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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Sui Captive Village
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As Yeon Gaesomun sat down beside him, the cart set off. Leaning back against the silk-upholstered seat, Yeon Gaesomun asked,
"I heard you're heading to the Sui Captive Village."
"Yes."
"What for?"
"I thought I'd try making something. And apologize while I'm at it."
"Do you think the families of the dead will accept that? They'll bow and scrape on the surface, of course."
"I'm apologizing to put my own mind at ease."
The cart paused briefly as they reached the gate, accompanied by a shout to open it.
"Do you really think that will ease your mind?"
The carriage jolted hard once, then rolled onward.
"What do you mean by that?"
"An apology is for the sake of others. But you're doing it just to soothe your own heart."
His chest tightened as he listened to Yeon Gaesomun. Truth be told, his desire to apologize stemmed more from wanting to lighten his own burden than from pure remorse. On top of that, there was the expectation that acting kindly like this would earn him greater loyalty.
"It's the only way I think the smell of blood on my hands might fade a little."
"That doesn't go away. You just get used to it."
"How long do you think we can keep this up?"
"Keep what up?"
"Beheading people as examples."
He wanted to point out that even in the modern world he'd lived in, there was a country that did exactly that—North Korea. It filled him with boundless sorrow that his beloved Goguryeo resembled it so closely.
"The human heart contains both a blast furnace and the sea. It burns hot when swept up in something, and it always yearns to flow freely."
"Isn't that just natural for people?"
"Haven't we always said our family's power comes from the slaves? That's why we keep shaking them constantly."
"Who?"
"The Great King and his lackeys. This escape attempt was tied to them. That's why we had no choice but to make an example."
"It's too much."
"If it weren't for your request, I would have executed their families right there on the spot."
Yeon Gaesomun spoke so matter-of-factly that he looked like a devil.
"What crime did the families commit to deserve execution?"
"They must have known about the escape plan."
"You can't stop it that way. Why not just free all the slaves?"
"What?"
Yeon Gaesomun's eyebrows twitched in shock—the first time since he'd possessed Yeon Namsaeng.
"Then our clan's power would vanish."
"Don't you think those slaves might turn their spears on us?"
"How dare they..."
"They died trying to escape. Next time, they'll figure they're going to die anyway and seek revenge instead. If their hearts really have a blast furnace in them, like you said."
Yeon Gaesomun fell deep into thought after hearing him out. For people in this era, class distinctions and obedience were everyday life. He was certain that shattering that framework would win massive support. Of course, he'd have to frame it as benevolence toward them.
"So what are you saying we should do? We can't free them right away."
"I'll go and apologize sincerely. Once my mind is at ease, the next steps will come to me."
"True, granting grace after shedding blood isn't a bad strategy."
"I plan to be sincere about it."
"You mustn't give your heart to anyone."
"Not even to you, Father?"
He paused to listen to the rumbling cart wheels before adding that.
"Wouldn't it be better to grant them freedom and ask them to protect us?"
"It's unfamiliar territory. We can't rush it."
Yeon Gaesomun wasn't saying no—he was saying to wait. He wasn't just some brute dictator after all; his thinking was broad. He nodded in response.
"Understood."
Yeon Gaesomun gazed at him for a moment, then tugged on the hanging cord. A small bell rang out, and the order to halt the procession echoed. Soon the curtain was pulled back, and Yeon Gaesomun rose to step outside. He followed suit, and Yeon Gaesomun turned to him.
"Come back safely."
"You too, Father. Safe travels to court."
As he bowed in greeting, Yeon Gaesomun clasped his hands behind his back, a pleased expression on his face.
"You've grown bold."
It didn't seem like he was expecting a reply. After watching Yeon Gaesomun board another carriage and depart, they set off once more.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The Sui Captive Village lay south of Chang'an Fortress, at a place called Surak Mountain. They had to cross the Paeksu—better known as the Daedong River. Fortunately, they used a pontoon bridge already set up over a small tributary. They followed the mountain foothills for a good while before stopping. Geom Mojam pulled back the curtain.
"We've arrived, Master."
The first thing he noticed was the multitude of eyes upon him. Adults and children in tattered, hole-ridden clothes had gathered around the carriage. He'd never been the center of so much attention in his life, and it made him shrink back a little. He could see the cavalrymen and guards who'd accompanied him tensing up. He shouted at them as they moved to hold back the villagers.
"It's fine—don't block them."
Geom Mojam hesitated but gestured, and the cavalry and guards fell back. An elderly man pushed through the crowd and approached.
"We hardly know where to put ourselves with you gracing our humble abode. I'm the village chief, Dang Ji-gye."
"I should have come much sooner."
He spoke while bowing deeply and clasping his hands. Gasps of admiration rose from the crowd. Even Geom Mojam looked stunned. The chief, Dang Ji-gye, was trembling.
