Return to the Capital
Meanwhile, Min Mu-jil wiped the blood from his sword while surveying the razed village. Finally, it's over. With this, he'd crushed all three of those rebellious tribes.
At that moment, Choi Yun-deok dragged the tribal chief forward.
"Please, have mercy!"
The man groveled before him, face pale with terror, but it was far too late.
"Didn't I explicitly summon you on the third of November last year? I warned you'd regret it if you didn't come."
"It... it was too far away, lord."
"Farther than Nima-cha? Don't give me excuses. Even if it was, you should've shown up before I crossed the Tumen River!"
This bastard's just full of excuses, Min Mu-jil thought. The chief then claimed his own stupidity and begged forgiveness. If you're going to grovel now, why not come on November third last year like everyone else?
Most of the Jurchen tribes had come to Huiryong on November third and sworn loyalty to Joseon. The rumors of him smashing Ollyanghap and the armored carts must have spread, because they arrived bearing local tribute and pleading to be treated well. The Nangbal tribe in particular had been especially compliant. Yi Seong-gye's assessment had been spot on: for survival, they'd have no qualms becoming Joseon's vassals. Located just east of the Tumen River, they were a fishing folk who couldn't survive without trade with Joseon—they'd been the most eager to pledge allegiance.
In any case, while most tribes had sworn fealty, three holdouts remained. Starting November tenth, he'd crossed the Tumen and smashed them one by one. This was the last. These ones were especially vicious; they'd clearly bet he wouldn't push this far, since they hadn't bothered showing up even by January. He'd made sure to obliterate them utterly, scorching the entire land so no one could live there.
Anyway, this chief had to die. Min Mu-jil simply lopped off his head.
Wasted effort cleaning the blade, he thought wryly.
Choi Yun-deok spoke up. "What of the prisoners, Excellency?"
"Ollyanghap, Nima-cha chiefs—you provided troops this time, so the prisoners are yours. Do with them as you will."
"My deepest thanks, Dotongje."
The man beamed. Min Mu-jil hadn't just mobilized government troops; he'd brought in the Jurchens themselves. The enemy-of-my-enemy principle was always sound. Rivalries ran deep among them, laced with generational grudges from centuries of slaughter. He'd exploited that masterfully, recruiting the targets' natural foes for each subjugation—and the results had been spectacular. It gave them a golden chance to settle old scores while bolstering their own numbers.
This time, too, Ollyanghap and Nima-cha had done the heavy lifting, keeping Joseon casualties negligible. Sure, strengthening those tribes carried risks, but these two were safe bets. Ollyanghap had been stripped bare by him and desperately needed to rebuild to fend off the tribes above them. Nima-cha had enemies aplenty, so no issue there. Perfect buffers for Joseon—they couldn't survive without his support.
With this expedition, the Jurchens beyond the Tumen were more or less pacified. The Amur River or farther north? Unrealistic for now. He'd take this victory and be content. Time to go home.
"We're heading back."
"Understood, Dotongje."
And so he returned to Huiryong. It was brutally cold—January, after all. They crossed the frozen river and arrived. After reorganizing the troops, he stepped outside to find the market in full swing, Joseon traders bustling with Jurchens.
As appeasement for the surrendered tribes, he'd opened markets in Huiryong, Onseong, and Gyeongseong of the Six Garrisons, letting the northern Jurchens buy essentials. They did some farming and craved Joseon tools, so he'd allowed sales of scrap-iron implements—purely for agriculture, nothing to worry about. Most Jurchens were thrilled even for the junk, bartering their local goods.
Salt was their top prize, of course. The hitch was Joseon's boiled-salt methods—high production costs made it tough to sell, especially with domestic shortages. Scaling up meant sun-drying fields, ideal in Hwanghae and Pyeongan provinces. In his past life, Jeolla had boomed with it thanks to modern tech on those soft tidal flats. Feasible here? Maybe. When I get back to the capital, I'll push for new salt pans in Pyeongan—Northwest Border now, right?—and Hwanghae.
Lost in such thoughts amid the market din, he heard his name called.
"What is it?"
"An envoy from the capital, Excellency."
The capital, huh? Word was Yi Bang-won had conducted a thorough purge. He'd smashed the Yeheung Min clan's power via the Gallyeok scandal. No surprise—Min Da-yeon's talk of "family" had foreshadowed an explosion, and shipping him north made it easy. No deaths, no torture; they'd kept the Meritorious Shrine honors and property intact. Just political clout evaporated. Yi Bang-won had shown ample face; Min Mu-jil had no grievances. Especially since no one close to him had been touched. I've clearly made a strong impression on him.
Still, he fretted for Min Mu-gu and Min Da-yeon—they'd be worried sick. He'd console them later. First, the envoy.
