The King Reclaims His Throne
"My name is Lee Hong-wi. Great-grandson of His Majesty King Taejo the Great, great-great-grandson of His Majesty King Taejong the Great, grandson of His Majesty King Sejong the Great, and son of His Majesty King Munjong the Great."
Hong-wi drew a deep breath.
The next moment, he roared with a voice far mightier than any he had mustered before.
"And I am your King — the King of this realm and of these people!"
For a long while there was no answer. Then a trembling voice drifted out from behind the gate.
"W-we, your humble servants……"
"Look upon me!" Hong-wi thundered.
As if in answer to his words, the sun breaking over the eastern horizon bathed Yukjo Street in brilliant light and wrapped itself around Hong-wi. Like some kind of sorcery, a radiant glory seemed to surge upward around the young king.
Ah, Your Majesty.
Ho-in, standing at his side, gazed at Hong-wi with eyes brimming with emotion.
Hong-wi waited in silence, his brows drawn taut.
How long had it been? At last, with a groan of hinges, the great gate of Gwanghwamun began slowly to swing open.
The palace guard soldiers shuffled out one by one — and then, before Hong-wi, they cast down their weapons and fell to their knees.
So much for the dignity of an elite force charged with defending the palace.
Dismounting, Hong-wi ignored the guards, who trembled like aspen leaves, and strode boldly through the gates into the palace.
Only then did his followers pour in after him, Ho-in at their head, flowing through the entrance like a rolling cloud.
Inside, the palace was utter chaos.
From every direction rose the terrified sound of weeping.
But Hong-wi paid it no mind whatsoever. With unshaking steps he swept through Gyeongbokgung — once his, and now his again — like a man who had never left it.
He knew exactly where the man he sought would be.
Before Geunjeongjeon Hall, he stopped.
"Your Majesty."
A single eunuch came out to greet him.
Amid all this turmoil, the man was astonishingly composed.
Hong-wi gave a nod.
"You would be Kim Cheo-seon, I take it."
"Yes, Your Majesty. I once served under Chief Eunuch Eom Ja-chi."
Kim Cheo-seon bowed his head. Hong-wi nodded.
"I have heard much of you. I know your service has been great…… Is my uncle within?"
"He is, Your Majesty. And I believe…… he is waiting for you."
"Hmm."
Hong-wi looked up at Geunjeongjeon.
All around, the world was growing brighter by the minute — yet strangely, the hall alone seemed to lie drowned in shadow.
Was his eye deceiving him? Beside him, Ho-in swallowed involuntarily.
Jeong Ho-chan did not so much as stir.
Hong-wi turned to his trusted men.
"Wait for me here."
"Will you be all right alone?"
To Jeong Ho-chan's question, Hong-wi gave a nod.
"As I said, this is a matter for my house — a reckoning between me and my uncle that only we can settle."
"Your Majesty, there may be treachery."
Ho-in cried out, but Hong-wi waved his head lightly from side to side.
"You need not worry. Was it my own talent alone that carried this body to this place today? Were it not the will of Heaven, how could I have lived to see this day! If it had been my fate to die here now at the hands of some petty scheme, then that death would have come long ago. If Heaven's will stands with me, then no treachery in the world can touch me."
Hong-wi's voice brimmed with conviction.
Ho-in could find no answer.
Jeong Ho-chan smiled faintly.
"We shall be waiting…… Now, Eunuch Kim — escort His Majesty inside."
Without a moment's hesitation, Hong-wi walked straight into the hall.
Within Geunjeongjeon, the gloom still lingered.
Hong-wi gazed quietly toward its center.
There, out of the darkness, the throne emerged into view.
The supreme seat, enthroned above the ten million subjects of the Eight Provinces.
And upon that throne sat a man, arrayed in a crimson dragon robe.
Hong-wi fixed him with a glare.
It was a gaze charged to the full with the spirit and majesty that had made even those sturdy palace guards stagger.
Yet the man returned it with an arrogance entirely unmoved, his insolent stare meeting Hong-wi's head-on.
Through the heavy silence, a battle of nerves stretched taut as a bowstring.
At length, the man on the throne was the first to break the silence.
"So you have come."
"It has been a long time, Uncle."
Hong-wi replied briefly.
He stared in silence as his uncle — Suyang, seated upon the throne — slowly rose from his seat.
Years of age and illness had weighed upon him, to be sure, but Suyang was no ordinary man, and his fighting spirit had not yet dimmed.
Neither, however, was Hong-wi the same boy who had once fled — he too was a man forged through years upon years of hardship and trial.
