The Sage of Anchuunbugu
Hong-wi looked around at the gathering.
The faces of Bashita and the other elderly chieftains were unmistakably brightened. The younger chieftains like Botai, on the other hand, could not quite conceal their skeptical expressions.
Botai was the first to speak.
"I've certainly heard of his reputation, but... the man is close to seventy."
"Lee Man-ju is about that age himself."
Bashita shook his head.
"The circumstances are different. Who knows what he was like in his prime, but he is old now, and his following is small. Anchuunbugu is a sacred sanctuary, nothing more—it commands no great military force. Could Anchuunbugu stand against Lee Man-ju?"
"The strength of Anchuunbugu does not lie in mere arms."
"What good is noble blood in times like these!"
"Enough, both of you! What will become of us if we fight among ourselves?"
Chahar intervened to break up the quarrel between Botai and Bashita, and the two fell silent.
"It's true—I don't believe Onyan Isiha can crush Lee Man-ju either. But neither can we simply sit and endure the tyranny of the Hurigai forever. Am I wrong?"
The chieftains held their tongues. But nothing could have expressed their agreement with Chahar's words more eloquently than that silence.
"He is the wisest man in all of Jianzhou—nay, in all the lands of the Jurchens. What a hundred warriors cannot accomplish, a single wise sage can resolve."
"Well, I suppose that would be a comfort," Botai said with a sigh.
"Then we must send someone to him."
"That we cannot do. Lee Man-ju has had his eye on Anchuunbugu for a long time now. Lately, I hear he has set his eldest, the Kunaha, to watch all who travel to and from the sanctuary. And it isn't just surveillance—travelers have sometimes lost their lives to his cutthroats."
Bashita said, shaking his head. The chieftains fell silent for a moment.
Then it happened.
"If this Onyan Isiha is such a remarkable man, then I too would like to visit him someday and pay my respects."
At Hong-wi's words, the chieftains murmured among themselves. A few even wore incredulous smiles.
"He is a man we Jurchens all revere—but even for you, that would, in the end..."
Bashita let the sentence trail off. He had likely been about to say that he was hardly a man a Joseon subject could presume to meet.
"I am a merchant who travels from village to village to ply my trade. Is there anywhere called Anchuunbugu that I cannot go?"
"Anchuunbugu itself is a sacred sanctuary, but the roads leading there crawl with Lee Man-ju's dogs. Which is proof enough that even Lee Man-ju fears the elder Onyan Isiha."
"Then all the more reason I should go."
Hong-wi would not be moved. Seeing his resolve was firm, Chahar allowed himself a faint smile.
"If you do go to him, tell them that Tumut-Chahar of Sahalcha sent you. I will give you a token."
He drew a single arrow from his quiver and handed it over. The arrowhead was carved from animal bone, and from the tip down through the shaft to the fletching, it was black as night.
"He will recognize it."
"Thank you. Although..." Hong-wi paused, then continued. "I don't know where this Anchuunbugu is. Might you be able to tell me?"
"Even we only know it roughly," Chahar said, shaking his head. "But if you're returning to Hwangseongpyeong, you'll find someone there who knows the way. There are those who have traded with Anchuunbugu for generations. It is through them that we travel there ourselves."
Chahar thought for a moment.
"Now, if you mean to seek an audience with him, an ordinary peddler will not do. Even as a merchant, you'd need the standing to deal with a royal house. You have offered to help us, so I in turn will help you. As you may know, Sahalcha can supply fine sable pelts in abundance."
"I'll help as well. Our village is second to none when it comes to quality sable."
Botai spoke up. "Ours is famous for its sable skins. They're small, quick little creatures, so they're hard to come by in numbers—but the quality speaks for itself."
The chieftains vied with one another to offer their goods. Hong-wi, startled and flustered, bowed his head again and again.
"There's no need for this. I did bring rice and salt this time, but to go this far..."
"Rice and salt are desperately needed among us right now. But times are so dangerous these days that merchants rarely venture here anymore," Bashita said. "You're staying at Chieftain Chahar's village at present, aren't you? Then there's no need for you to go around to every village. We will come to you there."
Even Ho-in's ears pricked up at that proposal. In the current climate, traipsing across Sahalcha in pursuit of trade was a fine way to end up skewered on a spear or riddled with arrows. If customers would come to them of their own accord, nothing could be better.
Hong-wi accepted the offer gratefully.
"Thank you."
