The Water Carriers of the Han River
"But good men are always scarce, and if you keep plucking them all away, what am I supposed to do? I have to feed and clothe the Geunchunmun boys, you know. You understand better than anyone, Minister—it's no small matter."
A scoff escaped Han Myeong-hoe at Hong Gil-dong's words.
The gapso, the capital's elite guards, were supposed to be supported by military farmland—fields and paddies the state granted each soldier for his livelihood.
By rights, it should never have fallen to the likes of Hong Gil-dong to provide for them.
That was how it was meant to be.
"Yes, I know."
Han Myeong-hoe admitted it.
The world rarely turned according to the letter of the law. Half a century had passed since the founding of the dynasty, and with no great war demanding the capital army's service, military discipline had been quietly eroding for some time.
For one thing, not every soldier was cut out for tilling fields and raising crops. And though the state had originally forbidden it, officials had begun to quietly impose all manner of corvée labor on soldiers—men who could be plucked up and put to work at a moment's notice.
Beyond that, life had a way of occasionally demanding sums of money no household could easily spare, and so some soldiers, squeezed by hardship, had even begun selling off their rights to military farmland.
It was Suyang's faction that had accelerated this decay. His cronies, as if making up for years spent in the political cold, had schemed every which way to fatten their estates.
So when Hong Gil-dong puffed himself up, claiming he looked after the livelihoods of his fellow gapso, it was hardly empty boasting.
Han Myeong-hoe knew this well enough, and he had chosen to turn a blind eye.
"Since we're on the subject—see to it the Geunchunmun boys don't squeeze their sources too hard and start tongues wagging."
"Leave that to me. I'll see to it nothing gives the Minister a headache."
Han Myeong-hoe nodded. Even a man of his power could not command everything with a mere jerk of the chin. It was necessary to leave his underlings room to fill their bellies now and then.
"Now, if there's someone in your ranks worth taking…… what would you want in exchange for letting him go?"
Hong Gil-dong feigned deliberation. It was the basics of negotiation—and whatever else he was, Hong Gil-dong had the wits to know which of them was Party A and which was Party B.
"You honor me, Minister…… I am deeply moved."
"Spare me the flattery."
Hong Gil-dong flashed a grin.
"There's a fellow called Kkeok-chi under the Inspector of Yeopan who keeps meddling in my business."
"The Inspector of Yeopan, you say?"
Han Myeong-hoe chuckled. "That figures. I've told the man to rein himself in a hundred times, and he never listens."
"If you were to take a hand in it, Minister, even the Inspector of Yeopan would learn to mind his step."
"Hm."
Han Myeong-hoe looked distinctly unenthusiastic. And no wonder—he hardly relished the idea of hoisting his weighty posterior out of his seat to intervene in his underlings' petty squabbles over profit.
But then, wasn't tending to such things part of a superior's duty?
"Very well. I'll raise it with him. But this Kkeok-chi, whoever he is—you settle that yourself. I'll see to the cleanup afterward, nothing more."
"If you'll promise me that much, I'll handle the rest."
Hong Gil-dong smiled.
"Anything else?"
"They say the water of the Han River has been tasting especially fine these days."
Hong Gil-dong changed the subject without warning.
"If I send my men down to the Han River ferry to draw water, I could bring fresh, good water straight to the Minister's household. How does that sound?"
"I hear the boatmen there are strong as oxen."
"Strong, yes—but fighting is a matter of skill as much as strength. Could they stand against the gapso? And these are men I raised with my own hands, at that."
Han Myeong-hoe let out a dry laugh.
"Even after I've been plucking your very best from you?"
"To stand in the Minister's way, a man would have to be the wisest of the ten thousand. But even then, they'd make passable water carriers for the Han."
"Good. I'll trust you with it."
Han Myeong-hoe nodded. Then, in the next instant, his expression turned cold and measured.
"This matter is being handled by someone above me. Keep that in mind."
Hong Gil-dong's eyes widened slightly.
"Ho-ho…… someone above a Minister of War, no less. Surely not the lady of the house—and even the Chief State Councillor couldn't claim to stand above you, Minister……"
"Keep your idle speculation to yourself. You understand what I'm telling you?"
Hong Gil-dong nodded.
"Off with you, then. As of today, you were never inside these walls."
"Yes, Minister."
Hong Gil-dong withdrew quietly, and Han Ga-ryeong saw him out. Not a single soul paid the least attention as Hong Gil-dong passed beyond Han Myeong-hoe's gate.
Han Ga-ryeong, as ever, was flawless.
Hong Gil-dong glanced back at him.
"This business…… you're going too?"
Han Ga-ryeong gave a short nod.
"Sending a man like you along…… then the matter must be truly grave."
There was genuine feeling in Hong Gil-dong's words. As the master of the acrobatic gapso himself, he had almost never envied the confidants beneath Han Myeong-hoe's command.
Save for one man—Han Ga-ryeong alone.
