The End of an Era

The square was packed with countless people who had gathered to see but a single man, and yet it was utterly silent.

Silent enough that if a needle dropped, someone standing right beside you would snap a sharp rebuke.

Gazing upon that square sunk in stillness, I thought: is this not the Wuthering Heights of the novel, right here?

Then the man of the hour, standing upon the platform, opened his mouth.

"This place is—"

Though no particular measures had been taken, the white hairs jutting sparsely here and there, and the wrinkled corners of his eyes, belonged to a man who had wrestled with much. They spoke, plainly, of regret.

As a last courtesy of the People's Committee, his two hands had been freed for as long as he stood upon the platform. Citizen Yi Hyeong clenched them once, twice, and spoke.

A side note: in response to protests from the yangban and the Confucian literati, the Public Security Committee had simply fitted Yi Hyeong with Ming-style manacles known as chu, rather than the traditional Joseon implements the size of a man's torso. After all, with a nation's sovereign already under arrest, the notion of breaking out of prison and fleeing into exile was an idea that had never even entered the imaginations of the pure-hearted people of Joseon.

At his words, every soul fell silent.

As he said, this place was Citizen Yi Hyeong's place of execution.

A murmur ran through the crowd. The mood among the spectators was a thing of every color. Some felt a flicker of pity at the wretched figure of the man who had once sat above their heads. Those who had lost kin to his decisions burned with rage. Some regarded him as an enemy. Some regarded him with pity. It was as if all the dozens of human emotions had gathered in a single square.

Most were simply staring blankly at his lips when—

"You ignorant lot—have you even forgotten that you ought to be on your knees?"

But he had not been a nation's monarch for nothing. Still regarding himself as monarch Yi Hyeong, he took that thin, cheap pity as a slight upon his dignity, and chose honor for immortality over a brief remaining life. The old sharpness he had once lost—or perhaps it was rage—blazed in his eyes.

"A truly loathsome and disgusting rabble."

Slowly sweeping his gaze across the masses who had crowded in to look upon him, the monarch slammed his fist down upon the platform as if they were nothing, and roared.

At the tiger's roar, the crowd flinched.

It was remarkably effective. The people of Hanseong, who had never known any political system but monarchy, were for an instant dazed by the tyrant's scolding. Though they had committed no crime, they were nearly driven to their knees by that majesty.

But thanks to the Vanguard members scattered among them and behind them, each wearing a red armband and carrying an ominous club, such a disaster was averted.

Not missing the waver in the eyes of the subjects who had set him upon the execution stand, the monarch asked, his voice turning mournful.

"Foolish ones. Do you truly believe that a monarch is a human being who has grasped the principles of all things, and who pursues the kingly way all his life?"

The monarch, who had long traced back through his own history in his prison cell, made his excuses. First he preached that it was absurd to leave every decision of the world's principles to a mere human being.

"Did you believe I could make the rain fall with a wave of my hand?"

He attributed natural disasters solely to the will of Heaven.

"Did you truly wish that I would, like the sage kings of Yin, follow the constant Way and govern every quarrel with virtue?"

As is true of all human beings, he declared that the meaning of crime and punishment cannot be decided by a single man.

And last of all, toward the seats of honor far across the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠audience, where chairs had been set out for sitting ministers of the court, cadres of the Alliance Association, and leading figures of the Enlightenment Party, the monarch declared with blazing eyes.

"You who only complained while putting forward the high and low of official rank yourselves—now you demand fairness of me alone?"

At such a command from the monarch, the court ministers and the cabinet officers of Enlightenment Party origin could not lift their heads with any dignity. The tyrant, though he had mainly filled his court with those who spoke sweet words for the sake of his royal power, those who wagged their tongues, and those abundant in human feeling, had never practiced unequal appointments based on region or personal connection. Those who knew this all too well glared, and he shouted again.

"Answer me!"

On this count, at least, he had every right to be unashamed.

But the monarch soon swallowed the rest of his words. Even if it was an ugly record of betrayal—of planting a knife in the very man ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who had appointed them and brought them into court—if he wished to leave a shred of hope for those who remained, there was anger he must govern and words he must not speak. The monarch, who was not extraordinary enough to ascend as an incarnation of vengeance that would tear everything down, merely spat out one more sentence.

