210.
Emptiness After Knowing the Aftermath
Once he understood what lay behind it all, a hollow feeling settled in his chest.
Resentful over being driven out, Empress Ki had set the Jurchen in motion.
Park Seongjin lifted his eyes briefly toward the sky.
Was this truly her homeland?
Or was it merely a fragment of the Great Yuan Empire, a land that could be treated carelessly?
Could one ever grasp the thoughts of those who did not think at all?
Why—
the questions only bred more questions.
It is exceedingly difficult to fathom the minds of those consumed by lust for power.
They are people prepared to shatter every rightful standard the world holds.
Yet even that burden ultimately belonged to the high officials in Gaegyeong.
He himself was nothing more than a warrior who carried a sword.
The next day, they used the captured Jurchen chieftain to force the Jurchen forces to withdraw.
They placed the prisoner at the eastern gate and made him shout for retreat; the enemy scattered in panic, as if struck by sorcery.
"A war like this ends once you seize the chieftain. They are not fighting to defend a country. They come for gain, and once they have it, they withdraw. If something happens to their leader, they return home with nothing to say."
That was precisely how it ended.
By dusk, the chieftain of the Heishui looked at Park Seongjin and asked cautiously,
"Will you… not release me now? You know everything already."
"What was your name again?"
"Yerek."
"And its meaning?"
"Shade… Amyeong (暗影), 'dark shadow.'"
Park let out a brief snort of laughter.
"A shadow, is it? A shadow that does whatever it's told, Yerek?"
Yerek bowed his head.
"I am sorry."
"Why are you so thoughtless?" Park scolded.
"They said they were the Khan's messenger—how could we refuse? It was the Khan's command. We cannot disobey such an order."
"So even when told to do wrong, you do it?"
Nangjang Jonghui chuckled.
"Ah, they must have been given something good. Give these country folk a tempting reward and their eyes spin right around."
"Ah…"
Park sighed.
He had momentarily forgotten how vulnerable people were to bribes.
Even those who seemed upright on the surface faltered before them.
He had seen it often among royal merchants, but had thought it only their affair.
He had not considered how thoroughly people could rot.
Why had he assumed it was only merchants and officials who were like that?
He had believed certain groups were immune.
He scoffed.
"Even if it were the Khan's grandfather, a wrongful command should be refused. Have you forgotten what relationship we once had?"
Yerek's eyes wavered.
"We were neighbors."
"Yes."
Park nodded.
"Long ago, we lived as neighbors. Now you've learned only how to kill one another."
Yerek's lips trembled.
"I am sorry."
A brief silence followed.
Wind swept in from the fields beyond the walls, carrying the lingering scent of the burned camp.
Park gazed at the distant smoke.
"Yerek," he said quietly.
"Do not do this again."
"Yes."
"If I release you, will you not gather your men and return with swords once more?"
"No. A man has shame—how could I do such a thing?"
"Hm… indeed. Then why did you do it this time?"
Yerek closed his eyes.
No answer could absolve him.
His shoulders shook faintly.
"…I will remember."
That evening, Yerek was released.
They could have sent him to Gaegyeong, but the suffering along that road was obvious.
By the time he might gather his forces again, it would already be too late.
This was not a war fought to the death.
For them, it may have been a hunt—an act repeated as routine.
If so, killing them all was impossible. They had to be made to stop.
The setting sun stretched long shadows behind Yerek as he departed.
Park watched his retreating figure for a long while.
One lives through foolish years,
and returns again without knowing why.
Perhaps even my own life—earnest, careful, and clever—
may appear just as foolish in another's eyes.
The Court of Gaegyeong — After the Report
Morning in Gaegyeong was hushed beneath descending mountain air.
Rain from the night before had darkened the palace stones, and the flags atop the gate drooped without wind.
The ministers had already gathered in the courtyard of the State Council.
No one spoke loudly. The arrival of Hwaju's report alone weighed heavily enough.
The king sat upon the throne, the sealed report in his hand.
He did not read it at once.
For a long while he gazed at the red cord, then, as if resolved, broke the seal.
The paper unfolded.
The ink was firm and deliberate, as though pressed down with force.
His eyes ran from beginning to end in a single sweep.
"The incursion of the Heishui Jurchen," the king said quietly.
He continued without pause.
"It was not a spontaneous disturbance, and imperial markings were confirmed."
His fingers halted upon the page.
The ministers below held their breath.
The Left Chancellor stepped forward first.
"Your Majesty, the wording of the report is exceedingly cautious.
It does not name Empress Ki directly, nor does it assert the Khan's command."
The Right Chancellor followed at once.
"Yet all who read it arrive at the same conclusion.
Those who can counterfeit the Khan's seal, open the imperial arsenals, and manipulate the Jurchen are exceedingly few."
The king nodded and reread the final line.
"I cannot yet be certain, but I hope this conflict is no more than a northern disturbance."
"This sentence is crucial," the king said softly.
"'Cannot yet be certain' does not mean ignorance. It means he already suspects, and is asking whether the court is prepared to bear the consequences."
Silence fell.
This report was no longer a simple military account.
It had become a question posed to the entire court.
"We have gained Hwaju," the king continued.
"But what we gained was not land alone—we also gained its resentment. Empress Ki surely intended to give Hwaju to her brother."
He surveyed the ministers slowly.
"She will not withdraw. The Khan will offer no clearer answer. And the thoughtless Jurchen now test our patience."
The Minister of War stepped forward cautiously.
"Your Majesty, we must send additional troops. The forces in Hwaju are insufficient for defense."
The simplest conclusion.
The king did not answer at once.
After a pause, he said quietly,
"If we increase the troops now—"
The Minister of Rites bowed.
"Then must this be resolved through diplomacy?"
The king raised his head.
"We must buy time through diplomacy, and endure through military administration.
Hwaju must be held. But we do not draw the sword first."
He folded the report and sealed it again.
"This report states facts plainly. It hides emotion. It troubles the court, yet does not force its hand."
His words were directed toward Park Seongjin.
Then came the weighty decision.
"We will send an envoy to Dadu. We will soothe Empress Ki with gifts, and ask the Khan to restrain the Jurchen."
"Loyalty."
The audience was dismissed.
The ministers withdrew one by one, none light of heart.
Left alone, the king unfolded the report again.
The nangjang's handwriting was rough, yet unwavering.
The king murmured,
"This boy already sees beyond the battlefield. He knows what we will do. Remarkable for one so young… He has drawn us to this conclusion.
But even so, Empress Ki will not change. She is power incarnate."
He folded the report.
The sky above Gaegyeong was clear, yet the wind from the north remained cold.