The Last Sunset Over My Homeland

“You must know the brothers Kkeok-chi and Galchi. They were under Master Hwang's wing from the very first days he entered the smuggling trade. In a manner of speaking, they're founding fathers of the business. Me, I'm just a stone that rolled in from outside.”

“Ah, so that's why they say Seongnime stole the Chief Boatman's post.”

“That's right. And before that — I told you I was beaten by Song Yu-bin, didn't I? That was when Master Hwang planted Galchi in my crew. Galchi died back then, too.”

Cha Gyeong-yeon nodded.

“That explains it. No wonder Kkeok-chi glares at you like he wants your blood, Seongnime.”

“Exactly.”

Jang Hui-sun heaved another sigh.

“On that count, I've got nothing to say to Kkeok-chi. It was because of me that Galchi died, and in the end the Chief Boatman's post — the one that should rightly have been his — passed to me instead.”

“That's a bitter business, isn't it…”

“Well, that's between me and Kkeok-chi.”

Jang Hui-sun staggered to his feet, missed his footing, and toppled over. Cha Gyeong-yeon caught him and steadied him on his shoulder.

Rubbing the strawberry-red bridge of his nose with the back of his hand, Jang Hui-sun carried on.

“Sleep here tonight. I'll come for you again come morning… It's a full hundred li to Manpo-guja, so we can leave tomorrow night. And tomorrow happens to be the new moon, which suits us perfectly.”

“The preparations…?”

“I'll send a man ahead today. Everything will be ready before we set out tomorrow. But then again—”

Jang Hui-sun looked Hong-wi up and down.

“That was a rare sight today, I'll say. Never in my life have I seen a young nobleman face the mighty Master Hwang and come away unbowed. You're truly a remarkable young gentleman, my lord!”

“I've had occasion to practice such things.”

Hong-wi smiled bitterly, thinking of Suyang and his faction. However airtight and wicked a man Hwang Ga might be, how could he ever compare to them?

Though Hong-wi himself did not yet realize it, the fact that he had worn a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠crown at so young an age — done well or badly, and however decisively he had been defeated and driven from it — that he had weathered the fierce, merciless tempest of political struggle would prove a treasure to him for the rest of his days.

Hoo…

Ho-in had passed the night in a state closer to sleeplessness than sleep. The bed he'd made of straw bundles and a worn mat was, even in the most generous telling, no comfortable place to rest — but that wasn't the reason.

Tomorrow, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we turn our backs on our homeland and set out for the Jurchen lands.

He stole a glance at Hong-wi lying beside him.

From tomorrow on, that man is the lord I will serve beyond that river, until this life leaves my body. The lord I must serve.

Then, quite suddenly, it struck him as strange.

He had not risen for Hong-wi because he had long known what kind of man he was. From childhood, his father had taught him the Three Bonds and Five Virtues — that one must live for loyalty and filial piety. And so he had burned with indignation at the news that an uncle had stolen his nephew's throne, and when his father joined the movement to restore the young king, he had followed as a matter of course.

He had simply believed it to be right. He had never been personally moved by Hong-wi himself.

But now it was different.

After these brief days of following him, Ho-in could sense something in Hong-wi — something he could not quite put his finger on.

How should I put it… When I stand before him, it's as though something presses down on me — no, it draws me to bow my head of my own accord. And I find myself wanting to follow him wherever he goes, even if it's into the lands of the Jurchens. I don't know why. What a strange feeling!

Gazing at those melancholy eyes and that quietly dignified bearing, a man found himself wanting to follow with his whole heart, to go with him anywhere. The simple-minded Ho-in decided that was reason enough. If a woman follows the husband she has chosen for a lifetime, should not a man serve the lord he has chosen for all his days?

Hong-wi, for his part, could not sleep even with his eyes closed.

His feelings at having to abandon his own country and flee were beyond words.

Was this not a life that countless retainers had laid down their lives to preserve? And now, once he crossed into the Jurchen lands — how was he to live?

Cha Gyeong-yeon said I must build a power base among the Jurchens. But that idea surely came from Jeong Ho-chan. Which would mean he steered me toward the northern border from the very start, with such a design in mind.

But how could such a thing possibly be done? Hong-wi could not begin to imagine it.

The Jurchens were a people with their own identity and their own political order. Though fallen now, they had once built a great empire. No such people would ever simply grovel and hand a throne to a foreigner. Had not Cha Gyeong-yeon himself stressed how fiercely exclusive the tribes were?

A king…!

Hong-wi pillowed his head on his arm and sank into thought.

What, in the end, was kingship? That question had never left him since the day he had abdicated the throne to Suyang.

To him, the throne had been nothing more than a duty handed down at birth. He had never once considered refusing it — but neither had he ever understood why men craved it so desperately, why they would wade through rivers of blood to seize it.