"Indeed. A foolish and disgusting rabble."

Having vented his last resentment upon those who had once been his subjects, he turned his head again toward the people below the platform.

"And you."

He spoke kindly to the children who were still too foolish, or too ignorant, to understand the exchange between the two groups.

"The classics say: when a nation prospers, it heeds the words of men; when a nation perishes, it venerates the words of ghosts! What are you? Even now, with five hundred years of ancestral enterprise standing on the brink of collapse, you are blinded by the empty talk of a young child and cannot see the essence!"

At the dying tiger's last roar, the people fell silent, and there were even some who occasionally bowed their heads in courtesy. Still, confirming that the majority harbored hostility at the tyrant's insulting words, or bit their lips tight with resentful gazes, the monarch returned to being a tyrant and spoke toward the boy orator who had led him to this place today.

"That will do."

At his request, I nodded.

Thus the tyrant's complaints came to an end.

A Vanguard member fitted the chu manacles back onto the two hands that had been briefly freed. The light lump of metal that merely tilted the wrists pressed down upon Yi Hyeong's entire body with a crushing weight. Wearing the chu, both hands folded modestly before him, Yi Hyeong descended from the platform and spoke to the crowd nearby.

"This is a place gathered only with cowards who will never in their lives bargain with another man's life."

At those words, the people around the platform gradually made way, observing last courtesies along the path.

Perhaps satisfied with that last courtesy, Yi Hyeong, with an expression of having laid everything down, softly whispered to me as I escorted him.

"Child. Do you believe that the one who stands in that place can seize everything?"

At his question, I quietly turned my eyes to meet his. Not the fire of before. Merely an infinitely still lake. Recognizing that the emotions of rage and vengeance were gone from his two eyes, I calmly asked in return.

"Are you asking as the former monarch?"

"I am."

At his answer, I fell into thought for a moment.

Seize everything. Then does 'that place' mean the throne?

The sword of Damocles. Yes—he too was once a monarch. A man who had greed, but whose ability to fill posts and arrange people was befitting a king. Except that he regarded Joseon not as a nation of the people, but as a private enterprise of the royal house.

Only one who has become a tyrant himself has the right to curse him.

Soon waking from my reverie, I said calmly.

"The only place where it is possible."

Then, as if this answer was unexpected, Yi Hyeong's eyes went wide, and he asked again.

"In that short time, how was it for you? Were you satisfied?"

At his second question, I immediately shook my head.

Satisfied? No. Every manner of character, from in-laws to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠eighth cousins, coming to throw a tantrum first—would that be satisfying? This was a rather pointed question, so I swept the back of my neck and shrugged.

"It was an embarrassing place to stand."

"Haha!"

Only then, as if satisfied, Yi Hyeong—even as he was being dragged among the masses—shook his gaunt arms and waist in the chu without a shred of shame, and laughed, shouting with mixed joy in all directions.

"Still, to have the place taken by an outstanding figure who will dominate an age—even if I die in this place, I have no regrets!"

Having blustered so before the people, Yi Hyeong once more firmly admonished the Enlightenment Party members, court ministers, and officers who were murmuring in confusion far away.

"You lot!"

He even pointed in that direction and shouted.

"Take this to heart! This is the tyrannical speech of one who became a monarch, which you immature ones cannot understand. You must—you must—take it to heart."

And as I, later realizing that this was the consideration of a former senior, and of one who had first borne the heavy crown, was about to see him off somehow, Yi Hyeong stretched his hands forward toward me and replied as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"If—if there is a shred of regret, it is closing five hundred years of ancestral enterprise in my name."

"..."

"I only wish that you would show consideration for those left behind."

If the man himself says so, what am I to do?

As I merely maintained my silence and slightly bowed the stiffly raised head that had never been bent to anyone, Yi Hyeong, wearing a bright smile never seen before, stretched his gaunt two hands high toward the clear blue sky and shouted.

Citizen Yi Hyeong thus returned to the execution cart.

Just because he had returned to the execution cart did not mean everything was over.

Rather, this was the beginning.

"People!"

Out of consideration for Yi Hyeong, having lowered the curtain hung over the execution cart to block his view, I shouted toward the still hesitant masses of the people.

