209, 214, 303n75, 334n7,

Index

335n16, 335n18; treason trials, 231232;

Western culture, 106107. See also
Zhonghua Dianying
Shanghai Municipal Council (Gongbuju),
213, 223, 333n2
Shanghai Philharmonic Orchestra,
209210, 213218, 225226
Shangri-La, 281283
Shaw Brothers, xx, xxixxxx, 273, 300n55
Shen Xiling, 190
Shenyang, 15, 309n1. See also Fengtian
Shi Dongshan, 191
Shibata Sanae, 260
Shigeki Kyhei, xxvi, 84, 97, 120121
Shigenobu Fusako, xxx, 285, 341n33
Shigure Otowa, 103
Shimada Katsumi, 228
Shimazaki Tson, Broken Commandment
(Hakai), xlvii, 260261
Shimazu Yasujir, xxxiii, 178, 179, 181182,
183, 184, 185, 306n110
Shimizu Akira, xlv, l, 89, 186, 191, 208,
299n45
Shimizu Masao, 260
Shimura Takashi, xxix
Shind Eitar, 179, 181, 182
Shining Day of My Life, The (Waga shgai
no kagayakeru hi), xxix, 146, 164,
261262, 338n6
Shin-Th, 262
Ship of Tumultuous Fortune, The (Fun
senrysen), 272
Shirai Tetsuz, 123, 124, 126, 178
Shchiku, xxv, xlv, 83, 86, 261262
Shchiku funa Studio, 86
Shooting Star, The (Nagareboshi), 164, 262,
300n50
Song Qingling, 32
Song Zheyuan, 38, 41, 43
Song of Construction (Kensetsu no uta),
102
Song of Fengyang, The (Fengyangge),
45, 313n18
Song of the Fishermen (Yuguang-qu),
2728, 311n21
Song of the White Orchid (Byakuran no
uta), 101

355

Song of the White Orchid (Byakuran no uta),

xxxiv, 303n74; audiences, xxii, 8990;
characters, xlixlii, 8990; filming,
xlvxlvi, 8788; plot, 8687; publicity,
8485, 86, 90, 110; screenplay, 7879;
theme songs, 101, 111112
South Manchurian Railway Company
(Minami Mansh Tetsud
Kabushikigaisha; Mantetsu), xxvi,
xxxixxxii, xli, 1, 2, 45, 69, 72
Soviet Union: embassy in Japan, 260, 275;
fi lms, 220; Jews, 242; Manchuria
invasion, 117, 203, 226; Moscow Art
Theater, 260, 275; Nomonhan
Incident, 141142; relations with
Japan, 136, 219222; Shanghai
consulate, 218219, 220, 245; spies,
xxv, 182183, 184, 275. See also
Russian exiles
Spring Dream of Great Fortune (Fugui
chunmeng; Japanese rendering, Fki
shunmu), 69
Stack, Robert, xxix, 278, 300n51
Stalin, Joseph, 136, 222
Standish, Isolde, xlv
Stephenson, Shelley, xxi
Stevens, George, 279
Su Dongpo, 107
Sugiyama Khei, 96
Sun Pinghua, 199
Sun Yat-sen, 159, 205
Susukida Kenji, 260
Suzhou Nights (Sosh no yoru), xxxiv, l
Suzhou Serenade, The (Sosh yakyoku),
102, 103, 105, 107108, 109110,
125126, 175, 321n17
Suzuki Jkichi, 150
Suzuki Jzabur, 8586
Suzuki Shigekichi, 96, 318n22
Sword for Hire (Sengoku burai), 272, 273
Tachibana Sichi, 91, 92
Tada Hayao, 57, 58, 59, 150, 151152, 155,
314n7, 325n3
Taguchi Hiroshi, 241242, 244246
Taimiao (Imperial Ancestral Temple),
Beijing, 39, 45, 312n9

