The Grave Before the Straw Hut
"What is it?"
"Why on earth are you going, Your Majesty? If you go, all you'll do is watch Lee Man-ju's slaughter. You'll only be throwing your eyes away for nothing."
Hong-wi did not answer.
"Perhaps, once you get there, you'll involve yourself in matters that have nothing to do with Your Majesty, and for no reason at all—"
"I know as much. I won't do anything rash. But I want to see it with my own eyes. I wish to look long and hard at how Lee Man-ju treats the people living on this land."
"Why, Your Majesty? These people are not our countrymen. They are not your subjects."
"They are still people. People trying to live decent lives."
"If circumstances were different, they'd be the ones crossing the Amnok River to raid Joseon soil."
"That much I cannot say. If these people had plenty to eat and wear, things might have been different. In any case, I have resolved to live among them from now on. How could this be a stranger's affair?"
Ho-in shook his head vigorously.
"I... I don't understand, Your Majesty. I only pray that you come to no harm."
"Naturally. You know what kind of life this is of mine."
Hong-wi answered quietly.
Cha Gyeong-yeon stood with his arms crossed, watching Hong-wi with an expression that was impossible to read.
The next day was a busy one.
Most of the village elders were to follow Chieftain Tumut-Chahar to Ban Village.
The chieftain's young nephew Nikari was to lead the village youths out on a hunt, gathering the sable pelts owed to Hong-wi's party.
Hong-wi instructed Iharachi to accompany the hunt.
His one concern was whether it was wise to go hunting at a time like this.
"Should Lee Man-ju move to attack Ban Village, might it be better to postpone the hunt?"
"You yourself must return soon as well, and the cleaner the trade, the better."
Chahar brushed aside Hong-wi's worry.
His mind seemed to have drifted somewhere far away.
He looked ten years older than he had only a few days before.
No doubt it was the guilt of having betrayed his long friendship with the Ban clan.
The party left the village in silence.
Ban Village lay about a day and a half's journey from Tumut Village.
A scout came back with a report.
"Smoke is rising from Ban Village."
"The poor souls..."
Chahar groaned.
The faces of the elders who had followed him were grim as well.
These were the men who had counseled against accepting Ban Da-hong when he came begging for help.
Yet neither Chahar nor the elders were wicked men.
They had simply feared Biriherimdon—and the Lee Man-ju who stood behind him.
But now, in this very moment, as they saw with their own eyes what that decision had wrought, their hearts grew unbearably heavy.
One elder spoke up.
"There was nothing we could have done."
"No. There was nothing we could have done."
That was all Chahar would say, and he fell silent.
After a long while, he spoke again.
"Hurry. Let's go."
As they drew near, the scene of the slaughter gradually came into view.
It appeared some of the villagers had tried to flee when they realized Lee Man-ju's army had surrounded the settlement.
"Dear God..."
Chahar and his party were struck speechless.
Hong-wi could say nothing either.
Half a dozen corpses had been bound to logs, and among them were women and children.
They stared at the approaching party with hollow, empty eyes.
Ho-in murmured, his face stricken.
They must have been a family. Even the little ones—how could anyone do such a thing...
Hong-wi said nothing.
He fought down the rising nausea.
So this is what they call war, he thought.
It laid bare, with brutal clarity, how far a human being could fall.
His uncle Suyang's "purge" had been no different at its core—only this was more savage, more visceral.
"We should move on."
Chahar said hoarsely.
Hong-wi answered.
"We cannot bury them... can we."
"We cannot."
The reason Lee Man-ju's men had left these corpses where they lay was obvious.
A warning.
A warning to the other chieftains scattered throughout Sahalcha, beyond Tumut Village: do not rise against Lee Man-ju.
Without a word, they pressed on toward Ban Village.
"Lee Man-ju would have given the order, but it is Biriherimdon alone who could carry out such a thing without a flicker of hesitation."
"Who in the world is this Biriherimdon? Now that you mention it, the villagers seemed to tremble at the very sound of his name."