"That tyrant has three great crimes!"

As I clenched my fist and raised it high, shouting, the gazes of the crowd returned this way. To those people, I preached once more the history of the bloody revolution of the past.

"First! Frequent public works, excessive military spending, and taxes and levies of every description that plunged the people's livelihood into misery!"

That became the origin of every disaster that followed, and in the end it cost us the nation and the people of Joseon. For a full thirty-five years. When I mentioned the misery of the people's livelihood, the light of struggle sparkled again in the masses' eyes.

"Second! Indiscriminate appointments that monopolized state affairs and destroyed the laws of governance, and, in a court overflowing with treacherous ministers and profiteers, the cutting out of the tongues of loyal subjects who did not refuse to speak the truth!"

At this, the figures in the seats of honor flinched. Yes. Until just a few days ago, they were men whose lives the tyrant had treated as less than flies, as he repeated coup after coup for the sake of royal power. Among them, those who had even faced the extinction of their clans ground their teeth toward the execution cart hidden by the curtain.

"Third! At the last, until the very last, pushing the people you were bound to protect before the muzzles of guns! These are your three charges!"

In the Imo year, and again in the Gapsin year, by the monarch's own decisions, the blood of countless innocent people was spilled in the streets. This was a fact no one could deny.

Then from the audience that had, until the second charge, merely watched the platform, shouts suddenly burst forth.

Starting with that, denunciations, roaring, and rage burst forth from every direction. People of every kind, without distinction of gender, age, or station, all with one voice kept shouting at the platform to kill Yi Hyeong, who had withdrawn into the execution cart.

Looking at them, I cut off the last thread of pity toward Yi Hyeong.

Fourth. Treating people not as people, but purely as pieces on a janggi board. If—if scholars later discuss your failure, that will be the cause.

Ending my reverie, I put the question, one by one, to the shouting crowd. First, to the people filling the square.

"What do you think!"

Next, to the yangban, the ministers, and the generals seated in the places of honor.

"What do you think!"

Finally, to Yi Hyeong, trapped in the curtained execution cart, calmly preparing for death.

"What do you think!"

At that question, the masses who had been shouting to kill him however they pleased fell silent. The ministers in the seats of honor averted their eyes. From the curtain, only a single deep sigh flowed out.

Remembering all of this, I declared in a grave voice different from before.

"As the Supreme Leader of the Alliance Association of this Manmin Gongdonghoe, Chairman of the Public Security Committee, and representative of the Thirteen of the People's Committee—"

Representing them.

"—I solemnly declare. Defendant Yi Hyeong."

I would carry it out in their stead.

Nothing could be avoided. You failed to keep even one of the three.

Holding my breath, leading the gazes that followed only the shape of my mouth, I asked the Vice Minister of Justice standing below the platform. He, receiving my gaze, seemed to freeze stiff, even forgetting to breathe.

"Vice Minister of Justice! According to the Great Code, what punishment ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠does a traitor receive!"

Then, after a moment, an ant-like voice was slowly heard.

Having waited sufficiently until he finished speaking, I answered toward the people as if to show them.

"My own thoughts are the same."

Now everything was in place. Justification, procedure, conclusion—all of it.

Receiving the people's expectant gazes, I slowly raised my hand. Where that finger pointed was, of course, the execution cart Yi Hyeong occupied. I declared in a heavy low voice.

"Defendant Yi Hyeong."

My finger and gaze, having reached their destination, no longer trembled.

Now it was time to declare the end of the old era and welcome the new. Though time may have no meaning to me—born in the twentieth century, dying in the twenty-first, and resurrected in the nineteenth—today's events were important to me as well.

My existence is hereby proven.

One man died, and one man took his place.

Thus the soil of revolution was prepared.

To speak with you of what came after: it is said that Yi Hyeong, who heard and felt everything behind the curtain, asked himself until the blade was fitted to his neck.

When the rolling execution cart came to a halt and the executioner ordered him to step down: I wanted to have everything, but I have lost it all.

When the heaviness of the blade fitted to his neck for the execution ran through his entire body: Father.

In a brief moment like the wind, when his neck returned to the earth, the life of an ordinary man who had once considered himself destined to dominate an era thus concluded its short existence.