Loyalty and Fidelity
"Precisely, my lord. With matters in this state, even if you were to go through with the plot, there is little chance of success."
Grand Prince Geumseong, Lee Yu, set down his painting for a moment and studied Jeong Ho-chan in silence.
Though he lived under hedge-confinement in Sunheung, he had been quietly preparing a rising on Hong-wi's behalf—gathering loyal local clerks and men of the sword like Jeon Jung-jae, and even winning over Sunheung Magistrate Yi Bo-heum in hopes of securing military strength.
"Is that so."
Geumseong turned his eyes back to the painting at last.
"Your friends... Seong Sam-mun, Park Paeng-nyeon, Ha Wi-ji, was it?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Did you say the same thing to them, back then?"
He did not trouble to specify which 'then' he meant, but what other time could it have been? Jeong Ho-chan gave a small nod.
"I did."
"Then you already know what answer I must give you now."
Grand Prince Geumseong smiled a lonely smile.
"My brother will have me killed regardless. He might have let it pass once, but there will be no second time. Heh heh heh."
"And after that, the King, I suppose."
At Jeong Ho-chan's words, the humor drained from the prince's face. He pressed his lips together for a long moment, then slowly nodded.
"Yes. That would be the way of it."
"My lord."
Jeong Ho-chan let the silence hang before he spoke again.
"If there is still a chance left to save His Majesty... would you attempt it?"
"Hmm."
Geumseong tilted his head briefly, then nodded without hesitation.
"By your own reckoning I am dead either way—and this would be to save the nephew I love. What is there I could not do? Of course I must. If I feared death, I would have withdrawn like the rest of the royal kin from the start, or thrown in with Prince Suyang."
"And yet you did not."
"No. I did not."
A faint smile touched Lee Yu's lips at those words. He gazed up at the ceiling for a while, then turned back to Jeong Ho-chan.
"You knew all along that my plan would fail."
"I did."
Jeong Ho-chan nodded. Brilliant as he was, he had judged from the outset that the prince's scheme had almost no hope of success. Even a rising in Hanyang, as Seong Sam-mun and Park Paeng-nyeon had attempted, would have been nearly impossible to bring off—and how many years would it take to strike at the capital after raising troops in distant Sunheung, deep in Gyeongsang Province? Suyang's faction was no band of fools; quite the opposite. Suyang himself was a seasoned military man, and the central army lay firmly in his grasp.
In truth, one might well see a trap in the very arrangement: Geumseong confined not in Yeongwol but in Sunheung, a fair distance away, with Yi Bo-heum—a man belonging to Grand Prince Anpyeong's faction—installed as its magistrate. Weighing every circumstance, Jeong Ho-chan had concluded the prince's plot simply could not succeed.
"And yet you came to me..."
"Your death will not be spent in vain, my lord. The seed you have sown will blossom, sooner or later."
Geumseong looked at Jeong Ho-chan without a word.
"What His Majesty needs now, above all else, is the will to live."
"The will to live?"
"Yes. Years of torment at Suyang's hands, and now the deaths of the loyal ministers he trusted and schemed with—His Majesty's heart and body are more withered than they have ever been. In this state, nothing can be attempted at all."
Geumseong nodded, his face heavy with grief.
"If you can hold His Majesty to that will—keep him from letting go of it—then I swear I will find a way. I will make the chance myself."
Jeong Ho-chan laid out his plan. The prince listened to all of it in silence.
"It will be no easy thing."
Only after a long while did Geumseong speak.
"But it is a far grander business than sitting still and waiting for death. Very well—then this uncle shall breathe that will into his nephew himself."
With those words, he lifted up the painting. It was a plum blossom. Beside it, in vigorous, robust calligraphy, stood just two characters: Chung—loyalty—and Jeol—fidelity.
LOYALTY
FIDELITY
Geumseong regarded the painting for a moment, then pressed his seal beneath the inscription.
"What do you think, Ho-chan?"
"It is magnificent."
Jeong Ho-chan spoke with his whole heart.
The prince fell into thought for a moment, then said, "The times are darker and more desolate now than ever they have been. The fragrance of the plum blossom drifts lone and far. So even if my life runs out, I will leave behind this seed—for a poor fidelity's sake."
He fixed his gaze on Jeong Ho-chan.
"Jeong Ho-chan. You will see that this seed is nurtured."
"I will, my lord."
Jeong Ho-chan bowed low to the ground.
Geumseong raised his voice and called out, "Jeon Gong! Come in."
"Yes, my lord."
The door slid open and the old man Jeon Jung-jae entered and bowed.
"The magistrate still gives no clear answer, I take it."
A shadow fell across Jeon Jung-jae's face at the question.
"No, my lord. Not yet."
"I thought as much."
Geumseong turned to Jeong Ho-chan.
