The Mantid Maiden - 1

Liaodong Province was a peculiar region, even among the spheres of influence that made up the Central Plains—a land known since ancient times as Manchuria.

The people of the Central Plains had raised Shanhaiguan, a fortress that could never be stormed, and built the Great Wall across it to draw a boundary that could not be crossed.

Liaodong lay within the Central Plains' orbit, yet it was never a land fully under their dominion.

A place where the foreign tribes eyeing the Central Plains watched and waited, hungry for their moment. A buffer zone against the barbarians. The frontier where civilization met the uncivilized. Such was the common perception of Liaodong among the people of the Central Plains.

The officials appointed by the imperial court and dispatched to govern Liaodong sought out a single family to survive among the tribes—and that family, in exchange for lending them its strength, cultivated power of its own.

In the end, that family became a martial clan that, amid Manchuria's endless arena of contending tribes, held Shenyang—the most fertile land in the region—along with the Liao River, the clan's very lifeline.

The name of that family:

The hegemon of Liaodong. The Moyong Clan.

And now, that hegemon of Liaodong stood split in two.

"My lady. Ohh..."

The young maidservant who had come to find her mistress opened her mouth to call for her—then the words died on her lips, for she had lost herself entirely in the sight of the woman deep in her training.

So this was what they meant by a beauty that stopped the breath. This was no adorned lady putting her loveliness on display: her hair whipped loose in the wind, and sweat beaded on her brow. She wore no costly jewels, nor used powder to hide a single flaw—yet her beads of sweat gleamed like ornaments finer than any pearl, and her bare face, without a trace of cosmetics, looked smoother than the skin of any woman painted in rouge.

They say a flower in glorious bloom on a moonlit night is beautiful even as the wind scatters its petals—but this woman's beauty was not the flower. It was the moon.

"What is it?"

The name of that moon, which no fragrance or color beneath heaven could ever rival, was Moyong Sang-ah. It was the name of a woman who had lost her other half.

"Ah! Forgive me! C-Commander Changbongdaeju has arrived!"

Since when does the moon strike up a conversation? Only then, as if waking from a dream, did the maidservant come to her senses and announce her errand.

"My lord. I have returned."

Though he was already a step too late—Changbongdaeju stood right behind the maidservant.

"You've been through much. How went the dispatch of the survey teams to the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives?"

The Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives.

The martial library that held the distilled essence of the Moyong Clan—the lost heritage of the family. To seize the initiative in the clan's stagnant internal power struggle, Moyong Sang-ah had ordered a search of the archives, a right granted to successive clan heads alone.

"We dispatched survey teams to the three sites you commanded. The teams report that, just as you said, the sites show promise."

"Good work."

"However, a small problem has arisen."

From the worry shadowing Changbongdaeju's face, Moyong Sang-ah grasped at a glance what that problem was.

"The Jurchen are kicking up trouble, I take it."

"Yes. The Jurchen have sent a man."

It was not that Moyong Sang-ah had failed to anticipate Jurchen resistance.

The search for the archives was the clan's great undertaking, and whenever the Moyong Clan began a new search, the Jurchen living nearby had always pushed back.

Together with her officers, Moyong Sang-ah waited as the man who had come in the Jurchen chieftain's stead read the chieftain's letter aloud.

"I am Turshan! I send this man on a matter of the gravest import! The place where your Moyong tribe has settled is the land of our tribe! Never did I permit you our tribe's land! And yet you dare to dig into our earth! Are you not afraid of our wrath!"

"Insolent barbarian!"

"What did he just say!"

As the provocative lines spilled out, the Changbong Corps' fury boiled over.

"Ugh..."

"Keep reading."

At Moyong Sang-ah's expressionless command, the envoy pressed on with trembling hands.

"But! I, Turshan! I have heard that the one who leads your Moyong tribe is a woman. A w-woman lacking in e-experience at the head of the tribe, I thought—m-mistakes were sure to be made!"

Rage smoldered through Changbong Hall. The envoy could not go on; his ashen face darted nervously about, taking the measure of the eyes fixed upon him.

"There is no need to hear more!"

"These wretches dare slander our lord?!"

"..."

When Moyong Sang-ah swept her subordinates with an icy gaze, the Changbong Corps froze as if doused in cold water and began studying their lord's face instead.

"W-We will be quiet."

"In measure of the disrespect you have shown! If you offer us proper courtesy! I shall graciously permit you to sojourn a while upon our land. This I declare in the name of I, Chieftain Turshan! Remember well that the spearpoints of our tribe are turned toward you! Furthermore..."

If you do not wish to be harmed, pay tribute and bow your heads before us. Not a single member of the Changbong Corps failed to grasp the meaning.

Before a killing intent that seemed ready to cut him down where he stood, the Jurchen envoy could utter no more.

"Beasts, worse than beasts—such arrogance!"

"My lord! Give the order this instant! I will carry this wretch's head to them, and bring back the head of that barbarian cur Turshan as well!"

Against such arrogant provocation toward the Moyong Clan, hegemon of Liaodong, even those who had been watching their lord's mood could hold back no longer.