To keep a man like that as your right hand. The Minister's fortune in men isn't half bad after all.
Hong-wi spent his days in Anchuunbugu chiefly in conversation with its people. Sometimes he spoke with Kushinu and the tribal elders; other times he did not hesitate to talk with an ordinary villager of the humblest standing.
Through these exchanges, Hong-wi came to understand how the Jurchen lived, how they thought, and what lay buried in their hearts. And his manner drew an equally warm response from them.
The people of Anchuunbugu spoke of him this way:
"For a man from Joseon, he's no arrogant lordling. What a remarkable person he is."
"That's right. He understands our language and our customs remarkably well!"
In truth, most Joseon men who dealt with the Jurchen were officials, and they never ceased to sneer at the tribespeople as uncivilized brutes. Nor was it only the officials—even common peasants eyed the Jurchen with distrust, calling them savage barbarians. So a Joseon man who eagerly set about learning the Jurchen tongue and their ways was a rare treasure indeed.
"No wonder the rough country folk of Sahalcha received him so warmly."
They looked kindly not only on Hong-wi but on his companions as well. Cha Gyeong-yeon, having lived so long in Jurchen lands, hardly needed saying—but Ho-in, too, had earned their favor, and for good reason.
One day, Hong-wi approached him.
"I've had a hard time catching you lately. I hear you've been drifting in and out of the kitchens."
"Ah, well…… a bit."
"What are you doing in there? I'm not chiding you—only curious."
Ho-in fidgeted, and Cha Gyeong-yeon answered in his place.
"At first I wondered what he was up to in there myself, and would you look at that—he's been trading recipes with the Jurchen women."
"Ah…… well, Ho-in does have a real gift for cooking."
Hong-wi laughed. It was no empty compliment.
Ever since the three of them had slipped into Jurchen territory and gone into hiding, cooking had all but become Ho-in's exclusive duty. Hong-wi, for his part, had scarcely ever set foot in a kitchen in his life. Cha Gyeong-yeon knew his way around a pot from his years as a wanderer, but he was constantly coming and going. So the cooking had fallen to Ho-in entirely.
And, surprisingly enough, his skill turned out to be genuinely outstanding.
Gyeongsang Province had been blessed with abundant produce since ancient times, yielding all manner of hearty ingredients. What was more, Ho-in had gone hunting many times with his father from boyhood, and along the way he had picked up plenty of practice in preparing food. Unlike in later ages, a man cooking was no particular disgrace in these times.
At first, this stranger barging into the kitchens and pestering everyone with questions had been treated as an oddity, but before long he had become a familiar fixture. He scattered salt—a treasure of the inland regions—about as freely as sand, so far from being shunned, he was welcomed at every turn.
Haunted by longing for the kimchi he had eaten back in Joseon, he was desperate above all things to eat it again. The trouble was that vegetables held little appeal for the Jurchen. No one in this era could have known it, but the tribespeople made up for their missing nutrients with raw meat.
Be that as it may, Ho-in pickled the turnips he had scraped together in brine, silently resolving as he worked.
Next year I'll make them plant turnips for certain. Garlic's already in use here, so that's settled—and if I could just get my hands on some fragrant herbs, so much the better. And I absolutely must make these people realize that in winter, nothing beats dongchimi radish water kimchi with boiled pork.
Before anyone had noticed, soybean meju blocks hung in thick clusters from the kitchen rafters, all of Ho-in's making. He meant to let them ripen for a few days, then ferment them into Joseon-style doenjang. The Jurchen had their own similar pastes, but none of them suited his palate.
He was also determined to try his hand at cheonggukjang.
"Honestly, we've been living better lately thanks to Ho-in. I've grown somewhat used to Jurchen cooking, but I can't say I enjoy it."
"Rolling raw liver into half-cooked rice and swallowing it down really is a bit much."
Ho-in grumbled. Whatever else he could tolerate, that much had worn his patience ragged. It was, in fact, why he had brewed the meju—and with the doenjang he made from it, dissolved in water with fresh blood curd, bean sprouts he had raised with his own hands, and wild greens gathered from the fields, he simmered a blood stew.
Short on ingredients as he was, it fell a little short of his own standards—but the Jurchen who tasted it went wide-eyed with astonishment.
Hong-wi agreed wholeheartedly.
"The blood stew Ho-in makes truly is superb."
"I couldn't let the meju ferment longer, so the depth of flavor isn't quite there yet. There was no time to simmer beef bones as well, but I have the Jurchen boiling bone broth right now. Once that's in, it'll be even richer."
Ho-in spoke with confidence, then paused a moment before going on.
"If only I could get some radish—the broth would have that much more of a clean, refreshing bite. It's a real shame I couldn't manage it."
"Well, I never……"
The two men marveled. As the old sayings went—a gentleman must eat even while his beard shakes, and even the Diamond Mountains look best after a full meal—nothing mattered more to a man than his food. Nothing restored one's strength like eating familiar dishes in a land ten thousand ri from home.