What is it about that seat, Uncle… that made you hunger for it so?

Unbidden, Hong-wi clenched his fist.

Very well, Uncle. I will admit it honestly: because I was born holding it, I could never understand the greed, the obsession, the ambition of a man who held nothing. If fate allows it, I will learn for myself what this thing called king is — what it is that drives men mad. If I can, I will become the king of the Jurchens. And if that throne proves truly worth the craving, I will come and place it before you once more!

When that day came, he would know at last whether the 'spirit of Great King Taejo' that Dongseok, Nogeop, Mok-a, and the others had vied to praise of old at Cheonggye Mountain truly dwelt within him as well.

With that resolve, Hong-wi tried once more for sleep.

That night, the dreams of both Hong-wi and Ho-in were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠restless and troubled. Cha Gyeong-yeon, meanwhile, slept like a stone, without a care in the world.

The next day, they rose before dawn. Strange to say, despite having hardly slept, their eyes snapped open bright and clear.

Cha Gyeong-yeon spoke up.

“Eat a hearty breakfast. It's a good hundred li to the garrison fortress… The blessing in all this is that Hwang Ga has lent us ponies. Your gift to him must have made quite an impression, my lord.”

Breakfast, such as it was, was a sparse porridge of millet half-stretched with miscellaneous grain. Compared to the meals they'd eaten since leaving Yeongwol it might pass for a feast, but Hong-wi and Ho-in had little appetite. Thinking of what lay ahead, they could not bring themselves to eat.

“You may not get a meal this decent for some time.”

“What do you mean, 'may not'?”

Ho-in asked, and Cha Gyeong-yeon chuckled.

“Ah, I forgot you two have never tasted Jurchen cooking. From now on you'll have to get used to their food. It won't be easy.”

“Why, what's wrong with it?”

“Well — whatever it is, you'll find out soon enough, won't you?”

Having choked down their breakfast, they joined Jang Hui-sun. Seen in broad daylight, it was hard to reconcile him with the drunkard who'd sprawled about hugging a piglet the night before — strawberry nose excepted.

The moment he saw Hong-wi, he bowed deeply at the waist.

“Did you sleep well, young master? I beg your pardon for last night's disgrace! Allow me to introduce myself properly — I am Jang Hui-sun, who will see you and your party safely across the river.”

“I look forward to your care.”

They mounted the ponies Hwang Ga had provided. Smaller and far homelier than the horses borrowed at the relay station, they were nonetheless tough as iron. Better still, they ate little — ideally suited to smugglers who made a habit of choosing the roughest paths.

With the morning sun climbing past its height and then sinking toward the western sky, they drew near Manpo-guja. Fortunately, nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

“There it is — Manpo-guja.”

Looking where Hong-wi pointed, they saw indeed a modest stone-walled fortress.

Jang Hui-sun sounded a warning.

“Keep low! The inspecting officer and his soldiers should be there about now. There's been no garrison stationed at the fortress for years, but patrols come out from Gangye now and then… and that Song Yu-bin will be with them.”

His last words were barely more than a whisper.

Hong-wi asked, “Where do we go now?”

Jang Hui-sun scanned their surroundings, then pointed. “There. Let's make for there.”

They moved low through a forest of reeds. Before long an open clearing appeared — like an island in the middle of the reed sea — where a single shabby earthen hut stood.

Jang Hui-sun explained.

“It's a dugout we smugglers use as a warehouse and bunkhouse. We rest here by day and move at night. We'll wait here too, and cross the river once darkness falls.”

Just as he said, the hut bore fresh traces of recent habitation.

Hong-wi asked, “What goods do you usually smuggle?”

“Nearly anything the Jurchens need. We deal in grain and salt too, but mostly daily necessities — cotton cloth, hemp, ramie fabrics, farming tools, that sort of thing.”

“What about weapons? Swords, spears, arrows — that kind of thing?”

At that, Jang Hui-sun's eyes narrowed.

“Only a man out of his mind would deal in those. We've each got just the one life, my lord.”

Just as Cha Gyeong-yeon had said. Hong-wi nodded. Getting caught meant death by law, true — but beyond that, considering how often the Jurchens crossed the river on raids, selling them weapons was unthinkable. How did a man know the arrows he sold the tribesmen wouldn't one day lodge in his own flesh?

“What do you take back in exchange, then?”

“Mostly furs — marten pelts and the like. Horses would be welcome, but that's harder to manage.”

Hong-wi nodded. If he meant to take up Cha Gyeong-yeon's proposal and trade with the Jurchens, these were things he would need to know.

Beyond that, he plied Jang Hui-sun with one question after another about the smuggling trade on the Amnok River. In summer, he learned, the swollen waters made boats the only way across; in winter, the cold sometimes froze the river solid.