356

Index

Taiwan, 240, 300n50

Takamine Hideko, 77
Takasaki Tatsunosuke, 95
Takenaka Shigetoshi, 183
Takeoka Nobuyuki, 102
Takizawa Osamu, 259, 260, 262, 338nn56
Tamura Taijir, 78, 7980, 171172,
316n14; Biography of a Prostitute
(Shunpuden), 262, 300n49
Tan Yuling, 118119
Tanaka Kakuei, xxx, 285286, 300n57,
340n27, 341n34
Tanaka Kinuyo, 263
Tanaka Takayoshi, 55, 59, 154
Tang Enbo, 230
Taniguchi Senkichi, xxix, 262, 272, 277,
304n81, 339n9
Tanikawa Takeshi, xxxvii
Tansman, Alan, xxxiii, l
Tasaka Tomotaka, 68
Tawaraya Statsu, xliii
Taylor, Don, xxix, 264, 300n51
Teichiku, 103, 104
That Lovely Star (Itoshi ano hoshi),
101102, 125
Tian Han, 191
Tianjin: Dongxinglou, 54, 5556, 58, 59,
151; Pan Yugui as mayor, 38, 43, 44,
49, 50, 5455
Tg Shigenori, 222
Th: contracts, 121, 272; Drama Division,
259; fi lms, xxxvii, 106, 178, 277;
Manei and, 77, 7879, 83, 120121;
publicists, xxv, xlv, 86, 90
Th Twa Film Company, Ltd., 186
Tj Hideki, 152, 155, 162, 325n3
Tokugawa Musei, 273, 340n23
Tokyo: Asagaya house, 164, 261, 270, 272;
Ginza, 167; Imperial Apartments, 84,
143144, 162, 258; Manei office, xxvi,
90, 97, 120121. See also Nichigeki
Theater
Tokyo Holidays (Tokyo no kyjitsu), 284
Tokyo Rose, 232, 269, 335n2
Tolstoy, Leo, Resurrection, 259260, 275,
316n15
Tomskii, V. I., 179, 181

Twa Trading Company (Twa Shji), 93,

150, 186187, 190, 210
Tyama Mitsuru, 151, 152, 154
Toyoda Shir, 18, 281
Travels to the East (Dongyouji; Japanese
rendering, Tyki), 77
Traviata, La, 126, 197, 214, 226
treason trials: of Chinese actors, 231232;
of Kawashima Yoshiko, 155, 156157,
232, 236; of Li Jichun, 310n5; of Li
Xianglan, 99, 252253, 255; in
Nanjing, 239
Tsuji Hisaichi: Li Xianglans performances
and, 213; postwar career, 319320n7;
in Shanghai, 189, 209, 219221, 225;
Topics on Zhonghua Dianyings
History, 100, 192193, 198199, 219,
220, 221
Tsuji Hisako, 96
Tsumura Hideo, xxxiii, xxxviii, 302n70
Uchida Tomu, 68, 73, 96, 203, 318n22,
328n13
Ueno Katsunori, 125
Ueno Shinji, 68, 69
Umehara Ryzabur, 3637, 84, 269,
311312n2
United Nations, Japanese delegation,
282284
United States: Broadway musicals, 259,
264, 265, 281283; CIA, 276, 277;
occupation of Japan, 108109,
139140, 167, 276277, 338n7;
television programs, 278; visa
denials, xxix, 272276, 277278;
Yamaguchi in, xxix, 262269,
278283, 300n51. See also Pacific War
Uno Jkichi, 259, 260, 338nn56
Vidor, King, 264, 268, 300n51
Wada Hidekichi, 97, 332n21
Wan Rong, Empress, 92, 112, 118, 322n8
Wang Dan, 76
Wang Fuchun, 76
Wang Jingwei, 230, 247, 303n73
Wang Kemin, 43, 313n14

Index

Wang Qimin, 73
Wang Renmei, 28, 191
Wang, Yiman, xli
Wang Yin, 193194, 197, 299n43, 332n18
Warren, Franklin, 140
Watanabe Hamako, xix, xlv, 101, 102, 103,
106, 108, 208209
Watanabe Kanichi, 9
Watanabe Kunio, 87, 98
Watanabe Rysaku, 55, 155
Watanuki Tetsuo, 133
We Are Young (Futari wa wakai), 68
Wen Guihua, 45, 46, 47, 6162, 199200
Wen Xiu, 118
When Will You Return? (Heri jun zai
lai), 79, 103104, 191, 213, 293n2,
320321n14
White Russians. See Russian exiles
Winchell, Walter, 264
Winter Jasmine (Geishunka), xvii, xxxiv,
xliixliv, l, 97, 110, 195, 306n108
Woman from Shanghai, The (Shanhai no
onna), 272
Womanly Craze (Onna no ryk), 262
Wong Ain-ling, xviii
Wu Peifu, 43, 313n15
Xia Peijie, 73, 74, 76, 77
Xia Yan, 191
Xinjing, 6878, 114115, 116, 117, 226,
293n4. See also Manei
Xinjing Broadcasting Station, 63
Xuantong, Emperor, 117. See also Puyi
Yachigusa Kaoru, 18
Yagi Yasutar, 96
Yamada Seizabur, 111
Yamaga Chika, 157, 162163, 167
Yamaga Hiroko, 164168
Yamagata Isao, 260
Yamaga Tru: appearance, 148, 160161,
163164; character in play, 55;
Chinese friends, 149, 160161,
271272; court-martial and
imprisonment, 161163; death, 157,
165166; education, 149, 157158;
family, 157, 162163, 164168;

