Realization
The first round of Yukbak ended in a hollow defeat. Wait, what kind of rule changed mid-game? It wasn't chess, yet there was promotion. Since there was no piece that played the role of the chariot in janggi, I had simply assumed it didn't exist. That assumption proved fatal. Who could have guessed that fulfilling certain conditions would let a piece evolve into the Owl?
Once Nogucheon realized I was a complete novice who didn't even know the rules properly, he moved his pieces with far more leisure in the second game. The result was the same. In the blink of an eye I was down two games to none, staring defeat in the face. But that was the moment I smiled. Now I understood—not only the rules of Yukbak, but exactly how I could win.
The third game saw the momentum shift. I, who had done nothing but defend and observe Nogucheon's moves, finally seized the initiative. Perhaps he had grown too complacent. My sudden dagger thrust struck him down without mercy, his reputation be damned. He clearly hadn't anticipated a long-range strike from a high-mobility piece.
The fourth game that followed was a tense, back-and-forth struggle. When Nogucheon played in earnest, his skill was formidable enough that even I—honed by countless board games and janggi—found his moves difficult to read. Yet as the match entered its final phase, the advantage on the board tilted clearly in my favor. I possessed a piece promoted to Owl. Nogucheon did not. When you consider the value a rook holds in a queenless chess game, or a chariot in janggi, the presence or absence of that single piece created an overwhelming gap.
The problem is that his formation looks better than mine.
There is a term in janggi called "fool's shape"—a poor arrangement of pieces. The opposite, a strong formation, is known as "good shape." If this were war, it would be like my side having superior forces while Nogucheon held all the strategic high ground.
In janggi that wouldn't have been a serious problem. I could have focused on defense, repositioned my pieces, and escaped the bad shape. The chariot—now the Owl—would have made that possible. But Yukbak was not a game decided by skill alone. Luck intervened through the throwing of dice, or in this version, chopsticks that replaced them. If it had been pure skill, it would never have been called gambling. Because swindlers used sleight of hand to manipulate outcomes, Yukbak was regarded as a form of betting. Still, it wasn't treated as seriously as Ssangryuk, the real gambler's game, nor was it given the refined status of baduk.
Contrary to my worries, however, Nogucheon played with absolute fairness. No tricks. Whether he simply didn't know any or was too proud to use them, I couldn't say. The moment he chose an honest fight, the match was decided.
"Impressive."
Seeing no place left to move, Nogucheon tossed the piece he had been fiddling with onto the board. A resignation.
"Prince, is it truly your first time playing Yukbak today?"
"It is. Though I have always enjoyed baduk."
"Baduk and Yukbak follow entirely different paths..."
Nogucheon trailed off, retrieved the discarded piece, and began resetting the board. The matter was not yet settled.
"This will be the final game."
The last match began. Nogucheon held to his principles until the end. No sleight of hand, no tricks—just pure luck and skill. Yet after four games my understanding of Yukbak had already reached a professional level. The reading ability I had cultivated through ever-changing baduk and the diverse movement patterns of janggi far surpassed his. It did not take long for the words of defeat to leave his lips.
"I lost."
Unlike the stubborn woman, Nogucheon accepted the result cleanly and bowed to me with respect. His tone grew even more courteous.
"I have learned a great deal."
"As have I."
It had been fun. Truly. I had not stepped forward merely to enjoy a game or win a beauty's favor, but from the middle onward I had become completely absorbed in the match against Nogucheon. When I answered with genuine feeling, he asked respectfully.
"Might we play again sometime?"
Yukbak had been enjoyable, but it was time to return to my original purpose. I cleared my throat and spoke loudly enough for the surrounding spectators to hear clearly.
"The reason I intervened today was solely to help a fellow countryman of Yan who had fallen into difficulty. It was not for the sake of playing Yukbak."
I placed deliberate emphasis on Yan. At my subtly stressed tone, Nogucheon's eyes narrowed as though he had caught the scent of something unusual. I had noticed it while we played, but this man possessed remarkably sharp instincts. Apart from my initial goal, it would be wise to maintain a connection with him.
"Still, if you wish it, I will gladly make time to visit again."
"I will welcome you with joy whenever you come."
We bowed to each other. The crowd surrounding us burst into enthusiastic applause. This kind of showmanship—people of different stations respecting one another and sharing intent—was considered both a virtue and a beautiful tale of the age. For common folk, witnessing such a scene directly was one of their few pleasures. Those present would no doubt boast about today's events for days to come.
And that was exactly the outcome I had hoped for.
Satisfied, I turned to settle things with the woman as well.
"As for you..."
"Prince!"
The instant I began to turn, a hand thrust under my armpit and I was hoisted clean into the air.
"Whoa!"
