Princess Nakhong: Ju Geum-ye (3)
“What… what do you mean by that…?”
“It’s not easy to change the world with just a few lines of writing or a handful of books. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?”
Baek Su-gyeong’s mouth sealed shut as if waxed over. If a few lines of text could reshape the world, that would be the power of an immortal. Those who brought massive change to the world were usually pioneers and trailblazers. But Baek Su-gyeong had transformed the jianghu—the martial world—in a completely different way.
Ju Geum-ye continued, “I say this because I truly admire your abilities.”
In the imperial palace, where countless officials scorned him as an arrogant vagrant scholar and turned a blind eye to the martial world—murim itself—that realm was a thicket overgrown with countless martial arts, countless martial artists, and countless sects. That’s why it was called murim. And so, the palace observed but never intervened. This policy of non-interference, passed down through dozens of generations, was now cracking under Emperor Myeongjeong’s reign.
The one who had sparked that change was none other than Baek Su-gyeong.
As Ju Geum-ye laid it out plainly, Baek Su-gyeong struggled to hide the shock etched across his face.
“…I can’t believe it.”
A scouting offer. From the imperial palace, no less?
“Are you… truly serious?”
Though flustered, Baek Su-gyeong fought to steady his emotions, lifting his teacup with deliberate calm. Ju Geum-ye responded to his measured counterquestion.
“Yes. Father and I both hold your abilities in high regard. Wudang Sword Hero long ago surpassed the level of ‘just a few lines of writing.’”
“Your praise humbles me, Princess.”
“Excessive humility is as rude as insolence.”
With those words silencing Baek Su-gyeong’s polite deflection, Ju Geum-ye pressed on. “There’s a rumor floating around the capital that the palace fears martial artists and pretends they don’t exist.”
“I’ve heard it.”
“It’s not entirely wrong. The imperial court has always kept watch over the jianghu. It simply never intervened.”
“The unspoken pact of non-interference between court and murim…”
“The palace chose to observe without meddling. It was a principle set by an emperor from dozens of generations ago.”
Propping her chin on her hand, Ju Geum-ye added, “Concepts like ‘court-martial non-interference’ didn’t exist in the Central Plains—until Wudang Sword Hero introduced them.”
This is insane. This damn Central Plains has gone mad.
Baek Su-gyeong covered his face with both hands, lost in that thought.
“Heavens above…”
Why are you doing this to me?
Swallowing his inner turmoil, he heard Ju Geum-ye say, “The palace must keep murim in check to survive.”
It wasn’t wrong. In wuxia novels, the imperial court often played the mastermind role, scheming to undermine martial power out of fear and force it to kneel. It made sense. Martial artists’ might was described as “shaking heaven and earth.” Peak experts could single-handedly slaughter thousands of soldiers—and they had the ability to do so. Such masters were scattered across the Central Plains like grains of sand. How could the throne not fear them? How could it not stay vigilant? From the imperial perspective, it must feel like a blade hovering at the throat.
“Even if sects like the Ilwolgyo beyond Tianshan or emerging forces in the borderlands worry the jianghu, it applies to the palace too.”
“The jianghu is a world where power coalesces so strongly that it scoffs at the palace’s might. From the throne’s view, it must feel like a blade at the chin.”
“Exactly. That’s why we need your abilities, Baek Su-gyeong.”
As she spoke, Ju Geum-ye cited the Cheongeukjin Church as an example.
“Take the Cheongeukjin Church, dubbed the Demonic Cult in Wudang Sword Hero. The Ilwolgyo beyond Tianshan eyes the Central Plains hungrily, just like the bloody purges they unleashed in the past martial world, claiming tens of thousands of innocent lives. That’s why the palace has always tried to control murim.”
“Didn’t you call it non-interference?”
“…On the surface, yes.”
Baek Su-gyeong’s brow furrowed deeply at her words. His instincts screamed that delving deeper would lead to no return.
“I won’t hear more details, Princess.”
“Why not?”
“I have no intention of entering the palace. As I’ve said, I’m just a scholar who wants a normal life. Though my current circumstances make that impossible…”
He stated firmly, “Besides, you speak of controlling murim… but isn’t it really about seizing its reins? Martial artists’ power is formidable enough to serve as a military force.”
“That’s…”
She’d been seen through. Ju Geum-ye’s expression stiffened slightly.
Baek Su-gyeong continued, “The Records of the Grand Historian recounts how martial artists aided the throne in times of crisis—limited to the orthodox sects, of course.”
“…Yes.”
