Flight Is the Best Policy
Just one more step now. A single step is all it takes…
The wind was whispering those words at his ear.
Hong-wi gritted his teeth and took a step forward.
His eyes closed on their own, squeezed tight.
"Hong-wi."
What—what was this?
Startled, Hong-wi's eyes flew open—and then went wide as saucers.
Could this truly be real?
There before him stood his father, King Munjong, and his grandfather, King Sejong, both resplendent in full royal dragon robes, and beside them a woman of gentle, dignified beauty dressed in the garments of a queen.
Never once in his life had he seen her face—yet Hong-wi knew, in his heart and in his bones, that she was his mother, Queen Hyeondeok. He simply knew, the way one knows the warmth of the sun.
"Hong-wi!"
Tears came streaming down Hong-wi's cheeks.
So this was it, then. If this was the revolving lantern the dying were said to see, then let it be so. He would be lonely no longer.
A world where living had felt like no living at all—surely that other world had to be better than this.
But they shook their heads.
"Go back."
"Go back? But—where would I go, Father?"
Choking on the words, Hong-wi cried out in anguish, barely forcing his voice through his constricted throat.
Where could he possibly go, in a world where the Three Bonds were severed and the Five Relationships lay in ruin?
Then Queen Hyeondeok drew near, and he felt her lean close to his ear, whispering something.
Bloodshot lines spread through Hong-wi's wide-open eyes. And then—
"Oof!"
With a heavy thud, Hong-wi came tumbling down where he stood.
Lying flat on his back and staring up at the sky, he could see a pine branch, snapped clean through.
The branch had simply broken under his weight.
"Ha… hahaha… hahahaha!"
Stretched out on the ground, Hong-wi burst into helpless, absurd laughter.
"So the wretched fool can't even manage his own suicide properly."
For a long while he simply lay there, gazing up at the heavens.
Brilliant sunlight shattered through the pine needles and scattered across his face.
It was a perfectly clear sky, without a single cloud.
Hong-wi murmured.
"Mother…"
A name he had never once been able to call aloud in earnest.
No—he had called for a mother before. There had been Lady Yang, Consort Hye, who had served in his late mother's stead, like a mother to him.
But the bond of blood is tender and tenacious all at once, and from the moment he had shown his face—not even from birth, but from before it—there had always dwelt in a corner of Hong-wi's heart a longing that nothing could ever fill.
Hong-wi. The place where you belong is not here. Not yet.
At the voice carried on the breeze, Hong-wi bolted upright with a start.
He looked wildly all around, but there was nothing there.
Only the rustle of green branches dancing in the wind.
And yet he had heard it, unmistakably.
He had never heard that voice before in his life, and still he knew who it belonged to. No—he had felt it, in his heart.
Hong-wi rose slowly to his feet.
As he stood and began to smooth down his disheveled clothes, his hands stopped dead.
Then he stared down, unblinking, at the thing in his hand.
A silk pouch…
Jeong Ho-chan—that had been his name, hadn't it? The scholar he had met on the road to Yeongwol, who had told him to open it if ever he was in desperate need.
He had forgotten all about it until now.
Whether the man foresaw things coming to this pass, I cannot say—but for the moment, this might as well be a revelation.
Without a word, Hong-wi loosened the silk pouch.
Inside was a small scrap of paper.
He spread it open and read, dazed—and his breath stopped short.
"Is that man truly a spirit?"
The words inscribed there numbered only seven.
Of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing is best.
Flee to the northern border.
Yet before those few short words, Hong-wi could say nothing at all.
He stood there for a long moment, then slowly lifted his gaze to the western sky.
The sun was sinking away, leaving a red stain behind it.
He clenched both fists.
In this moment, Hong-wi wavered no longer.
"Your Highness, I trust you rested well."
Hong-wi opened his eyes.
Through the paper windows, the sunlight filtering in had begun to take on a faint rosy hue.
It felt as though he had passed through some deep dream.
"Your Highness, the morning meal is ready."
"Mm."
Hong-wi slid the lattice door open a crack and looked outside.
The eunuch's worried face came into view.
The old man still called him Your Highness, even now.
Hong-wi had refused the title again and again—if word of it leaked to the authorities, no one could say what punishment might follow. But the eunuch had stubbornly gone on calling him Your Highness all the same.
"No, I'm fine today."
"My lord…?"
The old eunuch looked at Hong-wi, concern plain on his weathered face.
"Are you unwell, perchance? You have seemed out of sorts ever since your walk yesterday."
"Do I?"
Hong-wi managed a quiet smile.
"It's nothing. I'm merely weary, and my appetite is poor. Pay it no mind."
After the eunuch bowed low and withdrew, Hong-wi let out a thin sigh.
And if I run—what becomes of them?
A weight settled over his heart.
What fury would fall upon these eunuchs and palace maids if he fled? The thought made his resolve begin to tremble.
Hong-wi closed his eyes.
The anguished faces of his father and mother floated before him, distant and dim.