"Hiiiek! S-Spare me! I-I am only an envoy!"

Realizing at last the fate about to descend upon him, the envoy flung himself down before the master of Changbong Hall and begged for his life.

Moyong Sang-ah quietly watched the mood, which seemed ready to tear the man apart then and there—then, with a frosty expression, tipped her chin toward the Jurchen envoy.

"See that he is given a room and a meal."

"My lord?!"

"Th-Thank you!"

Like a rabbit that had survived a tiger's whim, the envoy was escorted off by the maidservant and vanished from the hall in moments.

The Changbong Corps traded puzzled looks at their lord's unexpected response, and before long one of the senior officers spoke up carefully.

"My lord... Do you mean to negotiate?"

"It is worth seeing what the other side wants."

Moyong Sang-ah gave a small nod. Unlike her seething subordinates, she understood the situation faster than anyone present.

The chieftain's confidence was not without foundation.

Called the hegemon of Liaodong though it was, the Moyong Clan no longer commanded the stature of old. Worse, its strength was split clean in half.

The Jurchen's basic organization was mounted cavalry. Banded together, they could certainly make themselves a very great nuisance to the Moyong Clan.

"It is true that the Jurchen, banded together, are a force not to be dismissed. But 'the barbarians' land,' you say? Laughable. That land already belongs to our lord."

The sites where surveys had begun at Moyong Sang-ah's order were lands she had purchased well in advance. Whether the Jurchen would honor a purchase made under the laws of the Central Plains, however, was another matter entirely.

"My lord! Those barbarian whelps are beasts to be ruled with the whip, not tamed with feed!"

Moyong Sang-ah shook her head at the corpsmen's outburst.

"If it means we live, there is no reason not to buy peace with money."

"Have you forgotten? One of the reasons the Moyong Clan's fortunes faltered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠during past searches of the archives is that they were battered by those very barbarians."

"How much does it say they want?"

"My lord!"

As though she had no intention of hearing another ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠word, Moyong Sang-ah turned her head and asked Changbongdaeju about the papers the Jurchen envoy had left behind.

"The chieftain has sent the sum he desires. He wants wealth enough for his entire tribe to live without working for years."

Outrageous. To demand such a figure. At the amount Changbongdaeju named, groans rose from every corner of the hall.

"See there! An unconscionable sum! We should make an example of them, punish one to warn a hundred—"

"Pocket change."

But that was, in the end, the sort of remark only a mere warrior would make.

"..."

Only then did the Changbong Corps remember, once more, who the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠woman before them was.

The woman who had seized control of the ginseng trade route between Joseon and the Central Plains. One who drew silver out of Joseon's fields and sold it in the Central Plains at the price of gold.

The master of Changbong Hall. Moyong Sang-ah.

They remembered that she was a woman holding a fortune no one in the Moyong Clan had ever possessed.

"S-Still, whatever you say, we cannot bow to mere barbarians..."

The officer, his bearing softening, pressed once more.

"It is not bowing. It is taming."

"One does not negotiate with insolent beasts."

"Can you call it negotiation, when all you are doing is tossing them the scraps left over from your meal?"

"..."

Moyong Sang-ah gave a small nod to the room she had silenced in an instant.

As master of Changbong Hall, she had no wish to see unnecessary blood spilled. The money to be paid the Jurchen was a mere fraction of the revenue she brought in.

When she called the money her lord had granted her mere pocket change, her heart sank hollow and heavy for an instant—but as she went on stressing how trivial the price to be paid was, no further objection was raised.

"We shall tame the Jurchen as you command, my lord. There is, however, one small matter."

Changbongdaeju smiled faintly at the sight of his lord bending the whole assembly to her will, then summed up the discussion.

"What is it?"

"The chieftain of the region where the excavation is under way requests a meeting."

Changbongdaeju said this as he read the portion of the letter the Jurchen envoy had never reached.

"Very well. I shall go, and inspect the survey sites while I am at it."

When Moyong Sang-ah rose from her seat, Changbongdaeju ordered the corpsmen returned from their mission to rest, and declared the meeting adjourned.

"Today we lodge for a night at Pioneer Village, which has been supplying our survey teams, and tomorrow we are scheduled to meet the chieftain named Turshan."

Inside the carriage bound for the survey region, Changbongdaeju laid out the remaining itinerary for his lord.

"..."

What could she be thinking of? Changbongdaeju studied his lord, who gazed out of the carriage in silence.

Two years had passed since the wedding drenched in blood. The once-naive young lady had become, before anyone noticed, the master of Changbong Hall—and she no longer readily bared her heart even to him.

Was it because she bore the Moyong Clan alone?

Or was it because of one man?

"A wise decision, my lord. Truly wise. They say even the Jurchen side is relieved."

Changbongdaeju knew the reason, but chose not to dwell on the right answer, and resolved instead to lift his lord up.

"There is no reason to court petty friction when we have a great task before us."

It was money her lord had granted her to see that task done. If a small sum could cut away needless friction, it was money well spent.

