Sesame Oil: The Devil That Turned the Tide of War

This book approaches Chinese history from the development and evolution of the flavor of food." From the appearance foods such as of mutton， pork， cabbage， tofu， salt， cane sugar， sesame oil， peanuts， pepper， chili， tea and honey， it shows the important influence change in the status of the taste of food had in the rise and fall of dynasties， the change of dynasties， and cultural integration.

On March 15， 280 CE (the sixth year of the Western Jin Xianning era， a Gengzi year)， as the last ruler of Eastern Wu， Sun Hao， stood outside the city of Jianye to formally surrender， he faced a sight he would never forget. The Jin navy’s massive fleet， bristling with weaponry and banners blotting out the sky， stretched along the Yangtze River. Little could he have known that the era of the Three Kingdoms had begun with a great fire on the Yangtze 72 years earlier and would now end with another great fire on the same river.

The year before， on November of 279 CE， Emperor Wu of Jin， Sima Yan， ordered an army of 200，000 men to advance in six separate columns to invade Eastern Wu. General Wang Jun departed from Yizhou， leading a naval force down the Yangtze. To block Wang Jun’s navy from progressing， the Wu forces installed iron chains across the strategic waterways of the river and placed concealed iron spikes， each over several meters long， in the water. This was their attempt to fortify the Yangtze， the lifeline of their survival.

Understanding the formidable nature of this defensive line， Wang Jun released massive wooden rafts downstream to sweep away the iron spikes. He also outfitted his ships with torches， each over dozens of meters long and as thick as dozens of barrels， soaked in sesame oil. When the fleet encountered the iron chains blocking their path， the torches were ignited. The raging flames melted the chains into liquid in mere moments， enabling the warships to break through Wu’s defenses on the Yangtze with ease.

This decisive tactic echoed the winter inferno of 208 CE (the 13th year of Jian’an during the Eastern Han)， when the Battle of Chibi turned the tide of history， but this time the once-loser became the winner. The heavens， it seems， have their cycles， sparing no one.

What’s fascinating is that the accelerant that helped Wang Jun’s fleet breach the Yangtze defenses—”sesame oil”—might well be the same sesame oil we use today for seasoning salads or cooking， also known as “fragrant oil.” Its introduction not only revolutionized the dynamics of warfare in China but also， through its eventual retreat from the battlefield， paved the way for China’s “culinary revolution” in modern times.

Stranger Crops Crossing the Continental Axis

Although modern humans have a love-hate relationship with oils and fats， there is no doubt that they are essential nutrients for the body. When early humans in the hunting era tasted the fats secreted from heated meat， their palates opened to a new world. Initially， Chinese people discovered and utilized animal fats， which were easier to obtain.

In ancient Chinese records， oils and fats were first referred to as zhi (脂) or gao (膏). Fats extracted from animals without horns， such as beef and mutton fat， were called zhi， while pork fat was referred to as gao. Another culinary explanation distinguished between the two: solidified fats were called zhi， while those in liquid form were called gao.

Beyond cooking， animal fats were also used as fuel and for lighting. Until today， the Chinese character for oil (油) still carries the meaning of “flowing” or “smooth and shiny.”

Meanwhile， 5，000 years ago， on the other side of the Qomolangmas in the Indian subcontinent， indigenous peoples had already domesticated wild sesame into a cultivated crop. This innovation spread from the Indus Valley Civilization to Mesopotamian civilizations. However， its journey eastward was blocked by the formidable barriers of the Qomolangmas and the tropical jungles of South Asia and Southeast Asia.

On the Chinese side， the scarcity of land relative to the growing population was becoming apparent to the young emperor Liu Che (Emperor Wu of Han). Expanding outward to incorporate more territories into the empire seemed like a relatively direct solution.

In 139 BCE， during the second year of the Jianyuan era in the Western Han Dynasty， a scout named Zhang Qian set out from Chang’an on a diplomatic mission under the policy of “befriending distant states while attacking nearby enemies.” Meanwhile， Han soldiers pushed beyond the Great Wall into the northern deserts. Yet， this vast and sparsely populated grassland was far from the familiar landscapes of their homeland， where rain occasionally fell. Instead， they were met with snow and wind， and the absence of trees and water.

An invisible line—the 400-millimeter isohyet—divided the Chinese landmass into the humid southeast and the arid northwest. The differing natural environments shaped distinct agricultural systems， and the gap between farming and nomadism became an insurmountable divide. This traditional agrarian society’s expansion outward was hindered by oceans to the east and south， high mountains to the west， and deserts to the north.