In that respect, Ho-in had become an indispensable treasure.
"Ahh, you'll make some lucky woman a beloved husband one day, that much is certain."
"What in the world is that supposed to mean, all of a sudden?"
Ho-in shot Cha Gyeong-yeon a sidelong glare.
"Heh heh heh…… doesn't it put you in mind of Yeon-bi? Ahh, maybe that's exactly why you lose yourself in the cooking—she keeps coming to mind."
"Oh, enough teasing already."
At that, Ho-in's face went as red as a boiled beet. But judging by his expression, Cha Gyeong-yeon had struck dead center. In truth, as his stay in Anchuunbugu stretched on, Ho-in had been nursing a quiet, growing impatience.
"Then you'd best hurry home, hadn't you? My, that never occurred to me!"
"Really, Your Maj—— no, never mind."
Ho-in was at a complete loss for where to put himself, and the two men smiled warmly at his artless embarrassment.
While Hong-wi's company was deep in this banter, Tung Jugang came looking for them.
"So here you are, Temusi-i."
He flashed a grin.
"Ho, Jugang. What brings you?"
"Nothing urgent—only, the Mid-Autumn Festival is nearly upon us, no?"
The Mid-Autumn Festival—the Jurchen, too, celebrated the harvest moon much as the Chinese and Joseon did, praying for a bountiful year. They had first arrived in these lands in early August by the lunar calendar, in the dying days of summer, and with all the days spent here in between, Chuseok was now just around the corner.
"When it comes, our clan rides out for the great hunt."
"Oh-ho……"
"So I came to ask—would you care to join us?"
"It would be an honor. But is it proper for an outsider like me to take part?"
He couldn't be sure, but this great hunt was plainly a grand occasion for Anchuunbugu. For a foreigner to be allowed to join in would carry real meaning.
Tung Jugang laughed.
"The Elder himself has extended the invitation, so there's no cause for worry."
"The Elder?"
"Mm. He told me to pass the word to you himself."
Hong-wi's companions exchanged glances, and Cha Gyeong-yeon gave a small nod. A fine hunter was always held in respect among the Jurchen, and Hong-wi's skill in the hunt was more than impressive even by Cha Gyeong-yeon's exacting eye. It was an opportunity to win further favor in the eyes of the Onyan clan that could not be passed up.
"Then how could I refuse? I'll go."
"Excellent!"
Tung Jugang grinned broadly.
"Oh, and there's something else I'd like to discuss with you—alone."
Hong-wi's companions looked to one another. Cha Gyeong-yeon rose first.
"I'll step outside."
"As will I."
Ho-in followed him up. Instinct told them their presence was no longer wanted.
"You rise early, don't you? Before dawn?"
"I do."
Hong-wi had a habit of waking well before first light and taking a morning walk. Drawing in the crisp pre-dawn air was the only thing that soothed the tightness that sometimes gathered in his chest—and besides, the Jurchen land itself seemed to call to him.
"Only sages rise that early."
"Do they? I'm still a long way from being any kind of sage."
The two men laughed.
"The Elder holds you in high regard."
"Does he, now? That surprises me. We've hardly spent that much time together."
"Never doubt his eye. In his day he roamed all of Jianzhou and met countless men called heroes and warriors. Why, they say that in his youth he even glimpsed from afar the Ming Emperor who set out on the campaign against the Northern Yuan."
"Remarkable."
Hong-wi thought the Ming Emperor who had campaigned against the Northern Yuan could only mean the Yongle Emperor. It might have been the Tumu Crisis instead, but given the timeline, it had to be Yongle—having personally led five expeditions against the Northern Yuan in his lifetime, he would indeed have been visible to young Onyan Isiha, however far off.
"So his judgment is never wrong. And yet……"
"And yet?"
"A man, you see, can never truly be convinced until he has come up against him face to face."
Tung Jugang studied Hong-wi steadily. What was that supposed to mean? Did Tung Jugang himself, of all people, doubt the Elder's judgment?
But it didn't feel that way. There was no distrust or hostility in him at all. If anything, what he radiated was closer to…… curiosity.
"I thought we were past being strangers, you and I."
"We are. But does that alone tell a man everything?"
Tung Jugang laughed.
"Which brings me to…… there's something I'd like to show you."
"Show me……? Show me what?"
"You'll know when you see it."
He was still smiling.
"Well? Will you come and have a look? Say nothing to the others. They're loyal men, true enough—but this is something I want only you to see."
Hong-wi regarded the Jurchen warrior in silence. His eyes were open and unguarded, utterly without guile. Hong-wi believed that this man, at least, Tung Jugang, harbored no hidden design.
"Very well. I'll come."
"Good!"
Tung Jugang nodded.
"I'll come for you at just the right hour. The time you always rise—no better moment than that."
Hong-wi was curious now. What in the world could this man be so intent on showing him?