"That man looked me over, smacked his lips, and did nothing but mutter that my fortunes were dire. Said I was fated to come to ruin, no doubt. Heh heh heh."
He laughed, a touch hollowly.
"Do you see it the same way?"
Jeong Ho-chan only gave a bitter smile and did not answer. Geumseong shook his head and went on.
"Still, the man is merely weak—he is not rotten at heart. I suppose I ought to save him."
"By my judgment, the magistrate will find it hard to escape death all the same... What do you intend to do?"
"I shall pay him a visit and put on a little dance with my blade. That way he can always claim he yielded only because I threatened him."
"Suyang will hardly let that pass unnoticed."
At Jeong Ho-chan's remark, the prince shrugged.
"Hmph. Well, one can but try. If it doesn't work, then Yi Bo-heum and I were both doomed men who might as well join hands and perish together. Heh heh heh. But enough of that..."
Geumseong drew a wrapped bundle from his book cabinet. He rolled the plum blossom painting into a tight scroll and, with the bundle, handed both to the old man Jeon Jung-jae.
"This is a hwan-do sword I prepared to strike down the treacherous lot when the day came to lay His Majesty to rest. The workmanship is plain, but the hilt I carved with my own hands. It has no use for me now—but see that it reaches His Majesty. He will have need of it before long. He must."
"My lord..."
Jeon Jung-jae's voice caught in his throat.
Geumseong turned to Jeong Ho-chan.
"No doubt Suyang's people are watching me by now, so leave every matter to this man. As for you—flee first with your son. In due time, make your way to Yeongwol and deliver these things to His Majesty. Tell him they are the last gifts of this uncle."
The prince's voice trembled, thin as a thread.
"And tell him—tell him he must preserve his royal person. See that he hears it."
"I will do so with my dying breath!"
The old man cried out, overcome. Jeong Ho-chan sat in silence.
June arrived, and fresh green had overtaken the mountains and rivers of Yeongwol. A full year had passed since Hong-wi came to this place, and by now even the county governor thought little of the deposed king wandering about alone.
On this day, Han Ga-ryeong had left, saying he was going hunting. Free of farm chores for the moment, Hong-wi decided to walk the banks of the Jucheon River with Gongsaeng.
With the morning sun breaking brilliantly across the water, Hong-wi walked on, drinking in the cool sound of the stream. On a rise above the bank, half-hidden among willow branches, stood a small pavilion. The nameboard over it read Geumgangjeong—the Pavilion of the Brocade River.
"A fine day, truly."
Climbing into the pavilion, Hong-wi could not stop exclaiming at the view. From its height the whole landscape spread out below: deep summer foliage, and the clear Jucheon flowing down in a bright, ringing murmur that was a pleasure to hear. For once, he could set down the worries that had bowed his head for so long and let the clear river carry a little of them away.
His face brightened for the first time in ages.
"Could I spend some time here alone?"
Gongsaeng nodded. Since his encounter with the old man Jeon Jung-jae, he had shown no particular inclination to keep watch over Hong-wi, and Hong-wi had gradually opened his heart to him in turn.
Leaning against the railing, Hong-wi gazed down at the Jucheon like a man drunk, like a child. It was as if time itself had stopped. Then he noticed a farmer approaching the pavilion, a basket of oriental melons on his back—and froze in astonishment.
"You... it can't be—?"
Jeon Jung-jae, dressed as a farmer, pressed a forefinger to his lips. Then he raised his voice, deliberately loud and crude.
"Beggin' pardon, milord Prince Nosan, sir—but I've brought a tribute for yer table!"
Even if someone lurking nearby overheard, no one would think twice these days. Peasants bringing food to Hong-wi were far from a rare sight.
Hong-wi's heart pounded.
Why has this man come so suddenly?
He turned it over in his mind, wondering if he had miscounted the days, but he had not. It had been barely three days since Jeon Ho-in's visit—and they had agreed on once a month. This was far ahead of schedule. A nameless unease began to creep through him.
"My thanks. Bring it up."
Wiping his sweat, Jeon Jung-jae climbed into the pavilion with the basket and bowed low. Even this looked like nothing more than an ignorant farmer offering refreshments to the Prince Nosan.
Hong-wi asked, low but urgent. "This sudden visit—what does it mean?"
"Your Majesty... forgive me... forgive me..."
At the question, Jeon Jung-jae only pressed his forehead to the floor, unable to go on. And the sound of his voice—it was as though he were swallowing tears.
A sense of dread rose unbidden in Hong-wi's mind, and he pressed harder.
"I am asking you, man—what has happened? Has something befallen my uncle?"
"Yes."
In that instant, the sky collapsed upon Hong-wi's head. Jeon Jung-jae's voice broke with grief.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty—Your Excellency has been... arrested!"
For a long while, neither of them could speak. Only a single cicada went on screaming, heedless of everything. At last Hong-wi opened his mouth.
