The Customs of Guests
Iharachi dashed forward before the old man, dropped to his right knee, and pressed his right fist to the earth.
It was the taqian—the Jurchen greeting known as bethe bukdanbi, the bending of the knee.
The chieftain gave a short nod, and Iharachi spoke a few words to him.
When he had finished, the chieftain turned his gaze upon Hong-wi.
Hong-wi dismounted, walked forward a few paces, and offered precisely the same courtesy Iharachi had shown moments before.
"Si saiun. Ere uchuri wasikhun beye bodo-dere gemu sain-i-yun?"
At Hong-wi's greeting in the Jurchen tongue, the chieftain inclined his head slowly.
"Inu, sain. Si abichi jihe?"
"Bi cholhan-ci jihe."
When Tumut-Chahar asked where he was from, Hong-wi answered that he had come from Joseon.
Chahar's face registered surprise, and the people around him murmured in a low stir of astonishment.
Chahar asked again.
"Si cholhan-i niyalma kai, geli ai soro-de banjiha giyan bu mujaku sain-i taciha?"
It was a question of how a man of Joseon had come to learn their tongue so well.
Hong-wi replied in the Jurchen language once more.
"I have come to pay my respects to the chieftain, and so I judged it only proper that I learn to speak his tongue with some skill."
Chahar nodded, seeming satisfied with the answer.
The villagers, too, wore looks of contentment.
Before anyone had noticed, the cold wind that had swept through the gathering at the start had softened considerably.
Cha Gyeong-yeon smiled with evident satisfaction and murmured to Ho-in.
"See? Now you understand why you ought to be learning the Jurchen tongue. Anyone would take well to a stranger speaking their language fluently, mind you—but the Jurchens most of all. They're a proud people, and they've been squeezed from every direction for so long that it cuts twice as deep with them."
"I suppose so."
Ho-in scratched his head.
In the meantime, Hong-wi also revealed his name of Temusi'i.
The chieftain spoke to him.
"Temusi'i. Were you to come as guests of the village, it is our old custom to extend guests proper hospitality. But in times as unsettled as these, even a good custom must sometimes be curtailed for the safety of the village."
"I understand."
"Yet if you come in good faith, I cannot turn you away. Leave your weapons at the entrance, and on that condition you may enter."
"That is a fair request."
Hong-wi answered, then added, "That said, I will leave our goods outside under guard. Only I and my most trusted men will enter the village unarmed."
"That is agreeable."
"We have brought gifts as well. Would it be permissible to carry those inside?"
Chahar nodded his assent.
Hong-wi gave his instructions to Iharachi.
"You'll be coming in with us, so leave the cargo to your men."
"Have no fear, my lord."
Hong-wi and Cha Gyeong-yeon each strapped their swords and bows to their saddles.
Ho-in fidgeted uneasily with his blade.
"Gyeong-yeon hyung... this custom of hospitality you keep mentioning—it's for certain, isn't it?"
"You can trust me on that."
"If you say so, hyung."
Only after Cha Gyeong-yeon's assurance did Ho-in finally loosen his weapon and fasten it to the saddle.
Hong-wi's party and Iharachi followed the chieftain into the village, and the villagers trailed after them.
They entered a large thatched-roof house at the very center of the village—a house that served both as the chieftain's residence and as the village meeting hall. Perhaps to hold out against the cold, it was a pit dwelling dug down into the earth, which gave it the look of an enormous crab shell.
Ho-in thought to himself, 'This is the mansion of a Jurchen chieftain, and yet it's shabby beyond belief...'
They went inside.
The chieftain Tumut-Chahar sat at the center, with the village elders seated to his left and right. Hong-wi's party took their places across from them.
Hong-wi spoke first.
"First, as a token of friendship, I present gifts to the chieftain."
With that, Hong-wi handed Chahar a single lacquered wooden case. The chieftain lifted from it a blade finished with exquisite craftsmanship.
The village elders each murmured their admiration.
"Sain."
Chahar gave a brief nod as well, though his face remained impassive. He slid the sword back into its wooden case—and he did so with such care that it was plain he liked it.
"So. You say you've come to trade. What have you brought to sell?"
Chahar's manner was far more relaxed now.
Hong-wi answered without a moment's hesitation.
"Grain, beginning with rice, along with salt, and cloth."
At those words, the stony expressions of the village elders melted away.
Hong-wi did not miss it. As he had suspected, this Tumut village was short on provisions as well.