He drew a deep breath.
Time crawled past, slow and sluggish.
Several hours remained until the hour Jeon Jung-jae had promised.
In the meantime, Han Ga-ryeong came to call.
Hong-wi felt an inexplicable flicker of dread.
"What brings you here?"
"I've brought you something to go with your meal, my lord."
"Something to eat…?"
In answer, Han Ga-ryeong simply held up a pheasant.
Relief flooded through Hong-wi, and his tension drained away in an instant.
He did his best to show none of it.
"My thanks. I accept it gratefully."
"Think nothing of it."
Han Ga-ryeong studied Hong-wi intently.
"My lord, is something troubling you?"
"Hm? Troubling me?"
Hong-wi flinched, and cold sweat broke out on his skin before he knew it.
"You look rather pale, I must say."
"Do I?"
Hong-wi gave a light smile.
"I visited the Maejuk Pavilion yesterday and took a touch of the heat, it seems."
"Ah, so that was it."
Han Ga-ryeong nodded.
"The summer heat has broken at last."
"Yes, indeed. I'm quite ashamed of myself."
Hong-wi forced a laugh.
Han Ga-ryeong regarded him for a moment longer, then bowed at the waist.
"Rest well, my lord."
"Thank you."
Only then could Hong-wi breathe easy again.
Han Ga-ryeong walked out in silence—and just then, at the small side gate, he ran headlong into Gongsaeng coming in.
"Anything unusual to report?"
The tone was casual, but Gongsaeng felt a chill run down his spine all the same.
Every time he laid eyes on Han Ga-ryeong, gooseflesh prickled up his arms for no reason he could name.
"Nothing… in particular, no, sir?"
"I see."
Han Ga-ryeong's sharp eyes swept up and down Gongsaeng's body.
Why does this fellow look a man over like that?
Gongsaeng trembled in spite of himself.
Fortunately, Han Ga-ryeong stopped there.
"Understood. Take this—it's for my lord's meal."
"Y-yes, sir."
"And make certain he does not get any ideas."
"Huh?"
Before Gongsaeng could ask what he meant, Han Ga-ryeong strode out through the side gate, long steps carrying him away.
Gongsaeng stood there dumbstruck, pheasant in one hand.
Only after a good long while did he sigh and turn around.
"Damn it all, what wind's blowing now?"
Grumbling under his breath, he made his way to the kitchen.
He had to be at the county office in time for the evening roll call, and there were people he was due to meet as well.
He had more than enough to do as it was—and Han Ga-ryeong never failed to make his skin crawl.
Hong-wi's mind was just as unsettled.
At the eunuch's urging he picked listlessly at his lunch, then went looking for Gongsaeng.
Gongsaeng was out again.
Hong-wi decided it was just as well, and made his way to the Maejuk Pavilion.
Jeon Jung-jae was already there, waiting for him.
"You've come, Your Highness."
Jeon Jung-jae searched Hong-wi's face with tense eyes.
"I once read the Records of the Grand Historian, the great work of Sima Qian."
Hong-wi began, unexpectedly, with something altogether unconnected.
"Today it is the chapter on Duke Wen of Jin that comes to mind—the story of the brothers Shensheng and Chong'er."
"Your Highness…"
Jeon Jung-jae's lips had gone bone-dry.
He had already completed every preparation for leaving Yeongwol.
His son Ho-in had already been scouting out the mountain trails for their escape.
If they were to go, it had to be tonight; any delay risked the plan leaking out.
"Long ago, Duke Xian of Jin had three sons: the crown prince Shensheng, the second son Chong'er, and the third, Yiwu. Then the duke's wife died, and he took a new consort who bore him a son—and she heaped slander upon slander against the children of his first wife."
"Your Highness. Tonight—"
Hong-wi paid him no heed and pressed on.
"In the end the scheme succeeded, and the three brothers were given a choice: exile or death. Shensheng remained in his homeland, while Chong'er and Yiwu fled."
Jeon Jung-jae knew that old story well.
And now he understood—Hong-wi had made up his mind. Which meant…
"Shensheng, who stayed behind, died. But Chong'er and Yiwu, who fled, weathered every manner of hardship and in the end rose to become Duke Hui of Jin and Duke Wen of Jin. I suppose, all things considered, it turned out well enough."
Hong-wi smiled, a lonely smile.
"And yet the trials did not end there. It took Chong'er a full nineteen years to return to his homeland and reclaim his rightful place. But that would have been impossible without able, loyal retainers. Men like Hu Yan, Hu Mao, Zhao Cui, Xian Zhen, Jie Zitui."
Hong-wi turned to face Jeon Jung-jae.
"Tell me—could you be such a retainer for me?"
There was iron in his eyes, a resolve that would not bend.
The moment Jeon Jung-jae understood that Hong-wi had already steeled his heart, he flung himself to the ground, overcome.
Great tears fell, drop by drop.
"This wretched servant will defend Your Highness unto death. Until this body perishes, no man shall lay so much as a fingertip upon your sacred person."