Moyong Sang-ah nodded numbly at Changbongdaeju's praise.

"Yes. That is right. We must find the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives soon, and reclaim the Moyong Clan!"

If only the archives could be found. Then no matter what pretext anyone raised, the Moyong Clan would return to his lord's embrace. Changbongdaeju answered with a bright, vigorous smile.

"Let us hope the survey sites yield some clue to the archives."

Perhaps because he had spoken with such energy, Moyong Sang-ah, too, let slip a small piece of her heart.

"We will find it. I am certain of it."

Find the archives, reclaim the Moyong Clan—and may his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lord reclaim her smile as well. Changbongdaeju's hopeful wish did not last long.

"My lord!"

A Changbong corpsman came spurring his horse alongside the carriage, his face frantic.

"What is it?"

"The Pioneer Village that receives our survey teams' supplies—!"

"Pioneer Village?"

"It's under attack by the Jurchen!"

"What in the—?!"

It was burning.

The Pioneer Village that had supported the Moyong Clan's survey teams until only days ago was in flames. The Changbong corpsmen could only take in the carnage with faces of horror.

"They don't look like government troops. Who are you people?"

A Jurchen man rode up before the Moyong Clan's people, blood on his spearhead and an expression of perfect unconcern.

"We are the Changbong Corps of the Moyong Clan! What is the meaning of this?"

"Meaning? Hah?! This village was raised without our chieftain's leave! If it gets plundered, it has no complaint coming!"

The Jurchen man replied with a laugh, as though he had heard something hilarious.

"That village handled supply for our Moyong Clan's survey teams!"

"That is no concern of ours. This is our tribe's land! Not a place where Central Plains whelps may till the soil as they please!"

At the Jurchen's words, several Changbong corpsmen found their tongues tied.

On the face of it, he was not wrong.

Pioneer Village was a settlement raised by slash-and-burn farmers. An unauthorized village, it could be protected by no one—not by the officials of the Central Plains, nor by the Jurchen.

Except by one person.

"This man Turshan—"

Through the chaos came a voice colder than any other's, yet carrying a pressure that no one present could disregard.

"A woman?"

"Did you not know that Pioneer Village stands under my protection?"

"...If you intervene, we will not stand by idly."

Barely withstanding the suffocating pressure, the man turned his horse and withdrew.

"My lord! You cannot let this pass!"

"My lord. Regrettably, they are nothing more than slash-and-burn farmers."

The moment the Jurchen man withdrew, opposing reactions erupted at once.

"You would have me pretend I see nothing?"

With trembling eyes, Moyong Sang-ah gazed upon what had been Pioneer Village.

The affair was already drawing to its close. The men's corpses lay sprawled across the ground, the houses burned, and the Jurchen gorged themselves on spoils.

"Sometimes, for the greater cause, one must close one's eyes."

All that could be done now was vengeance. Changbongdaeju barred his lord's meaningless revenge.

"My lord! Those people live on your land, and they are under the Moyong Clan's protection!"

"We are, at this very moment, on our way to meet the chieftain."

"..."

Lips sealed tight, Moyong Sang-ah watched the main beam of a burning house come crashing down.

It was a hard choice.

To carry on the search for the archives undisturbed, she would have to look away. She could not waste manpower on the likes of the Jurchen.

She had promised Pioneer Village protection—but it had ever been only a promise of accommodation, the price of the aid her survey teams received.

A flimsy justification and a great practical gain. And so the choice was laid before her. A choice too heavy for a woman barely past her twentieth year to make alone.

'To reclaim the Moyong Clan, I need only close my eyes.'

She had to reclaim the Moyong Clan. She had to wrest it from the grasp of her brother and the Demonic Cult. There was no time to waste. Toss them the prey they crave, and we simply go about our work—that is all.

Close her eyes once, and it would be done. Between the acrid reek of corpses and the screams drifting from afar, Moyong Sang-ah sank deep into thought.

Such a desperately hard choice. And so Moyong Sang-ah thought of the one person who had made the most difficult choice in all the world.

Her lord, who had chosen her even in the moment of his death. Moyong Sang-ah thought of the love she carved into her heart every night.

"Mommy! Get up. Mommy. Why are you lying there? Mommyyyy!"

From far away, from Pioneer Village, drifted the wailing of a little girl.

What choice would her lord have made? Would he have told her to close her eyes, for the sake of reclaiming the Moyong Clan?

'My lord would...'

He had come running to save a woman in dire straits, and offered her his hand.

For a woman who could have feigned ignorance, he had willingly, smilingly, offered up his neck.

If, someday, she stood before her lord come out to welcome her home—and confessed that, to reclaim the Moyong Clan, she had turned away from a child reaching out its hand to her...

'What expression would my lord wear then?'

There was no need for long deliberation.

"Draw your blades."

"As you command!"

She did not fear the world pointing its finger and calling her a wicked woman. She feared only that, atop the final burning scaffold of judgment, she might not glimpse his smile even once.

Awaiting that single reunion, Moyong Sang-ah drew her blade—just as her lord had once extended his hand for her sake.