What Can You Do If I Did It? - 2
Song and Goryeo's relationship could be described as a long, tangled web of love and hate. About four hundred years ago, from the moment Emperor Taizu, Zhao Guangyin, founded the Northern Song, the two nations engaged in brisk exchanges. This was to check their common enemy, the Khitans—it went beyond mere "let's be friends!" and was an inevitable choice for national security.
But had the two ever truly partied up against the Khitans? Not really. For example, about thirty years after forging ties, Goryeo suffered under a flashy Khitan invasion. "We're done for! Save us, please!" Having allied precisely for such a beating, Goryeo immediately begged Song for aid the moment the invasion hit. But Song replied, "Sorry, all we can do is cheer you on." They didn't budge.
A backstab from the nation they'd trusted in their hour of need. Stung by that sharp mala-flavored betrayal, Goryeo gritted its teeth and thrashed about, successfully repelling three Khitan invasions on its own. "You bastard, why didn't you send troops?" "Whoa, they handled it themselves."
And when the neighbor you'd left for dead survives solo? Awkwardness was inevitable from that point. After the Khitans' elite troops got one-way tickets to the afterlife courtesy of Goryeo, Goryeo's envoys started raising hell in Song. No wonder some ministers argued for curbing Goryeo's arrogance and resetting relations. "What if Goryeo sides with the Khitans? You gonna take responsibility?" "Their rampages are no less than the Khitans or Western Xia."
Of course, that was just some voices. Song had stabbed first, and with karma from ignoring Goryeo already in play, snubbing their envoys risked a mad Khitan-Goryeo alliance. So the rocky ties dragged on until the Jurchens crashed the party. "Our country's fallen! Help us!" Song's capital sacked, emperor captured, fleeing south.
In that do-or-die crisis, the downgraded Southern Song sent envoys to Goryeo for a "you with me or them?" check. "Don't play buddies now, punk." No dice. By then, Goryeo was already bowing to the Jurchens. With Song pushed south of the Yangtze, coordination was impossible—unless Goryeo's king had fallen from a persimmon tree as a kid, keeping distance was natural.
But could a temporarily fallen Song grasp that nuance? Already grieving its halved empire, Southern Song took a deep wound from its one reliable neighbor's cold shoulder. The two kept a frosty distance until both got smashed by the Mongols together. "To check Mongol ambitions, linking with Goryeo is essential."
That shared trauma of getting wrecked side-by-side became the spark for renewed ties after the founder rebuilt Song. Freshly freed from Mongol sway, Goryeo didn't refuse. From their view, neither a Mongol southbound push nor clashing with a unified Central Plains Song appealed.
But whatever happened under Mongol meddling? Reunited Goryeo went nuclear—child's play compared to their old Northern Song riots and Southern Song snubs. "Our king's veins carry Golden Clan blood, so we'll absorb and manage the Mongol remnants in Liaodong." "Feeling salty? Then come take Liaodong yourselves." "Watch yourselves, or we crown a new emperor or side with the Mongols."
Destructive, dizzying moves. Seizing Liaodong amid Mongol chaos, Goryeo demanded Song recognize it while quietly cozying up to Mongols. The founder must've seen them as bat-like pests rather than allies, but no choice. Crossing the Great Wall was tough for Song, and a Goryeo-Mongol pact would've been a nightmare. Mongols likely felt the same—full Goryeo-Song alignment would've screwed them alone. 'Crazy gangsters.'
So when I heard Goryeo linked to the gunpowder smuggling, a sigh escaped. Objectively, Song topped Northeast Asia in power, but Goryeo swallowing Mongolia beyond the Wall plus Liaodong? Facing both meant spinal surgery. Mongols dodged a Song-Goryeo pincer, Goryeo eyed Song-Mongol peace warily. Mutual checks kept everyone leashed—that's the current balance.
'Protest all you want, it'll end in "regrets" and nothing more.' Headache. Goryeo, knowing their leverage best, would shrug off any gunpowder beef. Plus, the court banned gunpowder circulation fearing murim rebellion, tacitly allowing Goryeo's backdoor leaks. Not like anyone's stopping them outright.
Better to let it slide blush-free. But when that tacit slide surfaces? The court must protest Goryeo, risking hassle for futile diplomacy. ...
"Inspector Jo."
"Yes, my lord."
"Let it go like it never happened."
"Pardon?"
Jo Wi-cheo rarely questioned orders, his tone screaming 'You sure?'
'Damn it.' Truth be told, I hated this too. Ignorance is bliss, but pretending after knowing? Tough. But no alternatives. Publicizing it'd drag the Ministry of Rites in—they hate Goryeo spats most. Gunpowder ties? A hundred days of yelling yields zero wins for Song. Hand that hell to Rites myself? What grudge would that earn?
'Thanks to these mutts.' Blame shifted to the Pang family. Proper conduct, no gunpowder rumors, no mess. No need to surveil their Goryeo-smuggling caravan. Sure, we'd track leaks eventually, but Pang's fault anyway. Decided that.
"...Rumors of Pang holding gunpowder proved false. However, improper ties with the Eunchun Merchant Guild yielded undue gains—Pang's guilt lingers."
"Blinded by petty greed, we've strayed from the path. No excuses for our sins, though not originally ours, we'll surrender all to the court."
Sudden, but Pang Jin-un caught on quick, bowing low. Pang's sin capped at Eunchun dealings; Eunchun's at murim cozying, not gunpowder. In exchange, hefty tribute—but salvation from sect extinction? Worth it.
"The court always watches. Heed this, restrain yourselves, reflect."
"We shall."
Left Pang manor after formalities. Plan was troops encircling Bojeong to squeeze, manor raid for mental blow, extract concessions—maybe loosen a few chains to avoid Un-ga unilateral looting. But real gunpowder? Nuked the plan.
'Gonna lose my mind.' Might even watch Jinju Un-ga evolve into Habuk Un-ga.
While handling Dochalwon duties today, Han Un's messenger pigeon perched on the windowsill. Bearing unwelcome news.
'Gunpowder, huh.'
Brows furrowed at the letter. Beyond my solo purview as Left Do-eosa. Good no murim held it, but Goryeo smuggling nearly surfaced.
Everyone-in-the-know—but can't have everyone know—nearly public. Problematic. Gunpowder leaks abroad tanks court prestige, stiffens ties. Already splitting internal murim for Mongol prep—no such wildcard.
'Handled smoothly, though.'
Han Un noted gunpowder hushed officially, showing compromise savvy. Lucky he's flexible. If a rigid principle-pusher? Barbarians eyeing heavenly resources? Freakout city. Dizzying thought.
Theory vs. reality blind spots are field nightmares. Site agents' prime duty: flexibility.
'Overflowing with it.' Sometimes suspiciously so. Chuckled, grabbed brush.
Can't broadcast Goryeo smuggling, but stakeholders must know. Heavenly resources flowing borderward? Report His Majesty. All under heaven is his.
'...Hmm.'
How to phrase? Assumed none, squeezed hard—real stuff emerged. How to elegantly spin? Proper reward pitch for Hang-san-pa, decisive tipster?
'More rebuild funds meaningless.'
Frankly, Hang-san unsavable even pouring world's gold/silver. Grant another mountain instead?