“Do you think peace will come to a world where you sweep away the unorthodox and demonic cults, leaving only the righteous?”
“Won’t it?”
Baek Su-gyeong gave a wry smile at her retort. “Countless rivers form the jianghu; countless people cultivate and clash in martial ways, making it murim. Competition is its essence. Even under righteous dominance, can there truly be no shadow of darkness?”
He was speaking indirectly, but his message was clear: Don’t even think about controlling murim.
A faint shadow crossed Ju Geum-ye’s brow.
“Are you saying to just let murim flow unchecked?”
“The jianghu is like clouds. A dream. Try to grasp it, and it slips away. Force it down, and it rebels. Didn’t the Yuan Dynasty just collapse that way?”
“That’s…”
Baek Su-gyeong pressed on. “I’m merely a scholar living in the jianghu. I’m grateful you value my talents, but I won’t enter the palace.”
“Why not?”
“Isn’t the palace a gilded cage? Do you think a bird trapped inside, painted in gold, could truly be happy?”
It was a retort that shut down her words.
Baek Su-gyeong lightly tapped his teacup, sending ripples across the surface.
“That’s why pacts like court-martial non-interference and court-river non-violation exist: cooperate and coexist without invading each other’s domains. As long as boundaries are respected, neither the palace nor murim faces trouble.”
“Human affairs are unpredictable, aren’t they?”
“True. That’s why it’s called the world.”
Baek Su-gyeong smiled.
Ju Geum-ye looked at him and said, “If you think I’ll give up after one refusal, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ll withdraw for now, Baek Su-gyeong, but next time, I’ll…”
“My answer will be the same no matter how many times you come, Princess.”
“So resolute. The palace as a gilded cage… Maybe you’re right. But it’s surely less dangerous than murim?”
It pierced Baek Su-gyeong’s deepest fear. The blood of emperors, indeed.
But his resolve didn’t waver.
“I’d rather break than bend.”
“Foolish.”
“Isn’t that what makes us human?”
At his quip, Ju Geum-ye sighed.
“If that’s your will, I can’t force you. Fine. I’ll leave empty-handed this time. But don’t forget: I, or an envoy from the palace, may seek you out anytime.”
With that, she vanished from before his eyes.
Only a mysterious fragrance lingered, like clouds drifting from the spot where Ju Geum-ye had sat.
Staring at the now-empty seat, Baek Su-gyeong gave a wry smile.
“…A martial expert, after all.”
My life might’ve been in danger.
He rubbed his neck, thinking that.
“Baek Su-gyeong… More principled than I expected.”
Her first impression had been of a frail-looking scholar. But as their conversation unfolded, that faded, replaced by the sense of a man with firm convictions.
She’d initially underestimated him after he kowtowed in a daze upon seeing her. But talking revealed a different man—one who regarded her warily. Likely because she was imperial blood, but perhaps there was more.
“He travels with three women, they say… Could it be I’m not prettier than them?”
Confident in her beauty, Ju Geum-ye let her imagination run wild since she hadn’t seen those three women.
Halting her brief flight of fancy, she sighed.
“To think he’d refuse our offer. I should’ve mentioned a title.”
Baek Su-gyeong had stated his views so clearly that she hadn’t had the chance. Could she bring someone of his stature into the palace without a noble title? She’d planned to offer land, rank, and stipend, but his unexpectedly steadfast words derailed things, and she missed her opening.
“Would it have been different if I’d led with that?”
Mentioning fiefdoms, ranks, and salaries might have swayed him. Even a rising star like Baek Su-gyeong of Wudang Sword Hero couldn’t ignore such incentives. Of course, it also showed how highly she and Emperor Myeongjeong valued him.
“Time to return to the palace.”
She shed her disguise without hesitation and donned splendid robes. As maids collected her discarded clothes, she unpinned her hair, restyled it, and left the room.
“Jin Yeong-ban!”
“At your service, Princess.”
Having toured the jianghu once, it was time to report to her father, Emperor Myeongjeong, on the changes wrought by Baek Su-gyeong’s writings. Her hair fluttered in the wind.
Brocade Guard warriors surrounded Ju Geum-ye. Under their protective formation, the palanquin bearing her floated into empty air.
Her voice drifted from behind the drawn curtains.
“Let’s go.”
“By your command!”
As the palanquin departed Luoyang, Ju Geum-ye recalled something she’d forgotten to ask.
“Oh, right—I forgot to ask when the next volume comes out. Next time, I’ll definitely bring him into the palace and make him write.”
With that vow, her palanquin shot through the sky like an arrow.