In 126 BCE， after years without contact， the long-lost Han envoy Zhang Qian finally escaped captivity and returned to Chang’an. Thirteen years had passed since his departure， and of the more than hundred members in his original delegation， only Zhang Qian and his companion Tangyi Ganfu survived. While Zhang Qian failed in his mission to forge alliances with the Yuezhi against the Xiongnu， he brought back fascinating news of the distant lands of Daxia (Bactria) and Anxi (Parthia). After Zhang Qian’s second journey to the Western Regions in 119 BCE， the Western Han Dynasty finally established routes connecting China with the civilizations of Eurasia， paving the way for unprecedented exchanges.

Thanks to Zhang Qian and his successors， the opening of this overland corridor—the Silk Road—provided China with a new avenue for growth. Crops from foreign civilizations found their way into the Chinese heartland:

grapes， alfalfa， pomegranates， and sesame traveled along this bridge between worlds. In Chang’an’s bustling streets， sesame seeds sprinkled atop flatbreads made from wheat flour became a popular snack.

Thus， a new technological era dawned for the people of the Han Dynasty.

Sesame Oil and the Fiery History of the Three Kingdoms

Although “grains” in ancient China included oil-producing crops like ma (hemp) and shu (soybeans)， their uses were initially limited. Soybeans， for instance， were primarily consumed as a staple grain， while oil extracted from hemp seeds—using primitive pestle-and-mortar techniques—yielded minimal quantities. When Chinese farmers encountered sesame， it must have been a revelation: The crop was easy to cultivate， yielded a high output， boasted a fragrant flavor， and even improved soil fertility. Not only could sesame seeds be eaten directly， but paired with the circular grinding stones that had been widely adopted since the Qin Dynasty， the oil extraction efficiency was extraordinary.

From the Western Han period， sesame oil gradually rose to prominence among oil crops. By the Eastern Han Dynasty， sesame had become an economic crop cultivated specifically for sale in large agricultural estates. It was also around this time that the Chinese character for “oil” (油) began to refer explicitly to plant-based oils.

Animal fats， being costly， were less accessible to the common people. Sesame oil， with its flammable properties， found an initial application in lighting for ordinary households. However， it wasn’t long before sesame oil entered the theater of war which lasted for a century. In 184 CE， during the first year of the Zhongping era under Emperor Ling of Han—an emperor who had a penchant for sesame flatbreads—the Yellow Turban Rebellion broke out.

In the era of cold weapons， fire attacks were among the most devastating and effective combat strategies. During the Three Kingdoms Period， the frequency of warfare far exceeded that of earlier eras， leading to an increased reliance on fire-based tactics. These strategies grew more diverse， becoming decisive factors in pivotal battles. From Guandu to Chibi， from Yiling to Hefei， whether in open-field skirmishes or siege warfare， a well-executed fire attack often enabled weaker forces to triumph against stronger opponents， dramatically altering the tide of battle. Perhaps no other era in history has left such a profound impression on people regarding fire attacks.

Though historical records often overlook the specifics of fire attack apparatus， careful examination reveals tantalizing clues.

In December 208 CE， during the thirteenth year of Jian’an in the Eastern Han Dynasty， late in the night on the twentieth day， dozens of assault ships rapidly sailed towards the northern bank of the Yangtze River. In moments， flames illuminated the sky. Historical texts describe the incendiary material used by Huang Gai’s assault fleet as gaoyou (膏油)—likely a mixture of animal fats (possibly fish oil) and plant-based oils.

In 234 CE， (the twelfth year of Jianxing in Wei and the third year of Jiahe in Wu)， Sun Quan led a force of 100，000 soldiers in his fourth attempt to assault the new city of Hefei. Before his army could fully deploy， however， the Wei general Man Chong led a vanguard of several dozen troops. Using “pine torches doused in sesame oil，” they set fire to Sun Quan’s siege engines from upwind， killing his nephew Sun Tai in the ensuing chaos. This fire attack， like the pivotal assault during the conquest of Wu mentioned earlier， explicitly identifies sesame oil as the accelerant.

Before sesame was introduced to China， plant-based oils were primarily derived from hemp seeds and renzi (perilla seeds). Hemp， classified among the “five grains” of ancient China， produced relatively little oil compared to other oil crops. Castor oil， on the other hand， did not arrive in China until the Southern and Northern Dynasties. Sesame， with its remarkably high oil yield of 45%–65% and its introduction to China just before the Three Kingdoms era， emerges as the most plausible candidate for the incendiary agent that fueled these legendary fire attacks.

Luo Ge

Luo Ge， whose real name is Hu Yidi， graduated from China University of Mining and Technology， has been engaged in media editing for more than ten years， and now works in the Internet industry.