Chapter 352. In the Reception Room with Okjeong
The estate's reception room was more luxurious than Youngwoo had expected.
From the outside, the manor had looked like a house hastily put back in order after war had swept through. But once he stepped inside, it became clear that this family had been rooted in Liaoyang for a very long time.
The room was spacious, with a high ceiling.
The beams were coated in dark lacquer, and the walls were lined with silk in muted colors.
The doors and window lattices were intricately carved with patterns in the style of the Central Plains.
Along one side was an ondol floor warm enough to endure a Liaodong winter.
Half the room was wooden flooring, and the other half was heated floor.
A low, broad table stood in the center.
It was made of hard wood with a deep reddish-black hue, its corners rounded smooth so they would not catch against the hand.
High-backed chairs were arranged around it.
Their armrests had been polished smooth by years of use, and thick cushions lay on the seats.
These were not furnishings meant merely for display.
They were pieces that had welcomed guests and absorbed years of wine, tea, and conversation.
Several paintings hung on the walls.
Some were landscapes.
Others depicted plum blossoms and bamboo.
A few followed the artistic styles of the Central Plains, while others captured the open plains and distant mountains of Liaodong.
Beneath the paintings stood an incense burner, small bronze vessels, and ornaments carved from jade, but nothing was excessive enough to overwhelm the room.
They were the possessions of a wealthy household, but also old possessions, used for generations.
Youngwoo's gaze soon settled on the bookshelves.
They occupied most of one wall.
The books were not simply piled there, but arranged like precious objects.
Some were stored in lacquered cases.
Others stood upright, tied with silk cords.
A number showed the grime of frequent handling, while others had edges so clean that they seemed not to have been opened in years.
It was the library of a scholarly household, but at the same time it was also a display of the family's standing.
It said that this was a household that valued books more than silk or silverware.
Youngwoo found himself thinking that Liaoyang's wealthy Balhae families had not survived by the sword and commerce alone.
They had held their place through writing, records, and learning as well.
Okjeong naturally offered him the seat beside the place of honor.
Youngwoo looked once more at the shelves, the paintings, the table, and the chairs before sitting down slowly.
His body was more accustomed to rough mats in military tents and hard chairs in government offices, so this soft, carefully ordered room felt almost unfamiliar.
Snow was still falling outside.
Inside, the gentle warmth from the tea mingled with the old scent of books.
Tea, dried provisions, and boiled meat were brought out one after another.
A young woman who seemed to be Okjeong's personal maid poured the tea with practiced hands.
Each time the hot water fell into the cups, clear steam curled upward.
Youngwoo found himself glancing at her.
Perhaps this was simply what rich households were like.
The maid was prettier and more graceful than her mistress.
Yet her beauty was hidden beneath ingrained courtesy and quiet, controlled movements.
After his slow ride through the cold streets, Youngwoo wrapped both hands around the warm teacup.
Heat seeped into his palms.
He raised the cup and took a sip.
As the hot tea passed down his throat, some of the chill from the temple courtyard finally left him.
Okjeong looked out the window.
"It's snowing."
Her tone was calm, almost like that of a guide explaining the weather.
Outside, the flakes were already growing thicker.
A thin layer of white had begun to settle along the estate's eaves and atop the walls.
Okjeong continued.
"When it snows here, it often snows heavily. They probably won't attack us for a while."
Youngwoo set down his cup.
"You mean Xiao Baoxian?"
"He will be too occupied dealing with Yelü Zhangnu's rebellion."
"Even so, word that the Eastern Capital, Liaoyang Prefecture, has fallen will reach them."
Okjeong gave a short nod.
"Perhaps it already has. Xiao Baoxian is the sort of man who reports every little matter to his superiors. He was born to write reports."
Youngwoo looked at her.
Okjeong continued in the same composed tone.
"His reports are extremely detailed. That makes him look competent to those above him. He understands the situation on the ground, reports quickly, and submits documents without omissions. Naturally, his superiors like him."
A faint sneer touched the corner of her mouth.
"The fact that he is vicious, violent, and widely hated is interpreted as proof that he gets things done forcefully. Resentment piles up beneath him, but those above call it strong control."
Youngwoo listened without speaking.
He had seen men like that before.
Okjeong said,
"If I had to guess, he has already sent a report through the fastest line available. And I imagine several pages of it are devoted to explaining why none of this was his fault."
Youngwoo suddenly thought of Ahn Huise of Seonchunryeong Fortress.
He too had been skilled at writing reports.
Hadn't he said he had someone powerful in Gaegyeong?
That was why so many matters were sent all the way to the capital.
Yet those reports had later been used less to reveal what was happening on the ground than to bury the problem.
Reports and accurate assessments mattered.
But in the end, judgment was what decided whether people lived or died.
Only when judgment was sound did reports have meaning.
Youngwoo spoke slowly.
"So you believe the report has already gone up."
Okjeong set down her teacup.
"Yes. Given Xiao Baoxian's nature, I'm sure it has. He may even have requested reinforcements."
Youngwoo looked out at the snow.
It was falling more heavily now.
White gathered over the walls, the streets, and the rooftops.