357

Kawashima Yoshiko and, 54, 59,

148151, 154, 158, 162; Li Xianglans
career and, 52, 62, 6566, 69;
marriages, 149, 158, 164; military
service, 149, 157158; mistresses, 76,
148, 149, 150, 154, 158160; opium
use,161; postwar business failures,
163164, 272; in Press Division, 5152,
148, 158161; relationship with
Yamaguchi, xviii, 5152, 54, 59, 148,
150151, 159161, 163, 164, 165166;
rumors about, 159
Yamaguchi Ai, 3, 44, 241, 250252, 261,
270, 271, 272
Yamaguchi Etsuko, 60, 156, 251252
Yamaguchi Fumio: in Beijing, 32, 35, 38,
4950, 241, 250252, 272; birth and
family, 2; Chinese friends, 23, 17,
21, 38; death, 271272; divorce, 271;
education in China, 23, 4, 271;
employment, xxxixxxii, 2, 45, 17;
life in Japan, 270271; marriage, 3;
repatriation to Japan, 261, 270, 272;
suspicions of, 1314; in Tianjin,
5556; Tokyo visit, 143; training
Yoshiko in Chinese, 35, 21
Yamaguchi Kiyoko, 156
Yamaguchi Seiko, 165, 167168
Yamaguchi Shimpei, 118
Yamaguchi, Shirley, as stage name, xx,
264. See also Yamaguchi Yoshiko,
postwar career
Yamaguchi Yoshiko: autobiography, xx,
257, 294n10; dating, 137139, 140141;
family, 25, 268272; financial
problems, 270271; health, 2122, 84,
257; languages spoken, 263, 264,
295n12; marriage to Noguchi, xxix,
166167, 267, 269, 273, 274, 277278,
280281; marriage to taka, xx, xxx,
284, 341n31; miscarriages, 281; play
and films on, 294n8; political views,
xxxxxxi, 301n58; in relocation
camp, 233238, 239241, 246250;
repatriation to Japan, 141, 253256,
258; stage names, xixxx, 20, 28, 75.
See also Li Xianglan; national identity

358

Index

Yamaguchi Yoshiko, early life: birth, 1;

career aspirations, 34, 21, 27, 43, 52;
education, 1, 35, 21, 28, 29, 38, 3940,
44, 45, 50; family, 67; in Fengtian,
1531; friends, 5, 2223, 2931; in
Fushun, 114; health, 2122; languages
spoken, 1, 35, 1617, 18, 21, 3940, 50;
music lessons, 3, 19, 2327, 28, 52. See
also Pan Shuhua
Yamaguchi Yoshiko, postwar career:
fame, xviii, xix; fi lms, xxixxxx, 164,
261262, 264, 265, 272, 278, 284,
299300nn4851, 304n81; focus on
career, 141, 267, 280; journalism, xxx,
285; retirement, 284; singing, xxx,
259; support of family members, 164,
261, 270, 272; on television, xxx, 278,
283, 284286, 300n56; theater,
259261, 264, 276, 281283; in United
States, xxix, 262269, 278283,
300n51
Yamaguchi family register, xxix, 241,
248252, 271
Yamamoto Kajir, 284
Yamamoto Satsuo, xl, xli, 305n97, 323n2,
328329n20, 338n5
Yamanashi Minoru, 6263, 6566, 78, 81,
91, 93, 121
Yamaoka Shachi, 151, 152153
Yamashita Tomoyuki, 115, 146147, 322n3
Yamauchi Eiz, 77
Yan Gongshang, 212
Yan Ru, 103, 320321n14
Yangbaibao Incident, 610
Yao Min, 212, 300n54
Yasuda Yojr, xxxiixxxiii, l, 302n66
Ye Degui, 252253, 255
Yellow River (Huanghe; Japanese
rendering, Kga), 169175, 177178,
302303n73
Ying Yunwei, 191
Yoshikawa Eiji, 117