It was from Yi Bang-won himself. Min Mu-jil observed proper courtesies as the messenger read the edict aloud: return to the capital at once. Kim Han-ro and Hwang Hui would replace him. He could've stayed longer, but a summons was a summons. Purge wrapped up? He had to go—or risk complications.
Kim Han-ro and Hwang Hui as successors? Hwang Hui would shoulder it all. He'd seen Kim Han-ro plenty—fine scribe, mediocre otherwise. Hwang Hui was another story. The Hwang ox is always right. No worries there. Only drawback: martial weakness, but this post didn't demand it. Strategy and tactics sufficed.
Time for handover prep. He dove into the office, compiling documents. Right on cue, as he finished packaging it all for Hwang Hui, the pair arrived—with Ugun troops in tow. Logical: with the Dotongje returning, his Left Army units went home too.
He greeted them warmly.
"Dotongje, it's been too long."
"Indeed. Especially you, Left Interpreter—or should I say Gyeongseong Deputy Commander now? Ages."
"Likewise, Excellency."
He wined and dined them while briefing the situation. They nodded, probed with questions; he answered thoroughly.
Hwang Hui remarked, "You've handled everything. Leaves us little to do."
As if. "Work diligently—it's all in these ledgers."
He handed over the volumes. Hwang Hui's face said expected that. They'd collaborated enough.
Thus, handover complete amid departure prep. The kids who'd trailed him piped up.
"Off to the capital?"
"Aye—His Highness summons."
Sad faces all around.
"Will you return?"
"If opportunity allows."
Tears from some. They'll miss me. He often played with the children in downtime. Joseon kids and Jurchen alike adored him. He was harsh only on hostile tribes; surrendered ones he treated as equals to Joseon folk.
"The new ones seem nice."
"Still..."
"I'll come back for sure."
They extracted a promise; he gave it. He would return—to pacify up to the Mudan River.
They clamored for it. Guess I've done well here.
He bid Muntemu farewell too. The man still eyed him warily.
"See you later. No foolishness in the meantime."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Hates the thought of facing my like again. But if he slipped... well, next time the head really rolled.
With that, Min Mu-jil led his troops from Huiryong toward the capital. He packed the smallpox vaccine, of course—no leaving that behind for some fool to discard.
Wonder if everyone's well? Min Da-yeon especially. Han Yeo-ul's fine, she said. And the treat for Yi Seong-gye—chicken. He'll love it. Chicken's always right.
As Min Mu-jil departed with his army, Hwang Hui pored over the books and documents he'd left behind. He'd already guessed the real work here fell to him. Kim Han-ro was patently unfit for this posting—a fact anyone could see.
The issue was the predecessor: Min Mu-jil, that workaholic tyrant at delegation. Not out of dislike, but high regard—still exhausting. Caught between Yi Bang-won and Min Da-yeon was pitiable, but to Hwang Hui, he was the quintessential harsh boss.
Days of review left him deeply impressed. "His practical skills are astounding, as always. No wonder he satisfied the Hongwu Emperor."
Among Joseon's officials, Hwang Hui had worked longest with Min Mu-jil—and prided himself on knowing his talents best. No great Confucian scholar like his father Min Je; as a military appointee, that was expected. But his administrative prowess was staggering, especially for someone not yet thirty. His data organization was peerless. Hwang Hui fancied himself strong there too, yet watching Min Mu-jil taught him volumes.
Take this: the tangled Jurchen tribal webs simplified brilliantly, with needs and handling strategies laid out crystal-clear.
"Fine character, martial excellence—rare blend. But an infernal superior to serve."
Then incredulity struck. "As expected."
A mountain of tasks, capped with a note: I believe you capable of all this.
"Feels like he invented extra work just for me... Fine man, but never again as my boss."
Review complete, Hwang Hui set to work—and discovered it was even more than imagined.
Meanwhile, Min Mu-jil finally reached the capital. Home at last.
Yi Bang-won greeted him personally. Min Mu-jil bowed deeply in salute. His brother-in-law praised his feats, granted extra Meritorious Shrine honors, hosted a feast, and bid him rest days at home—but to visit Min Da-yeon and Yi Seong-gye separately. Both sought him.
Min Da-yeon made sense; Yi Seong-gye? Later. Home first, to Han Yeo-ul.
"Husband!"
She flung herself into his arms, scrutinizing his face. "You've put on some weight. Thank goodness."
He had—a bit. Still gaunt, though. Hope I don't waste away here too.
He met their firstborn son. Adorable. When Han Yeo-ul asked for a name, he chose Hwi—Min Hwi. Solid choice.
They chatted cozily about home happenings. She'd bring Han Gye-ryeon over to play with their Yeong; he approved. Family, after all. Her father was Han Yeong-jeong? Drew a blank—not a major Yeomal Seoncho figure, then.
Father-in-law wanted a visit too. Later.
Off to see Father and Min Mu-gu—but a messenger from Soso Mountain: Yi Seong-gye summoned him. No choice; the old man would sulk massively otherwise.