He met his uncle's piercing glare, crouched there in the darkness, with a gaze that did not waver in the least.
The frail youth who, a dozen years ago, had not dared to meet his uncle's sinister eyes was gone without a trace; in his place stood a formidable man.
Hong-wi drew a long, deep breath.
Was this not a moment to move the heart beyond all words? Ten years…… and how much had happened in that time!
Now, at last, the moment had come to untangle the twisted skein of fate that had bound them together through those long years.
Even as he glared at his uncle, memories of the past rose unbidden from a deep corner of Hong-wi's mind — step by measured step, as vivid and clear as if it had all happened yesterday.
It had been a fine spring day some ten years before, in the year of Imjin — 1452 by the Western calendar.
Far below the bluish folds of the mountains, the walled city of Hanyang could be seen, barely a full sixty-year cycle old since its founding, while the waters of the Han River glittered and streamed beneath the dazzling sunlight, and verdant green covered the land from end to end.
Cheongmyeong had not yet arrived, but the diligent farmers were already hard at their spring plowing.
On the road leading from Hanyang toward Yangju County, three men on horseback urged their mounts along side by side.
Two of them rode a pace ahead, chatting about something even as they took in the scenery.
From their horsehair hats and silk robes, they were unmistakably men of high-born yangban families.
The third man, who drove his horse along in silence beside them, was dressed head to foot in black, a sedge hat pulled low over his eyes — and his glance, darting constantly about the surroundings, was sharp as a blade.
"Ah, there it is, I believe. We've arrived at last."
One of the hatted men, who had been deep in conversation, raised his riding crop and pointed ahead.
He wore his beard full and luxuriant, and had the hearty, rugged look of what one might call a proper man's man.
"So it would seem."
The man beside him nodded.
If his companion was a bold, open-hearted fellow, this one was long-faced — broad at the jaw and narrow at the brow, with a nose like a clenched fist — a face whose naturally clever features seemed somehow diminished.
Yet his eyes were large and glinted with quick intelligence, and a cold smile played somewhere at the corners of his mouth, lending him a chilling, calculating air.
From the place his companion had pointed to, the festive sound of music drifted across the road.
Beneath the splendid shade cast by well-grown weeping willows, hatted yangban sat in a great circle, sipping wine and delighting in the dance of the gisaeng girls performing in their midst.
"We're hardly late, I should think…… In any case, let us join them."
As the three riders urged their horses forward, half a dozen burly men suddenly sprang out and blocked their way.
The shaggy-bearded fellow who seemed to be their leader bellowed in a rough, booming voice.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
From his bearing he was clearly a servant, yet there was not a trace of servility in his manner — he stood as proud as you please. It said much about the rank of the master he served.
The riders glanced at one another and smiled faintly. The bearded man made no answer to the question, but asked one of his own.
"So this is where Lord Suyang keeps himself, is it?"
"It is. But who might you be?"
When the other named his master's name without so much as a flicker of unease, the shaggy-bearded man narrowed his eyes.
"Announce to His Lordship that Schoolmaster Gwon has arrived. He will know what that means."
The shaggy-bearded man gave no reply. He knit his brow and stared up long and hard at the men on horseback.
The sun beat down mercilessly upon their heads.
The three riders looked down at him with indifferent eyes, as if a menial servant were beneath their notice.
At last, the shaggy-bearded man squared his shoulders and nodded.
"Very well."
He hurried off toward the drinking party. The other men stood their ground in silence, encircling the three riders.
The man introduced as Schoolmaster Gwon turned to his hatted companion and grumbled.
"Really, where has that rascal Lim Eoul-un gone off to, leaving such rabble in his place? His Lordship has been gathering up every useful man he can find of late, you see."
"Understandable enough."
The hatted man grinned and patted his own horse, which was pawing restlessly at the ground.
Before long, the shaggy-bearded man could be seen hurrying back.
As he drew near, he bent at the waist a full ninety degrees and begged forgiveness.
"Forgive my rudeness. I did not know who you were."
"Rudeness there was aplenty. Now then — will you conduct us to His Lordship?"
"Yes, Your Honor…… Leave your horses with my fellows. His Lordship bids you come and join him at once."
"Good. Lead on."
The shaggy-bearded man took Schoolmaster Gwon's reins, and two of the other men each seized a bridle of their own.
Dismounting, Gwon and his party brushed the dust from their clothes.
The shaggy-bearded man handed the reins to a companion and led them toward the circle of seated guests.
At the very center, a powerfully built man in his middle years — evidently the host — could be seen holding forth, pressing wine cups on all around him.
The moment Gwon's party entered, every eye at the drinking party swung toward them at once.