Chahar's face, however, had not yet thawed.
"If that is the trade you've come for, then you've come at the right time. And what would you ask in return?"
"I've heard that Sahalcha yields fine pelts in abundance. Black sable skins, in particular."
"Mm, you know your trade well. Merchants hunting sable once used to come here in great numbers—men like you. But that is all in the past now."
Chahar shook his head as he continued.
"Times have been so lean that it has been many a long year since a trader found his way this far. What pelts we hold on hand are not many. To gather more we would have to send the villagers out to hunt, and that would take time."
"That much, I can wait for," Hong-wi answered calmly. "But we need grain and salt immediately—so if you will set the price here and now, I will deliver the provisions and salt to you first, and collect the pelts once they are ready."
Chahar looked mildly taken aback.
"Ho. And what makes you trust us enough to hand goods over in advance?"
The chieftain studied Hong-wi intently.
"It is the hunger season, is it not? From what I can see of the village's situation, no one appears to be starving—yet no one appears to be living comfortably, either."
"And you don't fear we'll simply hold out until your provisions run low and demand a steeper price?"
"I have not come to make a single bargain and be gone. If I can manage it, I wish to trade with you, Chieftain, for many years to come. If you show me good faith, then I shall show you the same."
At that, Chahar burst into a great guffaw.
"Sain! Sain!"
His laughter subsided, and the chieftain clapped his hands. He called out to one of the villagers.
"Go and fetch the sable pelts we've kept in storage."
"Yes, Elder."
Before long a villager returned bearing a single bundle and handed it to the chieftain. Chahar took it and unwrapped it himself, revealing a glossy black pelt.
Chahar explained.
"A sable skin left too long becomes worthless. So we do not hunt beyond what is needed. Have a look for yourself."
Hong-wi received it. Even to an untrained eye, the black sable pelt gleamed with a smooth luster—clearly a first-rate piece at a single glance. Carried back to Hwangseongpyeong it would fetch a considerable price, and in Joseon or the Ming, buyers would name whatever figure he asked.
He passed the pelt to Cha Gyeong-yeon, who nodded.
"Excellent. Top grade."
Hong-wi nodded back with a smile.
"Good."
"Sain!"
Chahar smiled in return.
"I must apologize for how thin the welcome was when you first arrived. From now on, whenever you honor our village with a visit, you will be treated as guests."
"I understand. I look forward to trading with you again and again, Chieftain."
"Sain! Sain!"
Chahar broke into a broad grin.
"Now—those waiting outside may come into the village as well."
At that, Iharachi rose from his place and went out.
Chahar spoke again.
"We have rare guests among us, and we cannot fail to offer them a meal. It happens to be the eating hour, so will you not take some refreshment?"
"Gladly," Hong-wi answered readily.
Among the Jurchens, as among the nomads of Mongolia, hospitality to guests was a cardinal virtue, and to refuse it would have been a breach of courtesy.
His tension eased, Ho-in suddenly became aware of his own hunger.
"Come to think of it, I'm starving half to death."
"Is that so? You're that hungry?"
"Hungry enough to die."
Cha Gyeong-yeon gave a wry smile at the answer.
"Well, that's a mercy, then."
"Er... a mercy? What do you mean?"
"You haven't yet had the pleasure of being served a meal by Jurchens, have you?"
"No, but... what's that got to do with—"
Ho-in tilted his head, puzzled.
Cha Gyeong-yeon only nodded and said, "Well, you'd have to get used to it sooner or later..."
"Hyung, what are you talking about?"
"You'll see soon enough."
Ho-in was left utterly baffled, while Cha Gyeong-yeon simply kept smiling.
Before long, villagers began carrying in food set out on low tables.
Chahar said, "I will not pretend that our provisions of late have been anything worth boasting of. It is meager fare—thin as it is, I beg you to eat your fill."
"Thank you."
Hong-wi offered his thanks.
Ho-in, who had already been hungry enough that his throat ached for food, looked down at the meal laid out before him.
'Huh...?'
One look at the wretched spread was enough to kill his appetite dead.
The rice, such as it was, was so undercooked that the individual grains crunched between the teeth, and the roasted wild boar was likewise seared barely past the red, still glistening with blood. The soup was some brew of berries that did nothing to whet his appetite—elm seeds, he would learn later. Beyond that, the side dishes consisted of something like fermented soybean paste and a few dark, murky lumps that appeared to be congealed blood.
