206.
The First Response of Hwaju's People — From Fear to Calculation
The streets of Hwaju were quiet.
People spoke sparingly, and their steps carried weight.
More than the news that the war had ended, they worried about who would rule this land.
Many did not yet regard the Goryeo army as their own.
To them, it seemed little different from yet another occupying force.
They kept their distance.
They cooperated only in form.
For the first few days, people rarely left their homes.
Doors stayed half-closed.
Only a few stalls opened in the marketplace.
Children swallowed their cries, and adults glanced up at the ramparts from behind walls.
What they feared most was not a new army,
but a new order.
The Yuan army had remained long, leaving behind memories.
What it practiced was less governance than neglect and oppression.
Nothing was properly managed.
It was merely a military outpost,
and in time even its purpose became blurred.
No wonder it had turned into a den of buwonbae.
It was no better than other regions long under Yuan control.
Sudden requisitions.
Unannounced taxes.
Life and death changed with a single word.
So the people of Hwaju waited.
They watched for days, then watched a few more.
Change came quietly.
Soldiers did not enter private homes.
They did not demand grain.
When tying their horses, they asked permission.
Before drawing water, they bowed and asked to share.
That courtesy made people more tense.
They were not used to it.
An old man in the marketplace muttered,
"So this time they mean to stay long."
A merchant beside him replied,
"If they don't use the sword, it means they plan to remain."
A few days later, land inspectors entered the villages.
But unlike former officials, they did not shout orders.
They asked names, measured fields, and recorded cultivators.
When household registration began, the change became clearer.
Families who had hidden came forward.
Children who had lived nameless were entered into the records.
That night, village elders gathered.
"This time, it's different,"
someone said cautiously.
"Different doesn't mean trustworthy,"
another answered at once.
Their standard was simple.
How much tax?
What kind of military service?
Would their children be taken again?
A few days later, a Signal Guard notice was posted in the market.
Taxes set at half the previous rate.
Military service to be selected from registered adult men.
Arbitrary requisition strictly forbidden.
People traced the characters with their fingers.
They read it.
Then read it again.
After that, more stalls opened in the market.
Children's cries returned.
People were still cautious, but daily life resumed.
Park Seongjin received reports of these changes from afar.
Public sentiment does not begin with loyalty.
It begins with the judgment that one can survive.
The people of Hwaju did not yet believe in Goryeo.
They had simply calculated that, for now, they would not leave.
That was enough.
Clumsy men who follow principles—
it may look foolish at first glance,
but that was exactly what the people wanted.
Under the Sky of Hwaju — The Appointment of a Nangjang
Winter light still lingered over Hwaju's sky.
Several days had passed since the fighting at Ssangseong ended, yet the smell of blood clung to the fortress.
Only after the wind shifted several times did it begin to fade, when a courier from Gaegyeong rode through the gate.
What he offered with both hands was a royal decree sealed in red silk.
When the cord was loosened, the king's own hand stood clear.
"By merit in pacifying the Hwaju disturbance,
Signal Guard Detachment Commander Park Seongjin is hereby promoted to Nangjang."
— Royal Edict of King Gongmin
Park Seongjin looked down at the words in silence.
A Byeoljang was a light-duty post.
A Nangjang stood near the bottom of the chain of command.
Yet he knew this decree was not about rank, but trust.
That evening, laughter returned to Hwaju Fortress for the first time in days.
"Our Nangjang!"
"He's received the red appointment!"
"Do we call him General now?"
The warrior band had always been mischievous, but that night they were unrestrained.
Jars of wine were opened in rows, and before he knew it, Seongjin was pulled into their midst.
"We should celebrate!"
"The Nangjang must treat us!"
"Let's eat for free for a few days!"
Seongjin waved his hands awkwardly.
"It's only been days since the fighting ended.
Already a drinking bout?"
"If not now, then when?"
"This promotion belongs to all of us."
For several days, Hwaju Fortress bustled.
Drums sounded in every camp.
Meat sizzled over charcoal.
Even the dwindling grain stores were, for once, not a concern.
At some point, Seongjin slipped away alone and climbed the rampart.
He looked up at the sky, the decree tucked inside his robe.
A chill wind blew, still carrying the scent of the north.
"I understand Your Majesty's intent,"
he murmured quietly.
"Merit in arms alone is not enough.
You are telling me not to stop learning.
To study the governance of people.
Even that, for me, is a detour.
Allow me a brief indulgence in misguided effort."
Below, laughter and song rose again.
Seongjin smiled faintly.
At that moment, rough hoofbeats thundered near the gate.
"Jurchen cavalry!"
The shout split the fortress.
Seongjin descended the rampart at once.
Three horses stood before the gate.
The riders wore scale armor reinforced with metal plates, falcon feathers set in their helmets—the northern style.
The lead rider stepped forward.
"We are Jurchen of the Black Water.
We have come to pay respects to the newly appointed Nangjang."
His tone was polite; his gaze, sharp.
Seongjin studied him briefly before replying,
"I will receive your courtesy.
But this place is now Goryeo land."
The Jurchen snorted.
"Goryeo land? Since when is Hwaju yours?
This is our land."
Seongjin answered calmly,
"From now.
We have reported to the Qaghan and received his recognition."
"Our Heaven long ago granted us this place to live,"
the Jurchen said.
At that, the soldiers inside the gate moved their hands to their sword hilts.
The air hardened at once.
Seongjin did not step back.
"What we protect are the people who live here.
They are Goryeo's people."
The Jurchen's eyes wavered for a moment.
"So that is why you were made Nangjang."
Seongjin shook his head.
"Nangjang Jonghui commands Hwaju.
I am his deputy."
The Jurchen considered this, then nodded.
"Very well.
I will convey your name to the Khan."
Everyone is a khan here—they call themselves khans as well.
With those words, he turned his horse.
When the Jurchen riders departed, only the wind swept across the field beyond the gate.
They left behind nothing but words that did not quite align—
strange, and unfinished.