The next day, Biriherimdon's men finished their preparations to burn the village to the ground. Lee Go-nap-hap watched the proceedings with a distinctly sour expression. Biriherimdon, arms crossed, paid it no mind and simply looked on.
When Hong-wi approached, Biriherimdon spoke briefly.
"The agreed price is to be paid to the Little Dudu when you go to Hwangseongpyeong."
"It shall be."
Daniri and Danganmilsu moved among the men, overseeing the work. In Ban Village, marked for annihilation, it was forbidden for any of them to take so much as a single item for himself. They cast a regretful glance around, then raised their torches.
"Burn it."
Ban Village began to blaze. The chieftains watched in stony silence.
"You have all seen it now. Our Dudu has no interest in petty wealth. Loyalty is the only thing he asks. Bear in mind, always, what became of Ban Village."
"...We shall not forget."
The chieftains answered reluctantly. Then Chahar asked:
"...What will become of Ban Da-hong?"
"Who?"
Biriherimdon asked in a level tone.
"The son of the Ban Village chieftain whom the Zhihui took yesterday."
"Ah, that one."
Biriherimdon smiled briefly. That smile was filled with a malignancy beyond the power of words to describe.
"A promise is a promise. Him alone, I have decided to spare."
Chahar said nothing. Just then, Danganmilsu dragged a man out. At first the onlookers failed to recognize him—but it was soon clear that it was Ban Da-hong.
Chahar's eyes went wide.
"Good heavens..."
In a single night, Ban Da-hong had been reduced to a wreck—no, it would be fair to say he had been hollowed out altogether. His clothes hung in tatters, closer to rags than cloth, and his hair hung loose, his wrists bound with hemp rope, dragged along like a dog. His lips were split as though he had been beaten all over, his face swollen grotesquely, his gait strangely unsteady.
But what silenced the crowd was the emptiness in Ban Da-hong's eyes. It was as if his very will to live had been torn out of him.
What ordeal could he possibly have suffered in one night, that a man as strong and hale as Ban Da-hong would be reduced to this? Chahar groaned inwardly.
Hong-wi, too, could not take his eyes off him. In that ruined wild youth, he saw overlaid the image of himself, being dragged away to Yeongwol.
Biriherimdon gave the order.
"Move out."
"Yes, sir."
He clearly ruled his men with steely discipline; at his command they moved with mechanical precision. Danganmilsu tied the rope binding Ban Da-hong's wrists to the flank of a horse. Ban Da-hong hung his head low. It would be a long and agonizing road for him indeed.
Hong-wi understood that, at least in part. Suddenly he looked at the waterskin in Ho-in's hand, took it from him, and ran over to Ban Da-hong. Before Danganmilsu could utter a word of protest, he pressed the waterskin into Ban Da-hong's hands.
"Drink."
"What is the meaning of this?" Danganmilsu shouted.
At once, Ho-in and Cha Gyeong-yeon surged forward. Biriherimdon stared at the scene with cold eyes. Danganmilsu turned to look at him. Biriherimdon shot Hong-wi a long look, then gave a dismissive shrug, as if it were nothing at all.
"Let him drink his water."
"...Yes, sir."
Danganmilsu relented. Amid all the commotion, Hong-wi and Ban Da-hong simply gazed at each other.
After staring at Hong-wi for a long moment, Ban Da-hong wet his parched lips and spoke in a voice barely audible.
"...Ambula baniha."
It meant: thank you. He took a single mouthful of water from the skin. Hong-wi knew all too well how sweet and cool that water must have tasted to him.
Having slaked his thirst, the young man tried to hand the waterskin back, but Hong-wi shook his head and looped its strap around his neck instead. In his heart, Hong-wi could only hope the young man would find more chances to drink on the road to Sorobirada.
"Move out!" Biriherimdon bellowed.
They vanished like a whirlwind—almost as though they were fleeing the devastation they themselves had wrought.
Chahar sighed and spoke.
"Biriherimdon takes his greatest pleasure in breaking young, strong warriors."
"A vile pastime."
"Indeed it is. Now, let us return as well. We must hold funeral rites for these people."
"...Yes, we must."
They loaded the bodies onto carts and returned to the Tumut village. The joint funeral for the people of Ban Village was held with simple austerity, Hong-wi's party attending alongside the villagers.
When the rites were over, Chahar urged them to stay and rest until the pelts could be gathered. He received Hong-wi's party with all the ceremony due to close kin. The food did not suit their palates, but Hong-wi accepted it gratefully all the same.