"Ahahaha! Prince! You're incredible, you know that? A little brat like you making Nogucheon choke on defeat after defeat after defeat! Whew… from the moment you stabbed him with that filial piety move I stopped breathing entirely!"
The woman snatched me up, pressed her face close, and rattled on without pause.
"W-what do you think you're doing!"
"Release the prince at once!"
Seok and Hyu could only shout; they dared not rush in for fear I might be injured. Yet the woman's behavior did not change in the slightest. She paid no attention to the murmurs around her, the stares, or even my status. She was the very embodiment of doing exactly as she pleased.
"First put me down..."
"Right! I've decided!"
"No, before that, let go of..."
"I'll become the prince's guest retainer! Yep! You saw my ability right away and helped recruit me, didn't you? Since I lost the bet anyway, I was going to end up as that Nogucheon fellow's subordinate whether I liked it or not. You saved me from that, so becoming your guest retainer is only proper!"
A guest retainer? I hadn't been hoping for anything on that level. I was already struggling to feed myself and my own people—what in the world was this about taking in another mouth?
This is exactly like saving someone from drowning only to watch them walk off with your bundle as well!
If I let this continue I would be hooked before I knew it.
"A guest retainer, you say!"
"Hm? Oh, don't worry. I may have looked a bit pathetic earlier, but believe it or not, I'm a formidable swordswoman."
The woman finally set me down and patted the sword at her waist. It was no short dagger but a proper long blade.
"I'm not the greatest in the world… but I guarantee there aren't more than five people alive who handle a sword better than I do."
Nogucheon, listening to her proud introduction, offered a dry jab.
"Yet you still lost to me."
"Because you're the third-best swordsman in the world!"
"Hah… you speak as if you've seen the greatest with your own eyes."
"I have. Two of them, in fact. Truly breathtaking swordsmen."
Even while acknowledging her own inferiority, the woman answered boldly, completely undaunted. The corners of her mouth curled into a grin. It was a refreshing smile that left even the onlookers feeling invigorated. She wore her brazen, my-pace personality like a perfectly tailored coat. She was the very image of a gallant hero given human form—someone who acted entirely as she wished, yet proved impossible to dislike.
Even if I refused her here, I had the distinct feeling she would simply camp outside my residence and stage a protest until I accepted her as a guest. I had planned to spread a moderate rumor, but excessive attention was the last thing I wanted. With a small sigh, I resigned myself to taking her in.
I can barely take care of myself, yet the number of people around me only keeps growing.
It had been the same with Jeong-i, and now this woman. Was this what Chuyeon had meant by people gathering like stars in a constellation? It was already difficult; I shuddered to imagine what would happen if even more arrived. Still, what choice did I have? I had set this in motion. The responsibility was mine.
"Very well. I will accept you as a guest retainer. I was thinking of keeping at least one proper bodyguard in any case. But if your skill turns out to be false, the agreement is void."
"Hehe, don't worry. This big sister's skills are the real thing!"
"Prince, you need not worry on that account. Jing Ke's behavior may be like this, but her swordsmanship is genuinely impressive."
"...Huh?"
The moment I heard Nogucheon's additional explanation, my mind went completely blank. It was a name I knew. A name I knew very well. Wasn't she the protagonist of the assassination attempt on Qin Shi Huang that so brilliantly marked the end of the Warring States period?
In calligraphy class I had copied the "Song of the Yi River" he left behind upon departure. Through films I had witnessed his life and the assassination itself. The assassin who, at the Crown Prince of Yan's instigation, attempted to kill Qin Shi Huang—Jing Ke. I knew him well.
But this woman was Jing Ke?
I froze, stunned. Sensing my shock, she straightened her posture to greet me properly. Then she delivered the words that shattered my confusion completely.
"Jing Ke of Wei. From this day forward, I shall serve as retainer to the Prince of Yan!"
Jing Ke. Jing Ke stood before me. Then this was the final years of the Warring States. The era in which Qin Shi Huang would ultimately accomplish the great task of unifying the world. In that case, the Crown Prince of Yan who had commissioned her to assassinate him was...
Me.
Only then did I truly realize my own identity. My previous life's knowledge of this era had been far too fragmentary. I knew individual events and figures, yet remained ignorant of the larger flow. It was only natural. I had never studied proper history books; I had learned the Warring States period solely through scattered anecdotes from Chinese character lessons and calligraphy practice.
I knew the gravity of the Battle of Changping. I knew how magnificent the generals Lian Po and Li Mu were. I remembered in considerable detail that Jing Ke and the Crown Prince of Yan had attempted to assassinate Qin Shi Huang. But I had never understood precisely how those events connected.
Honestly, I had not even realized that the time I now lived in was the period of Qin Shi Huang's reign. Yet the name Jing Ke had forced me to confront reality.
I was destined to become the crown prince of a nation fated for destruction.