"Tell me everything. Every last detail. How did this happen?"
"From the first, Your Excellency schemed with the magistrate to send circular letters throughout Yeongnam, fix a date, escort Your Majesty to Sunheung, and march out through the Joryeong and Juryeong passes. But—"
"But?"
"A scoundrel named Yi Dong, a house slave of the Pungsan magistrate's office, it seems, colluded with one of His Excellency's maids and stole the letters from his book cabinet. When Suyang's faction sent the Inspector-General Kim Sun to arrest him, the Sunheung magistrate—judging that all was already lost—sold His Excellency out before the man ever arrived. By the time my son reached Sunheung, everything was finished!"
"My uncle—what of my uncle—what has become of him!"
"It is too terrible to tell. The very day the Inspector-General arrived, he was thrown into prison and put to the question."
Jeon Jung-jae's voice seized up again. Hong-wi's brows trembled violently. After a long moment, the old man drew breath.
"He has been moved to Andong for the present—but before long he will be taken in chains to Hanyang."
Jeon Jung-jae bowed his head. Hong-wi's voice shook terribly.
"How can this be... how can such a thing be."
Neither man could say another word. At last, Hong-wi let out a long, long lament.
"Heaven is indifferent. Truly, indifferent. Would you now take from me the one uncle who showed kindness to a castaway like this? The world has turned upside down, and the virtuous meet the cruelest of deaths."
"Your Majesty."
By now Jeon Jung-jae had calmed himself somewhat. He lowered his voice—and his eyes flashed fierce and bright.
"I have come, Your Majesty, to carry out Your Excellency's final wish."
His uncle's last wish. Hong-wi stared into the old man's face.
"What is it?"
Meanwhile, in Hanyang, Suyang too had received Inspector-General Kim Sun's memorial. It reported in exacting detail the conspiracy by which Lee Yu had plotted to drive out Prince Suyang and raise Hong-wi to the throne.
As he read, Suyang's brows shot up at once.
"This wretch—Lee Yu, this wretch, how dare he—"
He flung the memorial across the room.
"So because the wretch is my brother, I let him keep his head in exile, and now he schemes treason again?"
Already Hong-wi's father-in-law, Song Hyun-su the Prince of Yeryang, and Gwon Wan, father of Concubine Suk-ui Gwon, had been caught hatching a similar plot and were languishing in prison. From men of their standing he might almost have expected it—but in Geumseong's case, it was unbearable. Among all his brothers, Geumseong had the gentlest, most easygoing nature, and Suyang had held a genuine affection for him.
"Your Highness—this was foreseen. You suspected it yourself, I believe."
Han Myeong-hoe, the Chief Royal Secretary, spoke calmly. Even under Suyang's needle-sharp glare, he was unmoved. Before long, Suyang recovered his composure.
"Yes. I did."
In truth, Sunheung in Gyeongsang Province was the very place where the great Goryeo scholar An Hyang had trained his disciples, a land renowned for principled scholars. Moreover, the magistrate Yi Bo-heum had enjoyed the favor of the late King Munjong. Looked at one way, there could be no better ground for planning a restoration. Of course, neither Suyang nor Han Myeong-hoe was so careless as to send a dangerous man into such a place without thought. They had left the gap open from the very beginning.
"Even so, for Lee Yu to defy me to the very end—that changes nothing! He saw with his own eyes how Lee Ryoung died, and still he could do this!"
His composure broken once more, Suyang clenched his fist and slammed it down on the desk. Lee Ryoung was the given name of Grand Prince Anpyeong, exiled to Ganghwa Island after the Gyeyu Coup and there put to death. Among the brothers, Anpyeong had possessed ambition, ability, and renown to rival Suyang himself—which was why Suyang had marked him for elimination from the start. But that even Geumseong would finally raise the banner of revolt, he had never imagined. In truth, when he sent Geumseong to Sunheung, Suyang had privately hoped that this brother, at least, would live out his days quietly.
"What is it about me that displeases them so? Am I truly lesser than that wretch Hong-wi, pushed about by his own ministers?"
At last his anger dissolved into a sigh.
"Your Highness, compose yourself. The traitors are in chains regardless. It is what comes after that worries me."
"What comes after—what more could there possibly be?"
At Han Myeong-hoe's level tone, Suyang's narrow eyes lifted sharply.
"The Prince Nosan, Your Highness."
"The Prince Nosan."
Suyang leaned back against his cushion.
"By sparing his life, we have already winnowed out nearly all who might attempt some reckless gambit in his name. Now is the time..."
Han Myeong-hoe's eyes gleamed.
"...to root out the danger itself, I believe."
Suyang said nothing. Han Myeong-hoe pressed on.
"Did Your Highness not swear that when the moment came, he would pull the root up whole?"
"Yes. I did swear it."