"Then I am glad indeed!"
Hong-wi sprang to his feet.
There was an aura about him no ordinary boy of sixteen could ever have commanded.
"My mind is made up. I will not die at my uncle's hands—never. For the sake of those who have already died for me, I cannot allow it. Now rise… my loyal servant. My resolve is set, and so we must be gone."
"Your Highness!"
"From this moment I place my life in your hands. Tell me—what must I do?"
Jeon Jung-jae wiped his tears and laid out the whole of the plan, from beginning to end.
Hong-wi nodded along.
"So we leave tonight."
"Yes. Ah—one more thing, Your Highness. Her Majesty the Queen has come down to Yeongwol as well. She is to join you along the way."
"What did you say!"
Hong-wi started in shock.
"The Queen—how could she possibly—?"
"It was possible, Your Highness."
Hong-wi could find no words.
"Such a perilous road—how on earth…"
"I will open the way for her, whatever it takes."
"Mm."
Hong-wi nodded.
"Very well. For now I must not rouse the suspicion of the officials, so I shall return to my quarters. Until the sun has set, then."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Back at Gwanpungheon, Hong-wi did his best to appear his usual self.
Judging by the result, he did not entirely succeed.
In later years, the eunuchs and maids who served him would recall that on that day he had seemed strangely restless, as though lost in some deep and distant thought.
That day, as luck would have it, Gongsaeng was nowhere to be found, and Han Ga-ryeong was absent as well.
There could have been no better opportunity for Hong-wi.
"Please, eat well, Your Highness."
"Wait a moment."
The eunuch had come to pay his evening respects and was on his way out when Hong-wi called him back.
The old man turned, puzzled.
Hong-wi hesitated over something, then finally let out a sigh.
"I never managed to thank you properly, you know."
"Oh, Your Highness, please—there's no need for such words…"
"There is. I've given you nothing, and yet all I've done is burden you. I am sorrier than I can say."
A gentle smile spread across the eunuch's aged face.
Hong-wi looked as though he wanted to say more, but soon he lowered his head, his expression darkening.
"My body has been ailing of late. I mean to sleep late tomorrow—there will be no need to prepare breakfast."
Guilt gnawed at him fiercely.
What would become of these people once he fled?
He had to tell the old man to sleep in—he had no other choice. But if he did, the authorities were certain to notice, Han Ga-ryeong above all. That much was as clear as fire. And even if he did run—run where, exactly?
"Very well, Your Highness."
That night, Gwanpungheon had never felt more desolate.
A crescent moon, sharp as a honed blade, slipped in and out among the clouds, vanishing and reappearing.
When the moonlight drowned in cloud, two figures—men, by their silhouettes—seeped silently through the gate of Gwanpungheon.
Before the gate they held their silence for a long, long time.
At last, one of them eased the door open a crack.
A thin creak broke the stillness.
It was hardly loud, but both men flinched and whipped their heads around, scanning every shadow.
How much time passed after that, no one could say—but at last the man at the gate opened it, slowly, with the greatest care imaginable.
He left a gap barely wide enough for a single person, then slid inside like smoke.
Soon after, he emerged from Gwanpungheon together with a third shadow.
"This way."
At Ho-in's whisper, Hong-wi nodded.
The three of them raced through the back alleys of Yeongwol county town.
Just as the sound of their footsteps seemed to fade into the distance, a shadow detached itself from an alleyway without a sound.
He wore a straw hat and black clothes, and he was close enough that had any of Hong-wi's party noticed him, they would have cried out in horror.
Utterly unaware that a shadow was tailing them, Hong-wi and his companions headed for the northern outskirts of Yeongwol.
In the darkness, the mountains reared up before them like a wall of black lacquered screens.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but this is a road no horse can travel."
Jeon Jung-jae was heartsore at being unable to procure even a single mount for the king.
Every rideable road was crawling with soldiers, so they had no choice but to take the treacherous mountain paths.
Hong-wi nodded.
"I know. Hurry. We must be out of the tiger's den before dawn."
The moment the sun rose, the world would learn that Hong-wi was gone.
He had told the eunuch he meant to sleep late, but there was no telling how much time that would buy them.
"Mind your step, Your Highness. The trail is treacherous. It is a path used only by the mountain herb-gatherers."
"Spare me your worrying."
Can a young king raised within palace walls truly keep pace? Jeon Jung-jae could not help his anxious thoughts.
They climbed the mountainside with painstaking care.
Villages and farm fields grew ever sparser behind them, and the slope grew ever steeper.
They could not see a hand's breadth ahead of them, and even a torch was unthinkable—so their pace slowed and slowed.
Now and then someone caught a root and stumbled, and the old man's breathing ahead of them grew rougher and more ragged.
The moon rose steadily, drifting up until it hung at the very center of the night sky.
Suddenly, Ho-in in the lead stopped dead in his tracks.
What was it? Hong-wi's whole body went taut in an instant.