"Come, eat."
The chieftain urged them, then took up a piece of the boar himself and began tearing at it with his hands.
Hong-wi and Cha Gyeong-yeon followed suit. Loath as he was, Ho-in was too hungry and too fearful of souring the chieftain's mood to refuse: he picked up a piece of the boar from his plate and began to gnaw at it.
'What is this?! It's raw!'
Ho-in could not help but grimace.
'And do these people not know what salt is? Honestly... but—does it actually suit His Highness's palate?'
He stole a glance at Hong-wi. Could a king who had eaten only dishes prepared with the devoted care of the royal kitchen's palace ladies ever take to food like this?
And yet Hong-wi showed not the slightest sign of distaste, carrying on some conversation with the chieftain as though nothing were amiss.
Ho-in looked down glumly at his plate and let out a hidden sigh.
"Not to your taste? We went to some trouble on your account, you know—this is how we treat a rare guest."
"Good heavens, what the Jurchens need before anything else is a skilled suk-su—a proper cook. Why, even I could do better than this, and I'm no great hand at the stove myself."
A suk-su was precisely that—a cook.
At Ho-in's woeful lament, Cha Gyeong-yeon snorted with laughter.
"Well, your own cooking isn't bad, I'll grant you. You might just make a first-class cook around here."
"I wouldn't go quite that far."
Cha Gyeong-yeon was not merely flattering him. In truth, it would be no exaggeration to say that Ho-in had single-handedly been responsible for every meal Hong-wi's party had eaten on their journey—and his cooking was, unexpectedly, rather good.
Just as this exchange was going on, a commotion suddenly arose outside.
Chahar frowned and shouted, "We are entertaining guests—what is all that racket out there?"
"A man called Banda-hong says he must see you at once, Elder Chieftain."
"Banda-hong?"
The chieftain seemed slightly startled, but soon burst into a hearty laugh.
"Out of nowhere? What's brought this on? Show him in!"
Shortly after, a young Jurchen warrior stepped inside. He wore a quilted brigandine and carried himself with such sturdy bearing that he looked the very picture of a fighting man. The moment he entered, he dropped to one knee and offered his respects before the chieftain.
The chieftain rose from his seat to return the greeting.
"Banda-hong, is it? Is your father keeping well?"
"Uncle!"
The young man called Banda-hong cried out.
"Please—I beg you, spare my father's life. You are the only one who can help him."
"What on earth has happened? Are you telling me something has befallen my sworn brother Ban-gyeon?"
"My father has been seized and taken by Lee Man-ju!"
"What did you say?"
The chieftain's face hardened like stone, and the whole company stopped eating at once and began to stir.
"How did this come to pass? Tell me, and spare no detail."
"You will know, Elder, how we have been hounded of late by Lee Man-ju's demands for tribute. His trusted commander Maguulpa came to our tribe in person to make his demands, and those demands were cruel beyond bearing. As you know, last year's harvest was poor, and the hunts yielded little."
"Yes. We have suffered great hardship here as well."
As he said this, the chieftain cast a fleeting, embarrassed glance down at the welcome feast spread before them—rich, by Jurchen standards, almost to the point of embarrassment. Fortunately, Banda-hong did not seem to notice.
"And so my father went to Sorobirada to see Lee Man-ju in person, to explain our circumstances and beg that the tribute be lowered—"
"And then?"
"Lee Man-ju—that man—claimed my father's manner was insolent, and threw him in irons!"
Banda-hong shouted as though spitting blood.
"Mmm!"
Groans escaped not only the chieftain but all of his men. A few exchanged uneasy whispers among themselves.
Banda-hong bowed and scraped again and again, desperation written across his face.
"You, Elder, are sworn brothers with my father. Please, help him! If you do not, my father's life is forfeit—and our whole clan is finished with him."
"And what do you intend to do?"
The chieftain asked, his voice gone low and grave.
"First, I mean to gather men and rescue my father from Lee Man-ju's grasp."
"Foolish talk! That is not the kind of thing one does lightly."
Chahar raised his voice sharply. Banda-hong made no reply, only looked at the chieftain.
Unable to simply ignore that gaze, the chieftain averted his eyes and said, "Better that you go instead to Anchuunbugu and beg the aid of the Great Chieftain Onyan Isiha. What say you to that?"
Anchuunbugu? Onyan Isiha?
Curiosity stirred in Hong-wi—wondering who this could be.