Yoshimura Kzabur, xxix, 146, 261,

324n17
Yoshioka Hatsuko, 114, 117
Yoshioka Kazuko, 114
Yoshioka Yasunao, xviii, 94, 112, 113117,
118119, 321n22
Yoshioka Yukiko, 94, 114, 116, 117, 139
You Cant Take It With You (Wagaya no
rakuen), 259260
You and I (Kimi to boku), 240
Yuan Meiyun, 193, 194, 196, 207, 332n18
Yuan Shikai, 187
Yue Feng, 191
Yukawa Hideki, 265, 339n14
Yuri, Major General, 152153, 325n7
Zhang Jinghui, 114, 322n2
Zhang Min, 71, 76
Zhang Shankun, 188189, 191, 195, 206,
207, 208, 296n21. See also Glory to
Eternity
Zhang Xiaolin, 247
Zheng Xiaojun, 71, 73, 74, 76
Zhonghua Dianying (China Film
Company; Huaying): Chinese fi lm
distribution, 189, 191; establishment,
96, 186, 187188; Manei and, 191192;
Soviet fi lm distribution request, 220;
staff, 208, 209, 233; stars, 207. See also
Kawakita Nagamasa; Tsuji Hisaichi
Zhou Diao, 77
Zhou Enlai, 285286, 305n95, 341n34
Zhou Manhua, 207
Zhou Shimu, 231
Zhou Xiaobo, 169170, 327n3
Zhou Xuan: fame, xviii, 191; fi lms, 207,
320n13, 334n13, 335n21; life and
death, 212213, 218; Li Xianglan and,
212, 217; recordings, 103, 191, 212, 217,
320nn1314, 335n22
Zhu Shilin, 193, 331332n17
Zhu Wenshun, 76, 77, 315316n12

About the Translator

Chia- ning Chang is Professor of Japanese in the Department of East Asian

Languages and Cultures at the University of California, Davis, where he served
as Chair of the department (20042009) and Director of East Asian Studies (2006
2012). He is currently serving a three-year term as Director of the University of
Californias system-wide Education Abroad Program in China (20122015), headquartered in Shanghais Fudan University.
Chia-ning Chang was educated at the University of Hong Kong and at various institutions in Japan before earning his Ph.D. from Stanford University in
1985. He was Senior Fulbright Scholar for Research at Waseda University in Japan
(19971998) and the recipient of a Japan Foundation fellowship and a Japanese
Ministry of Education scholarship. Among his major works are Social Vision and
Literary Imagination: Critics and Writers of Meiji Social Literature, now being
translated into Chinese; a translation of Kat Shichis A Sheeps Song: A Writers
Reminiscences of Japan and the World, with annotations and an introduction;
and a contracted translation of Kamei Katsuichirs My Spiritual Wanderings,
with notes, chronology, and an essay. He is currently finishing a new translation
and research project on Life of a Japanese Filmmaker: Yamamoto Satsuo and
His Time. He has also published widely in Japan on subjects ranging from SinoJapanese translations of Henry Wheatons Elements of International Law, the
writings of Lao She, Ishikawa Takuboku, Kat Shichi, the poetics of the autobiography, the modern Meiji social novel, and Meiji social realism.


Production Notes for Yamaguchi Yoshiko and Fujiwara Sakuya | Fragrant Orchid: The Story of
My Early Life
Jacket design by Julie Matsuo-Chun
Display type in Seria Sans LF and text type in Minion pro
Composition by Westchester Publishing Services
Printing and binding by Sheridan Books, Inc.
Printed on 50 lb. House White, 514 ppi

JAPANESE FILM / EAST ASIAN HISTORY / AUTOBIOGR APHY

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JAC K E T P H OTO :

UNIVERSITY of
HAWAII PRESS
Honolulu, Hawaii 96822-1888

Li Xianglan, circa 19401941 (author collection).