"It isn't only villagers. I myself once did."
At Hong-wi's words, Chahar gave a quiet, bitter snort.
"He is Lee Man-ju's most trusted of trusted men. Whenever Lee Man-ju thinks blood must be spilled, he sends this one. Lee Man-ju keeps plenty of brutes who can do such work without qualm, but none so cruel and so thorough as Biriherimdon. Mercy and compassion simply do not exist for him. He orders total annihilation."
"He makes my blood run cold."
"He's not feared merely for ordering massacres. I cannot fathom why the Temusi'i insisted on coming along... but I suppose you'll see for yourself soon enough."
Chahar shuddered.
"Here's the strange thing—Biriherimdon was never one of the Hurigai to begin with. They say he came from a tribe Lee Man-ju subjugated in his youth—or rather, wiped out entirely. Only the man himself knows the truth of it."
"Is that so? Then how did he come to serve Lee Man-ju?"
"Who could say. They say it takes a villain to know a villain—perhaps they struck some bargain, perhaps not..."
Chahar suddenly stopped speaking.
As though struck by lightning, his gaze had nailed itself to a single spot.
Hong-wi's eyes followed his.
They had been looking toward a hill, and on its crest stood a man of imposing build.
Chahar breathed the name.
"Biriherimdon..."
"So Yang Jeong has grown that lax."
Hearing Han Myeong-hoe's report of his trip to Hamgil Province, Suyang spoke bluntly.
The room held only the two of them; the Seungji royal secretaries and history scribes who should normally have been in attendance were absent.
Their presence was what left a written record of what passed between king and minister, but Suyang was the sort of man who cared nothing for such niceties.
Not that it mattered—the secretaries and scribes were all his men anyway.
Han Myeong-hoe nodded.
"Yes. It seems his long stay in Hamgil Province has bred resentments he considers safe to indulge."
"Then all is well."
Suyang replied curtly.
"If Yang Jeong longs to come up to Hanyang, he cannot possibly harbor any other ambition. And besides, there is no one else fit to plant in Hamgil Province. We've sent a special inspector this time as well, so surely he'll mind his manners."
"No doubt, Your Highness."
"Tell Yang Jeong this: once Hong-wi's whereabouts are confirmed, he is to pick an opportune day and be summoned to Hanyang. Then he'll chase Hong-wi to the ends of the earth."
"Yes. I had already told him as much."
"Good!"
Suyang answered shortly.
His chronic skin affliction kept him in a perpetual state of irritation.
"Anything else?"
"There is one matter I wish to raise with you."
Suyang stared hard at Han Myeong-hoe.
Presently he snapped,
"Speak, then!"
"Your Highness, entrusting the pursuit of Prince Nosan solely to provincial investigators seems unwise."
"Oh? Why so?"
"If Prince Nosan still lives, that is no ordinary matter, is it? There is no telling who may yet be lying in wait, still nursing treasonous hopes—above all in Hamgil Province."
Suyang turned Han Myeong-hoe's words over in his mind.
"Really? Do they still dare? They heard the reports, did they not—what became of Yi Jing-ok, what became of that pair Seong Sam-mun and Park Paeng-nyeon, what fate befell that villain Grand Prince Geumseong?"
"A man never believes he will be the one to fall—until it is his turn."
"Hmm."
Suyang shrugged, then scratched vigorously at his back.
"Then what would you have me do?"
"Our present network of investigators cannot be trusted with the pursuit of Prince Nosan. We must raise a new unit, separate from the rest. Hand-pick young, capable men, train them in the ways of the northern tribes and their language, then send them into those lands. In other words, Byeolchogapsa—special vanguard armored soldiers... though in this case, perhaps Byeolcho Chetamgapsa, special investigators, would be more apt. As for the unit's name, it would be best not to fix one at all."
Selecting Byeolchogapsa separately... that has a certain appeal.
Suyang nodded.
"Issue an order to my Hong Dal-son! There will surely be such men among the Naegeumwi or the armored guards. Dal-son has the Naegeumwi firmly in hand, so he can pick suitable men at once."
