The Divine Dragon Enters Hanyang
In the front courtyard of the Uiju government office, the herald dispatched from Hanyang unfurled the official edict. Yi Seong-ho and the clan's warriors knelt rigidly, tension etched on their faces.
"Hear ye, Yi Si-woo, scholar of Uiju! For slaying the great tiger that terrorized the northern frontier and protecting the people, His Majesty has graciously bestowed upon you one hundred nyang of silver and ten bolts of silk!"
Relief and joy washed over Yi Seong-ho's face. That's my son, he thought, starting to lift his head—only for the herald's voice to drop ominously.
"Furthermore! Though fierce, the mountain lord is a spirit of the peaks. By slaying it, you have disrupted the vital energy of the mountains and rivers. In accordance with the law, you shall receive five strokes of the rod!"
A murmur rippled through the courtyard. But Yi Si-woo strode calmly toward the punishment frame. This was an ancient Joseon tradition dating back to the early dynasty—a ritualistic flogging for tiger slayers, paired with rewards, like a Joseon-style WWE spectacle about to unfold.
With each swing of the rod, Yi Si-woo called out in rhythm.
"One!"
Whoosh!Thwack!
"Ugh!"
"Two!"
Whoosh!Thwack!
"Ughh!"
"Three!"Whoosh!Thwack!
"...!"
"Four!"
Whoosh!Thwack!
"Uh...!"
"Five!"
Whoosh!Thwack!
"Argh!"
It was all flash—no real impact, just a theatrical performance with plenty of noise. Yi Si-woo stifled a laugh, leaning on Man-seok's support as he limped dramatically out of the courtyard.
Two years had passed since the pelt of the Manseonjiwang—the king of myriad mountains from the north—had shaken the palace. King Yeongjo's hearty laughter, calling him a talent like timely rain, still echoed from the capital's walls all the way to Uiju.
On the misty dawn before his departure, Yi Seong-ho stood in the courtyard and handed Yi Si-woo the clan's treasure, the Byeolun Sword, along with a heavy leather pouch.
"This is the sword wielded by our founder, Lord Yi Pyeong."
As Yi Si-woo took the Byeolun Sword, Yi Seong-ho continued.
"And now that you're stepping into the world, I shall give you your adult name: Yuntak (). Like rain falling at the perfect moment, may you moisten parched earth and bring abundance to all things."
"Yes, Father."
Behind the solemn Yi Seong-ho stood his mother, Lady Choi, her eyes rimmed red. Beside her clung Yi Yeon, clutching her brother's robes. At just seven years old, the parting didn't feel real yet; her big eyes brimmed with tears.
"Big brother, do you have to go? Can't you just stay here with me?"
Yi Si-woo knelt to meet her gaze. Shedding his usual demeanor, he flicked her nose lightly and hooked his pinky finger.
"Yeon-ah, I'll go to Hanyang and secure a big, splendid house. Then Mother, Father, and you—we'll all live there together. Got it?"
"Yeah... Promise!"
Lady Choi warmly clasped her son's hand.
"Si-woo, your father speaks of great causes... but I just want you to return safe and sound. They say Hanyang is full of jackals in human skin. Trust no one—cherish yourself above all."
"Don't worry, Mother. Who am I? Yi Si-woo, the Divine Dragon of Uiju. If those jackals come sniffing, I'll skin them for your winter coat."
His jest drew a faint smile from her at last. Composing himself, Yi Si-woo faced his father.
"Two years ago, you revealed yourself to His Majesty with an arrow through the mountain lord. Now, use this sword to cut through men's hearts and forge your path. Slay tigers when you meet them; command respect from men. Remember—a blade is most fearsome when sheathed."
Yi Seong-ho then securely tied pouches bulging with silver ingots to Yi Si-woo's saddle.
"And with this silver, buy people in Hanyang. Let money flow like water, and information from the world's lowest depths will flow back to you."
Yi Si-woo bowed deeply to his parents. Though just turned eighteen, the hand pressing the ground carried the weight of a resolute young man.
"Fear not, Father. The tiger pelt from two years ago was my first greeting to His Majesty. This time, I return as the sharpest sword to guard his side."
Without hesitation, Yi Si-woo mounted his white steed. Man-seok followed close behind. As they pierced the fog, Uiju's gates faded into the distance.
Descending the Uiju Road toward Hanyang, a commotion erupted at an inn near Pyeongsan.
"You scum! Trying to flee with fake silver?"
"It's real!"
Three burly thugs had forced a ragged young scholar to his knees, grabbing his collar. His bundle lay spilled on the ground, old books caked in dust.
From horseback, Yi Si-woo watched impassively. Even amid the dirt, the scholar's unyielding gaze stood out.