“When that happens, you don't need a boat at all. You just have to slip past the patrols.”

“I see.”

Beyond the hut, a red afterglow was settling over the land. The afternoon was wearing away.

“When do we leave?”

“Around the hour of the boar — nine to eleven by the western clock — or, well, call it deep dusk. If we were hauling heavy cargo we'd cross right after sundown, but we're not carrying much this time.”

Hong-wi hesitated a moment, then spoke.

“I'd like to get some air for a while. Is that all right?”

Every eye in the hut — the men busy sorting the cargo — swung toward him at once.

Jang Hui-sun asked, “It's no trouble for me, my lord, but wouldn't it be better to rest your eyes?”

“That's quite all right. Before I cross into the Jurchen lands, I want to look upon my homeland's mountains and rivers one last time.”

Jang Hui-sun decided this was nothing he could argue against, and nodded readily.

“Of course. Take all the time you need, my lord.”

Hong-wi turned to Ho-in and Cha Gyeong-yeon. “I'd like a moment's air alone—”

“That I cannot allow, my lord!”

Ho-in shot upright.

“I will attend you.”

“Ho-in is right, my lord. Moving alone in a place like this is too dangerous.”

Cha Gyeong-yeon agreed. “I'm coming as well.”

Hong-wi looked from one to the other and realized their will was not to be bent. At the same time, gratitude welled up in him. He had not known them long — but now they were men who would run a thousand li without hesitation into hardship and danger for his sake. His retainers, his comrades.

“Very well. My thanks to you both.”

When they stepped out of the hut, a crimson sunset was sinking into the western sky — no, it was more than a mere sunset; it was as though the heavens themselves were aflame. It was a scene of sheer majesty, and Hong-wi breathed out an involuntary sigh of admiration.

The other two kept their silence.

Somehow his chest had tightened, and Hong-wi walked on through the reeds just as he was.

This side of the river is our land, ruled by the kings my forebears; that side belongs to the Jurchens…

They said that Great King Taejo, founder of the dynasty, had once made his fortune beyond that very river, living among the Jurchens and building his strength upon it — and that on that foundation he had raised his great enterprise.

Could I do the same?

Even as late as his departure from Yeongwol, Hong-wi's resolve had been nothing more than this: not to waste the life his father had left him, and never again to be toyed with by Suyang and his faction. Only that, and nothing more.

But now, Cha Gyeong-yeon — or, in truth, Jeong Ho-chan behind him — had shown him a new path.

Win the hearts of the Jurchens in their own lands. Build your strength. Bide your time for the day to come.

Hong-wi turned the words over in his mind. The more he thought on them, the more his heart raced — and the deeper the doubt crept in. That dream lay impossibly far from a man who was, at this moment, a mere fugitive. It was so vast, so absurdly grand, that he could not believe he could ever achieve it. So vast, indeed, that he half expected to collapse where he stood.

And yet, somewhere deep in his heart, Hong-wi felt a small fire quietly kindling — an ember that had come down unbroken from the age of Great King Taejo himself, a flame that the long flow of years and the ease of palatial life had never quite managed to dilute.

Hong-wi shook his head.

Just then, the reeds rustled.

On a hill overlooking the Amnok River, Song Yu-bin, military officer of Gangye, gazed down at his post.

Manpo-guja, standing on the southern bank of the Amnok, was Joseon's foremost frontier fortress — a stone-walled redoubt some 3,172 jeong in circumference and five jeong high.

His gaze turned, in turn, to the northern side of the river. In the glow of the sunset, hulking human shapes could be seen stirring.

Jurchens.

They were the very reason a border garrison existed at all. Day and night, these men kept watch over the movements of the tribes beyond the Amnok, and each year they crossed the river to strike pre-emptively at any tribe hostile to Joseon, cutting off trouble before it could take root. At the same time, the docile tribes were granted limited trade, under strict control, within Manpo-jin on a regular schedule. Carrot and stick — thus was the peace of the frontier maintained.

A cold wind swept across the hill, and Song Yu-bin stroked his long, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flowing beard. He was approaching thirty, in the full vigor of his years, yet long service in this northern frontier had lent him the bearing of a weathered veteran commander.

Hoofbeats sounded. A young junior officer galloped up the hill and saluted crisply.

Song Yu-bin returned the salute briefly.

“Officer Bak. Anything unusual to report?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Officer Bak swallowed hard. Freshly commissioned as he was, Song Yu-bin stood beyond his reach. The other officers at Gangye admired Song Yu-bin's martial skill, but grumbled, half under their breath, about his severity. The older officers muttered — though never openly — that thanks to Song Yu-bin, the little 'considerations' the smugglers used to slip them had dried up.

“Good. That is a relief.”

That was all Song Yu-bin said.