Minister of War Hong Dal-son had risen from the ranks of the Naegeumwi warriors to begin with.
Since the Gyeyu Coup, Hong Dal-son had packed his old home—the Naegeumwi—with thoroughly dependable men.
Suyang assumed that if he left it to Hong Dal-son, the unit would be formed in no time.
But Han Myeong-hoe thought differently.
"It must not go through the Ministry of War."
"Must not? And why ever not?"
Suyang asked, puzzled.
"Above all else, this affair demands absolute secrecy. The realm has only just quieted now that everyone believes Prince Nosan dead. What will you do if rumors spread that he may yet be alive?"
"Hm!"
Suyang let out a surly groan.
"At this point, whether Hong-wi lives or dead matters not! Who would harbor treasonous thoughts now?"
"Even so, Your Highness—why go out of your way to open a festering sore?"
"Hmm!"
Suyang shrugged.
"Very well. But if not through the Ministry of War, how do you propose to winnow out these Byeolchogapsa of yours?"
"Leave that to me, if you please."
Han Myeong-hoe answered.
"To you? Well, if you're truly confident, I'll entrust it to you... but how do you intend to go about it?"
"We will hold a selection among the idle young blades and armored soldiers in Hanyang. Discreetly, through their friends and connections, we'll float word of the opportunity so nothing draws notice. Given the nature of the Byeolchogapsa—one must turn one's back on home for months, even years at a stretch—we should favor the young, the ambitious, and those with few dependents."
"Then try it!"
Suyang exclaimed.
"When can these Byeolchogapsa be sent north?"
"At least half a year. Preferably a year."
Han Myeong-hoe answered, recalling Han Ga-ryeong's counsel.
Suyang frowned.
"Half a year? A year, you say?"
He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
"Isn't that far too long?"
"Rice must steep long in the pot before it is properly cooked, Your Highness. They must slip into the northern tribes' lands and blend in without rousing a whisper of suspicion. Even veteran investigators with years of experience are caught and killed if they grow careless. To spend six months to a year preparing men who can truly be sent in—that itself would be a remarkable feat."
"Hmm, you have a point there!"
Suyang nodded.
He prided himself, after all, on being something of an authority in military affairs.
Even to turn a conscripted farmhand into a passable soldier took a month or two at minimum.
A special unit was another matter entirely.
"In any case, see it done well. If need be, turn the northern lands upside down to find where Hong-wi went. If he lives, seize him; if he is dead, bring back the body itself."
Suyang continued, coldly deliberate.
"If the boy died a violent death ten thousand li from home, surely the least he is owed is burial in the soil of his own country? And if he lives, he must be weeping even now, yearning for the land of his birth—we ought to grant him his return, out of simple duty."
"Yes, of course."
Han Myeong-hoe nodded.
And so the founding of the Byeolcho Chetamgapsa received the royal seal.
At the very moment Hong-wi was heading for Ban Village with Chieftain Tumut-Chahar, Jeong Ho-chan was making his way to Hanyang.
Thanks to the Yi Si-ae brothers in Gilju, he had managed to pass the winter in reasonable comfort.
The brothers had been sorely reluctant to see him go, but Jeong Ho-chan had pressed upon them that if they truly meant to restore a rightful king, they must seek out men of principle hidden away in every corner of the land.
Jeong Ho-chan first made his way down to Wonju in Gangwon Province.
It was said that Wonho, courtesy name Jahuh—a man who had once served as Assistant Director of the Hall of Worthies—was living there in hiding.
He was one of the very few who had withdrawn from official life after the Gyeyu Coup.
Jeong Ho-chan visited Gwanlanjae, Wonho's retreat, late at night.
"His Majesty... lives?"
At Jeong Ho-chan's words, Wonho wept hot tears.
In honor of Hong-wi, he was wearing mourning clothes.
"Of course I had heard His Majesty vanished in Yeongwol. I assumed Suyang's gang had murdered him in secret and were dressing it up as a disappearance."