Father said to buy people, he thought, nodding to Man-seok.
Man-seok strode up, tossed a few nyang, and settled it. As the grumbling thugs retreated, the scholar dusted himself off and bowed deeply to Yi Si-woo.
"My thanks for the aid. I am Jeong Yak-yong from Majae in Gwangju, courtesy name Mi-yong. Your bearing is extraordinary—might I ask your name and courtesy name?"
Yi Si-woo's eyes flickered narrowly. Jeong Yak-yong—Joseon's greatest genius of the late era, the man who would forge its golden age alongside King Jeongjo. To meet him here on the road...
Yi Si-woo smiled faintly.
"Yi Si-woo of Uiju. Courtesy name Yuntak."
"Uiju...? Are you that young master who slew the massive mountain lord two years ago and presented its pelt to His Majesty? The rumors have spread wildly among Hanyang's travelers—I never dreamed I'd meet you."
Awe lit Jeong Yak-yong's eyes. Yi Si-woo glanced at his dirtied bundle and worn straw sandals.
"Jeong, with your state, Hanyang's ten days away at least. This road's more dangerous from starving officials than bandits. Think you can arrive without a coin?"
Jeong Yak-yong smiled bitterly, gathering his scattered books.
"Embarrassing, truly. I've read books but know little of the world. Now I'll sell my feet to reach the capital before the exams."
"My father said never stint on gaining worthy men. With one like you, the thousand-ri road to Hanyang won't be dull. I have a spare horse—shall we travel together?"
Jeong Yak-yong hesitated, then bowed formally.
"You've saved me and now offer such generosity. I'll use this journey to learn from your noble insight."
He took the reins of the fine horse Yi Si-woo offered, shaking his head repeatedly. Their recent debate on "the velocity of tax circulation and the people's livelihood" still churned in his mind.
"Young master, your logic seems drawn from the future itself. How does a Uiju scholar pierce continental trends so deeply?"
Yi Si-woo smiled lightly from his saddle.
"Answers lie in books, paths in the flow. You'll see soon enough, Jeong. This road isn't just to Hanyang—it's to a new Joseon."
But the peaceful debate ended at the Gyeonggi border checkpoint in Gimhwa. The air shifted. Gatekeepers in crooked hats blocked the way; behind them, an official lounged on a mat, picking his teeth with a toothpick and fanning himself lazily.
"Halt! You look like fine young masters from Uiju. Bandits are rampant lately—the garrison's guarding specially. For safe passage, pay the escort fee."
Blatant extortion for tolls. Man-seok's eyes narrowed, gripping his sword hilt—if his young master gave the word, heads would roll. Jeong Yak-yong flushed, stepping forward.
"Hey! Guardians of the realm blocking honest scholars and coveting wealth—is this truly His Majesty's law?"
The official snorted derisively.
"Law? Here, my word is the law. Don't like it? Take the mountain path. If bandits take your heads, that's on you."
As Jeong Yak-yong opened his mouth to retort, Yi Si-woo tossed a silver pouch without dismounting. It landed heavily at the official's feet.
Thud.
"Your labors are great, sirs—this is but fitting. Consider it road-clearing fees."
The official scooped it up. Feeling the weight, his stern face melted into a grin.
"Ha! As expected of Uiju nobility—you know etiquette well! Scholars need such discernment. Open the gate!"
The gatekeepers parted. Yi Si-woo bowed politely once more and remounted. Only after galloping far past did Jeong Yak-yong vent his fury.
"Young master! How can you bow to such corruption and offer tribute? When checkpoints become walls barring the people, does any righteousness remain in this land?!"
Pain as a scholar laced his voice. The Joseon Yi Si-woo had glimpsed at eighteen seemed more rotten than imagined.
Yi Si-woo met his gaze calmly—eyes seasoned beyond his years.
He idly touched the hilt of the Byeolun Sword at his waist.
"Jeong, that wretch is just a weight dangling from a vast net. Cut one, and the net remains. It only alerts the hand holding it to hide."
"A net? What do you mean?"
"That minion extorts so boldly because the lines above—waiting for silver to flow into their grasp—are secure."
"Such bloated extremities prove Hanyang's heart pumps rotten blood through a gigantic spiderweb. Save your anger. The real fight isn't snipping weights—it's crushing the spider's head at the net's core."
Jeong Yak-yong stared, speechless.
He's no mere exam-taker bound for Hanyang. In those eyes burns a storm to overturn the unseen chessboard of the pitch-black capital.
He sensed it: the moment Yi Si-woo set foot in the city, stagnant Hanyang's air would begin to churn.
At last, the capital's west gate, Donuimun, came into view.