Busy with Farming - 1
On the way to Beukhaebinggung, I'd made plenty of preparations and steeled myself with resolve. Crossing the Mongol steppes wasn't a worry with Grandfather and the Geum-ui-wi at my side. We'd overcome the harshest leg of the journey thanks to others' help, so now it was my turn to help them.
No matter how I thought about it, a mere peak realm nobody like me had only made the delegation because my experience rolling around the Central Plains was highly valued. My mission was to leverage that to secure cooperation with Beukhaebinggung. So, with the journey being comfortable on my body, I'd poured everything into negotiation prep—citing Mongol atrocities and arrogance, bringing up Beukhaebinggung's tragic past, outlining tangible gains from allying with Daesong, and the downsides of staying neutral in this war. All to drag Beukhaebinggung to the front lines if possible, or at least friendly neutrality.
"Today is a joyous day! We've found a comrade to raise our swords against those vicious, savage horse-riding bastards—what could be more beautiful and noble? The steppe dogs' tantrums are lamentable, but they've led us to a good friend. This is truly heaven's guidance!"
But what was this? Why was everything moving forward while I sat silently, fiddling with my teacup without saying a word? Why was the Beukhaebinggung Lord acting like a quest-giving NPC, handling it all himself?
Is this a dream?
I even thought that. Maybe I'd fallen victim to Mongol sorcery while crossing the steppes, trapped in a vivid dream of my deepest desire. A nightmare I couldn't escape.
Not a dream, though.
Of course, it was just delusion. The warmth of the teacup in my palm, the Beukhaebinggung Lord's flushed face as he ranted with a beaming smile—it couldn't be a dream.
"The Palace Lord's words ring true! Steppe nomads rampaging is historically common, but Daesong and Beukhaebinggung—worlds apart—becoming friends is no everyday occurrence! Without heaven's guidance, it would be impossible; without our shared love of peace, it wouldn't have happened!"
As I dazedly watched the Lord's not-quite-eloquent eloquence, our senior-most, Grandfather, nodded and chimed in.
A strange feeling. Even the reactions handled by Grandfather. It felt like my presence here was fading into irrelevance.
Not entirely meaningless, though?
I pictured Kki-ing-i, surrounded by Beukhaebinggung folk by now. Clearly, her presence swayed them. They'd rushed off to fetch the Lord upon seeing her, his face lit up as he hurried over. Positively, as her owner who'd brought her here, I'd earned some credit... but I couldn't claim it boldly. My mentality was too fragile to boast after doing nothing.
"Yet we can't just gloss over asking too much of a good friend. His Majesty prepared gifts to honor Daesong-Beukhaebinggung friendship."
"Oh ho, tokens of friendship, then?"
"Of course!"
Grandfather patted my shoulder lightly.
"My grandson will explain the details. A young man's promise—one we'll see often henceforth—is more trustworthy than an old man's chatter."
Sudden baton pass—disorienting. I was a stone-faced dummy here, a thinking scarecrow.
"...My greetings are belated, but I am Daesong's Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief, Han Un. It's an honor and joy beyond words to meet Daesong's new friend on His Majesty's behalf."
But this was Grandfather's consideration. Pushing me forward to claim some stake. With Daesong-Beukhaebinggung cooperation all but sealed, having me voice the benefits Daesong offered would let reports frame it as "The Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief's proposal drew a ready nod from the Beukhaebinggung Lord." Plus, from the Lord's view, the guy who'd spoken gains over the silent sitter would look better. As a young man—and now with "been to Beukhaebinggung" on my resume—I'd likely be dubbed their expert. Meaning more visits ahead. A good first impression smoothed the future.
Damn it.
Lamentable. Beukhaebinggung expert—what a horrific title.
"Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief Han Un."
Something felt off. After my intro, the Lord stroked his chin, then asked, "Have you ever held the Left Deputy Censor-in-Chief post?"
"Ah, yes. Until recently. His Majesty's undue trust elevated me to Right Deputy."
"Indeed! With the white deer, I suspected, but you truly are the White Deer's Envoy!"
What.
The bizarre phrase froze me. White Deer's Envoy? What nickname was this I didn't know? And why did Beukhaebinggung know me?
"Your Excellency's fame reaches even Beukhaebinggung! You boldly drew sword against Koke Temur at the border—that fiend! Even he was awed by your resolve and retreated!"
"...Pardon?"
"Two white deer guarded you selflessly—truly worthy of the title White Deer's Envoy! Forgive our tardy recognition!"
My mind blanked; words failed.
"White Deer's Envoy."
"Standing against Koke Temur shook the world—a lofty feat whose news reached even us."
Grandfather's murmur hid no smile; Geum-ui-wi gasped softly. I shut my eyes in dismay.
The meeting with the honored guests ended warmly. Beukhaebinggung stands ready to fight for the pure steppes. In old days, we might've shunned outsiders while venturing out—but we'd already suffered steppe violence and oppression. Even if we stay put, those damned bastards draw blades. With spare time, those mongrel scum would subjugate us again.
So, while they're weakened fighting southern farmers, we strike their rear. Ensure they never eye us again—or hesitate if they do.
No more just the lake as our domain.
Lake Khövsgöl, Baikal, or North Sea—many names for our home, roots, life. Beautiful, bountiful. We'd thank our ancestors who settled here. But against horse-obsessed maniacs—likely one-in-a-hundred true bastards—it's insufficient. This small turf can't oppose them.
We must expand. Seize half the steppe, a third, or quarter—to stand against them.
We're fighting anyway; payment makes it sweeter.
Fighting together beats alone. Plus, free resources from the resource-rich south, multifaceted exchanges post-conquest, and support for our steppe claims—no protests.
Trustworthy enough.
I smirked, touching the cold teacup. Overly warm welcome despite white deer guests—excessive smiles, levity. Even if they prepped offers, my forwardness let me wipe my mouth clean.
Yet they played their hand. Not ones to use and discard us. Satisfactory. Without gains, I'd have enjoyed the joint front then split. Untrustworthy allies beat survival alone.
"Sigh..."
Too late, my cheeks throbbed. Laughed too much after rarely doing so. Throat stung from raising my voice. Good impressions matter, but overdone.
Didn't land on the leader, though.
The eldest southerner. Given his realm and rank, crude laughs shouldn't sway him—but he played along positively. No intent to sour ties, or no need.
Han Jung of Giwang, was it?
Leaning back, I sorted thoughts. Distant from the Central Plains? No—distance spurs intel gathering. Blindness let horse lovers trample us. We know Central Plains news decently: young Right Deputy Censor-in-Chief Han Un survived Koke Temur; Giwang Han Jung is second Ugeom, first Ugeom's son-in-law.
To witness Ugeom's will firsthand.
Eerie. When we and kin wandered Central Plains under brutal steppes, Ugeom inspired the weak like us. Never dreamed his heir—blood successor—would visit Beukhaebinggung, urging alliance.
White deer stirred battle spirit; knowing Ugeom's successor joins solidified resolve.
This repays your grace.
First Ugeom—never seen, but deeds and character felt. Our respect to you, Ugeom. The white deer, your parting gift—we ally south per your will.