"You must take care of your health, Master Assistant Director. Though His Majesty lives, if we are to plan for the future, men like you must preserve themselves."
"You speak truly."
"Is there anyone of resolve whom you know, sir?"
Wonho dried his tears and fell deep into thought.
"Several men resigned alongside me when I stepped down, though not many. I hear Baeksun—that is, Lee Maeng-jeon—cast aside his office and returned to his hometown. A friend named Jo Ryeo, who passed the Seonggyungwan licentiate examination while His Majesty still reigned, was said to be highly renowned among the young scholars; I hear he too has retired to the countryside. The rest have either died or bent their knees to Suyang. Ah—wait."
Wonho slapped his knee.
"I forgot this one. Among the sons of the venerable Gangho Sanin Kim Suk-ja there is one called Kim Jong-jik. Barely thirty, but they say his reputation runs high indeed. Though—this one seemed to have some intention of serving Suyang. He sat for and passed the examination celebrating Suyang's enthronement, you see."
"Then is he not a man for Suyang's side?"
"That is true enough... but the venerable Gangho has now passed away, and the boy should be observing the three years of mourning for him. Still, his renown among the young is great. If we brought him in, would it not help?"
"I must meet him at least once."
At Jeong Ho-chan's words, Wonho nodded.
"Yes, meet him. You said your name was Jeong Ho-chan. Though I confess I never heard the full story of your background."
Jeong Ho-chan only smiled quietly.
"My family is too humble to boast of."
"There's no need to say such a thing. So-called noble families who bend their principles are everywhere you look—what is the shame in being humble-born? If anything, I am embarrassed to sit here guarding my principles as an old man while accomplishing nothing at all. Well then—where do you head next?"
"To Hanyang first, I think."
"Hanyang? Is that not the tiger's den?"
"To catch a tiger, can one avoid the tiger's den?"
"What a courageous young man you are!"
Wonho marveled at him repeatedly.
He urged Jeong Ho-chan to sleep one night before departing.
At Gwanlanjae, Jeong Ho-chan spent the evening in discourse with Wonho on the classics of ancient and modern times, but declared he would leave early the next morning.
Wonho came out to the edge of the village himself to give him a farewell meal.
Having left Wonju, Jeong Ho-chan intended to pass through Yangpyeong and on to Hanyang.
But he lost his way in the mountains and found himself wandering.
To think that traveling alone would land me in a predicament like this.
Jeong Ho-chan gave a wry smile.
Nothing like this had ever happened when he traveled with Cha Gyeong-yeon—the embarrassment was considerable.
After wandering for a long while, Jeong Ho-chan came upon a grave.
The tomb was lavishly kept, and before it stood a straw hut.
He sensed signs of life inside.
A straw hut before a grave. Judging by the look of it, someone in three years' mourning. It hardly seems a commoner's tomb—no doubt the grave of some high minister. Well then... first, let me learn whose grave this is.
Jeong Ho-chan approached the stele erected before the tomb.
Reading down the inscription, he started violently and clicked his tongue.
Curses—of all the graves in all the world, I've wandered up to Jeong Chang-son's mother's tomb. Tch. With all the burial plots under heaven, nowhere else to come but this...
Jeong Chang-son had not only actively backed Suyang's enthronement and risen to the post of Chief State Councillor—he had conspired with his son-in-law Kim Jil to bring about the deaths of Jeong Ho-chan's friend Seong Sam-mun and his comrades.
A day will come when I repay my friends' grudge. But today is not that day.
It seemed unlikely that a man of Jeong Chang-son's stamp would keep three years of mourning alone.
Jeong Ho-chan was just pulling back with a sour taste in his mouth when—
"Eherah, all's well, all's well..."
Someone was coming up the path, humming a song.
Jeong Ho-chan swiftly hid himself in the woods.
Moments later, a monk emerged, a bundle slung over his back.
He climbed up to the straw hut, set down his bundle, and drew out a wooden moktak.