"It's humble, but please come to my home first."
"There's a place I need to visit first."
"Where?"
"I'd like to see Deong-soe's house."
Dang Ji-gye paused for a moment and let out a sigh.
"Then you'll have to come to my house. He was my youngest brother."
"I see."
He followed the chief, who led the way. The houses around were slightly different from the thatched roofs of early Joseon—similar roofs, but walls heavy with wood. The doors were different too, probably because they lived sitting upright. It was unusual to see pot-like earthenware used as chimneys. And in every yard stood something like an attic storeroom.
Those must be the granaries.
The chief's house was at the end of the alley. The yard had a wide platform with mats laid out, and people were gathered. Among them were the families from Deong-soe's execution. As soon as he passed through the gate, he bowed deeply to them. Cries of surprise rose from the shocked onlookers.
"This won't ease the sorrow of losing your family. Even so, I am truly sorry."
He'd agonized over it all night. He'd even considered skipping it altogether. But his heart remained unbearably troubled. The fact that he'd killed a man with his own hands didn't seem like something time alone would erase. In the end, he'd decided to meet the bereaved families, apologize, and lighten his burden. He approached them one by one, taking their hands and repeating how sorry he was. Each time, the families wept and bowed their heads. Once the greetings were done, he went to the chief.
"Tell me what you need. I'll help however I can."
"Your mere presence overwhelms us with gratitude. For one like us lowly folk to receive such a bow..."
Their brothers were dead, yet here they were thanking the killer. It was a bone-deep reminder of the caste system in this ancient kingdom. It was heartbreaking and suffocating. He imagined even living like a prince in a world like this would bring suffering. As he stared blankly, Chief Dang Ji-gye spoke up.
"I have one request."
"Speak it."
"Might this lowly one offer you a drink? Would you permit it?"
"Of course."
The crowd marveled again at his immediate reply. Dang Ji-gye went into the kitchen and returned with an earthenware bowl filled with cloudy liquor like makgeolli.
"This is the drink offered at my brother's altar."
Upon hearing that, he downed it in one gulp. He handed back the empty bowl, and Dang Ji-gye dropped to his knees on the ground.
"We are eternally grateful. From now on, my village and I pledge our lives to you, young master."
No sooner had Dang Ji-gye finished than the Sui Captive villagers knelt on one knee in unison. He could easily sense the sincerity in it.
"Rise. Keep those lives for a long, long time."
"Thank you."
Dang Ji-gye's shoulders trembled as he stood. Watching him, he recalled the real purpose of his visit.
"By the way, who in this village has the best handiwork?"
"When it comes to craftsmanship, no one rivals Ham-a, son of the bowyer."
"I need to take him for something important. Is that all right?"
"Of course."
Dang Ji-gye pointed to one young man among the gathered villagers. A fellow in his early twenties rose and approached. His hair was tousled, and he wore worn hemp clothes. The chief patted his head.
"This is the one. From cart wheels up, there's nothing he can't make."
"Perfect. That's exactly what I need made."
"Go pack your things."
Ham-a bobbed his head and dashed into the house. He returned shortly with a bundle containing clothes and tools.
He returned to the cart at the village entrance with Ham-a. A messenger had arrived and was waiting. Geom Mojam went over and spoke with him.
"National Academy Scholar Lee Mun-jin wishes to meet."
"Where?"
"The National Academy is at Jeongneung Temple right now. He says to come there."
"Where is that?"
"It's nearby."
"Excellent. Send this boy home first. Get him new clothes, let him rest. Until we start the work."
"Understood."
Geom Mojam called over two guards to take Ham-a. In the meantime, he boarded the carriage. Leaning against the backrest, a flicker of ambition began to stir.
"Here, I'm practically a god."
There might be no cola or pizza, but he wielded the power of life and death over people. At the same time, another thought crossed his mind.
But he let out a sigh soon after. Before changing history, he had to save his own neck first.
Enemies on all sides.
He had to survive first. Only then would opportunities arise to change history or leave his mark. He had no desire to go down as some tragic hero in the annals. He wanted to live long and savor everything life offered. He pondered what he needed to do for that.
So much to do, but I don't know how.
The more he thought, the more his head ached. Even so, one idea took root.
Just protecting Goguryeo isn't enough. I need to create a world where people can truly thrive.
The cart began to move slowly. From afar came the villagers' cries wishing him a safe journey.
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Jeongneung Temple stood beside the tomb of Dongmyeongseongwang, founder of Goguryeo. When King Jangsu moved the capital to Pyongyang, he'd relocated the original tomb, and Jeongneung Temple had been built to tend it. A voice announced their arrival at the temple, and the curtain was drawn back. The sight of Jeongneung Temple filled his view at once. He couldn't help but gasp in admiration.
"My God."