211.
After the Battle, Raising the Ground Again
This was a military camp.
The moment the fighting ended, labor began.
There were collapsed walls, burned granaries, burst wells, and ruined watchposts scattered everywhere.
Because those wretches had roamed like a pack of dogs, smashing and fouling whatever they touched.
Battle was brief and violent, but the labor after it was long—and harder.
Still, he took comfort in the fact that it had ended without major damage.
From dawn, Park Seongjin lifted a shovel alongside the soldiers.
He had become a nangjang, yet his mindset remained that of a common footman.
If I do not do it, who will…
He hauled earth shoulder to shoulder with the rankers, moved stones, and trimmed timber.
When the nangjang himself began shoveling, the faces of his men stiffened at once.
"Nangjang-nim, you'll raise blisters," the byeoljang said anxiously.
Park answered with a flat shrug.
"Then they'll burst. Then calluses will form…"
With that one line, every excuse vanished.
No one could say "tomorrow," and "rest" no longer worked either.
The byeoljang grumbled.
"Hey—if the nangjang is shoveling, how can we sit around?"
"Please stop, sir. It makes it hard to work."
In the end even the gyowi and the daejeong took up shovels.
All day they moved earth while eyeing each other, and anyone could see it—the nangjang worked the most.
By the time the sun tilted down, Park Seongjin dropped into a squat beneath the wall's foundation.
His arms and shoulders were caked with dirt, and his breathing was rough.
Jonghui brought a ladle of water and offered it.
"Nangjang, you can stop now."
"Why?"
"Isn't this the work of those below you?"
Park tilted his head.
"Then am I someone above?"
Jonghui laughed awkwardly.
Park took a mouthful of water, then spoke slowly.
"I'm still studying. I only climbed to nangjang by good fortune. In name only.
In mind and condition, I'm still Park Seongjin, a bowman of the Second Detachment of the Sungŭi Army."
His gaze skimmed the mountain range beyond the walls.
"This world—whether it's study or war—keeps demanding more work of the hands."
When night came, lights kindled one by one inside the fortress.
The laughter of the men who had been shoveling leaked between the lamps.
"Thanks to the nangjang, the work finished fast today!"
"Tomorrow, is it the well repairs?"
Song I-sul answered.
"Those bastards—why'd they even fill the wells? Ill-tempered to the bone."
Park replied.
"We need more than one well. Water and food—those are the most important weapons for enduring a siege."
Song I-sul nodded.
"Right. Water is life."
And so Hwaju, stacking earth again, was slowly returning to life.
---*
Empress Ki's Court — Dadu (大都), Report of Defeat
Spring came late to Dadu.
In the imperial garden, ice still lingered in patches, and the wind brushing the corridors carried yellowed dust from the north.
Empress Ki sat quietly behind silk curtains.
Her neatly tended fingers held a small jade cup, yet the tea within had long since gone cold.
The waiting had been long.
She had once risen into the Khan's favor through tea, and from there into the rank of empress through countless trials.
Yet the tea she drank herself no longer mattered to her.
Because she was looking higher.
Because she wanted something rarer.
Power, in essence, was the act of looking higher.
Its true form was craving—the hunger to want, to hope, to grasp.
Outside the curtains, an eunuch prostrated himself.
"My lady, word has arrived from Hwaju (和州)."
"Bring it."
A messenger entered with a deep, cautious bow.
On the letter he unfolded, a red seal stood out sharply.
Empress Ki's eyes trembled by the smallest degree.
"Heishui's Yerek has been defeated."
"Hwaju remains in Goryeo hands."
Her fingertips shook, barely.
The jade cup tipped, and a single drop of tea fell onto the silk.
"Yerek…"
She slowly spoke the name.
"They called him a warrior of Heishui—so he was nothing after all."
Silence passed.
Then she asked again.
"Did they not ask who sent him?"
Her voice was cold.
The messenger bowed lower.
"They say a man called Nangjang Park Seongjin captured him himself.
They say he placed the prisoner at the gate and scattered the host.
And they say he claimed it was not Your Ladyship's command."
She could not even laugh.
To say "it was not" was already the same as admitting.
And yet it did not matter.
If he insisted it was not her command, would others not assume it was?
It did not matter. Even if they opposed her openly, what could they truly do?
"Park Seongjin…"
A faint curve touched her lips.
She set down the jade cup.
"Has a report been sent to the Khan?"
"Yes. It will be presented shortly."
Empress Ki turned her face toward the golden pillars beyond the curtains.
"How will the Khan view this?"
A maid spoke carefully.
"I have heard His Majesty considers it a minor matter—'an affair the princess settled on her own.'"
In that instant, Empress Ki's eyes flashed.
"Princess?"
A low laugh slipped out.
"The Princess of Lu… Borjigin Botapsili. That girl still lives. Hm."
It was as if whatever affection had once existed had long since been forgotten.
She rose slowly.
Her steps were light, but inside the curtains the air hardened like ice.
"If the Goryeo king lives, she will live as well."
"Nothing goes as it should."
With a fingertip she nudged the jade cup.
It struck the floor and shattered into fragments.
"Send a messenger."
"Where to, my lady?"
"To Liaodong."
Her voice held no hesitation.
"My brother's remnants still remain. Gather them."
A chill smile settled at her mouth.
"Borjigin blood must be washed with blood to restore balance.
Only then will the empire breathe again."
That night, Dadu's moonlight was unusually cold.
Empress Ki whispered to herself.
"Brother, wait. Soon I will burn those children and offer them to you."
Outside the window, wind rose.
The palace's red lanterns swayed, and their light spread across the wall like blood.