The host slowly set down his cup, and then, with a great rolling laugh, called out in a voice like a temple bell.
"Well, well — if it isn't His Excellency Gwon! Come, Gwon Ram, sit down, sit down."
The host gestured to the seat at his right hand, laughing heartily all the while.
His face was oblong, his eyebrows and beard comparatively sparse, and his small black eyes gleamed and glistened.
He was none other than the King's second brother — Grand Prince Suyang, Yi Yu, famed among the royal clan for his bold and gallant spirit.
Gwon Ram stepped before Suyang and bowed low and long.
"I trust you are well, my lord. Forgive my lateness."
"A man about the realm's business may well be late — now sit, sit! Why, you've brought companions with you, I see. Come, sit. I must pour you a cup."
Suyang motioned him to a seat with a wave of his hand.
Once Gwon Ram had taken his place, the hatted man who had come with him sat down beside him. Only the man in the sedge hat remained standing, silent, at the rear.
Suyang poured a cup for Gwon Ram with his own hand and asked,
"Here — take this. It has been a long while since we could sit at ease over wine, hasn't it?"
"Indeed it has. The late King's mourning period has only just ended, and…… it seems the capital is only now beginning to regain a little of its life."
Gwon Ram agreed.
It had been three years since King Sejong the Great had passed. The three years of mourning, during which not only the royal house but the entire nation had been obliged to walk carefully in all things, had ended only a short while before.
"Ho ho — three years is an absurdly long stretch! To be sure, by the proprieties of Confucian learning, and by the measure of human duty, the full three years are proper. But a man's life is short beyond reckoning — must one truly throw away a precious three years of it, three whole years that might have been spent enjoying the finer things? Is that not cause for regret?"
"My lord…… you may say such things only because I am here before you."
Gwon Ram glanced about him — yet there was a smile on his own lips as well.
For all that he was a Confucian scholar by name, Gwon Ram knew perfectly well that Suyang's words had crossed well past the line of Confucian propriety.
But he had long been at Suyang's side, and he knew the man's character well — a bold, unrestrained nature that chafed at convention, reckless even, if one chose to see it so.
In truth, had that not been the very thing that had drawn him close?
"Never mind. Everyone here is a man I trust without reservation. And indeed, when one's parents pass, three years or so of restraint is the duty a decent man owes — that much is so. But that is fitting for some common villager. Could the sovereign of a realm, buried in a thousand affairs, drag out his years in mourning like a mere mourner? For a true king, there are times when even human duty must be set aside for the sake of the realm…… As for me, I say one year is quite enough for a king's mourning."
Suyang lowered his voice, as though murmuring to himself.
"A filial son is not always a great king."
"Most true, my lord."
Gwon Ram nodded and drained the cup Suyang had given him in one long swallow.
Suyang moved to refill it — then, as if something had just occurred to him, cried out,
"Ah — but speaking of which, Your Excellency, I'd quite forgotten the man you brought with you today! Who might this be?"
Suyang ran a curious eye over the man who had accompanied Gwon Ram.
He had made himself presentable enough — hat, robes, all in order — but the cloth was nowhere near as fine as Gwon Ram's.
Still, the neat, immaculately kept attire spoke volumes about his master's fastidious character.
If Gwon Ram brought him, he must be a man worth something.
Suyang's gaze shifted next to the man in the sedge hat standing behind him.
Clad in a russet coat, he had a lean face and thin lips that gave him a certain cold, hard air — a tall man of striking bone structure.
Suyang, who himself dabbled — if only halfheartedly — in the martial arts, could see at a glance that this was no man to be taken lightly.
"He doesn't look like an ordinary fellow, I must say."
"No, my lord. Allow me to present him first. This gentleman bears the surname of Han of Cheongju; his given name is Myeong-hoe, his courtesy name Ja-jun. He is a friend of mine. His ancestor was the founding meritorious subject Han Mun-ryeol. Of late his fortunes have, unhappily, fallen upon hard times — but his ambitions remain as grand as ever."
"Ho? And what connection brought you and Gwon Ram together as friends?"
"My lord, you will know that in his youth he studied under Master Ryu Tae-jae at Jiwang Mountain in Gangwon Province."
"I do."
"We studied under the same master in those days, and swore ourselves lifelong friends."
"Well now — that makes you a friend of quite some standing, then?"
"It does."
"If a man of Your Excellency's caliber calls him a friend for life, then he must be no common man! Here — take a cup. That we should meet like this is fate in itself, is it not?"
"I am honored."
Han Myeong-hoe bowed low and long, and accepted the cup that Suyang poured.