During their stay in the Tumut village, the other chieftains sought Hong-wi out one by one to offer their thanks once more. The Ban clan had been distant kin to them as well.
"Please, use these freely—no need to feel burdened."
So saying, they simply handed over their precious pelts. Hong-wi protested strenuously, but they insisted to the last that they were gifts and he must not refuse. Botai gave several fine packhorses at a stroke—horses called pack animals, but every one of them a match for a proper warhorse.
"There's nothing to repay. Use them as you please—they're a gift."
"I will never forget this kindness."
Botai grinned. "It is we who will not forget the courage and goodwill of Lord Temusi'i. You yourself, of course—but anyone you send will be welcome whenever they come."
Iharachi was astonished to see the Sahalcha chieftains—famed for their pride and coldness toward outsiders—treating Hong-wi so handsomely.
"I've never seen 'em treat a simple merchant like this, I haven't."
He clicked his tongue again and again. "And him a Joseon man, at that—beggin' yer pardon, milord. If the sun rose in the west tomorrow" (he pointed west), "I wouldn't be a bit surprised."
"You're calling a Joseon man 'milord' yourself, you know."
Hong-wi laughed heartily, and Iharachi scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed grin.
"Aye, guilty as charged. But truly, milord, you're a man the heavens made. This old Iharachi has never seen nor heard tell of anyone pulling off such a triumph on his very first trading run."
It was true. Not one of the chieftains who had come to visit had taken so much as a grain of rice or salt in return. The only one who had conducted anything like a trade was Chahar—and even he, heedless of profit and loss, had given up his precious pelts with lavish hands, and only the finest grade at that.
"Our people gathered these specially for you. All of them the pick of the pick."
"Thank you, Elder."
"Think nothing of it."
Chahar smiled gently. The hearts of the Sahalcha people were exceedingly hard to win—but once won, nothing in the world was more steadfast.
Thanks to them, the caravan returning to Hwangseongpyeong was far larger than the one that had set out. As a bonus, every saddle was piled high with precious pelts.
"You're carrying valuable goods, so see them safely to Hwangseongpyeong."
"Any highwaymen would be mad to show their faces, milord. Not after that devil Biriherimdon descended on Sahalcha itself."
Iharachi said cheerfully, and Hong-wi smiled quietly.
Having failed to save the people of Ban Village would remain a weight on his heart for a long time to come. Even so, he had won the trust of many good people—and more than any immediate profit, that was the greatest gain of all.
Lee Go-nap-hap, returned to Sorobirada, Lee Man-ju's stronghold, waited before the great house in a state of considerable unease. Though he had already been kept waiting a long while, not a word of complaint crossed his lips. It had been like this ever since he was a boy, whenever he stood before his father—and it was like this still.
Lee Go-nap-hap fidgeted with his clothes, straightening them again and again. They had been a gift from Pushan Hadaru, the great merchant of Hwangseongpyeong—garments sewn from cloth imported from Joseon. Quite a costly outfit by Jianzhou standards.
Just then, someone emerged from the house. It was an old man whose hair and beard had gone fully white, yet whose back was still ramrod straight, whose every step carried weight, and whose eyes gleamed with wisdom.
"Little Dudu."
"Commander Maguulpa."
Lee Go-nap-hap bowed in greeting. Maguulpa was a veteran general who had served Lee Man-ju's house through three generations, going back to the days of his grandfather Ahachu. The Hurigai paid no reverence to age—if anything, quite the opposite. Ability was the only measure, and warriors deemed useless in their old age were cast aside without mercy. That Maguulpa had kept his command seat was due purely and entirely to his capability.
"You are summoned inside."
"Understood."
Lee Go-nap-hap bowed, and Maguulpa returned the gesture in kind. Even Lee Go-nap-hap, who inwardly chafed at his father's servants, held Maguulpa in genuine respect. His teacher in truth, Maguulpa was—in a certain sense—more a father to him than his father was.
Before following Maguulpa in, Lee Go-nap-hap drew a deep breath and steeled his belly.
The principal elders of the Jianzhou Guard were seated here and there around the great chamber. Elders though they were called, most of them were not particularly old. Aside from Maguulpa and the man seated at the very center of the room, not one had white in his hair.
"So you have come."
The voice was low, cold to the point of terror, and deep enough to resonate in the bones—it seemed to press down on both of Lee Go-nap-hap's shoulders. It was a voice that conjured the image of a deep, deep cavern, and the icy abyss within.