65
Lee In-jung was already awake.He stood at the far end of the guesthouse corridor, within the shadow cast by a pillar.The first thing he noticed was the disorderly trail of footprints left on the snow, leading into the center of the courtyard.At their end, the young Park Seong-jin stood alone, holding a sword.
Lee In-jung did not approach.He did not even conceal his presence deliberately.Not because concealment was necessary, but because this was a moment that must not be interrupted.
He watched.
The shoulder lifting ever so slightly during Pyeongmu-se.The mind reaching first to release strength, the body responding a fraction late.The breath outrunning the blade in Ungeom-se, breaking the flow.And in Churak-se, the instant when the sword fell too early—when it should not have fallen at all.
He wanted to speak, but held back.He did not step closer.
When the sword tip struck the snow, Lee In-jung's eyes narrowed for a brief moment.Even then, he did not move.
He watched Park Seong-jin remain frozen in place.The face where breath had tangled, the blade still embedded.The expression of someone who had realized—on his own—that his hands were trembling.
Lee In-jung watched it to the very end.
He knew that the trembling was not a lack of technique, but the trace of a body that had survived and had not yet released the battlefield.And he did not try to fix it.It was not something that could be fixed.
There are lessons that cannot be taught.Lee In-jung had learned that long ago.
Understanding must come from within; words cannot change it.That, too, is swordsmanship.
He turned his eyes toward the sky.It was a gray dawn sky, not yet fully risen.Beneath it, a young man knelt in the snow.
Lee In-jung did not see the sight as shame.Nor as defeat.It was simply a passage.
Only after Park Seong-jin lowered the sword and knelt silently in the snow did Lee In-jung turn away.His steps made no sound.He walked across the snow lightly enough to leave no trace.
Even in his mind, he left no words behind.It was still a time when words were unnecessary.
From that day on, Park Seong-jin came to the courtyard every dawn.Whether snow piled high or the wind cut sharply did not matter.He retraced, alone, the Joseon-style sword forms Lee In-jung had shown him, lifting the blade where no one watched.
The paths traced upon the snow were different each time.Yesterday's line did not carry into today, and today's mark was erased by tomorrow.The sword was always in the same place, but the man began from a different place each time.
At first, the blade led him.The sword tip moved first, the body followed a beat too late.His breath broke often, and the more he tried to relax, the more tension settled into his shoulders.
Then one day, he stopped.
The sword rested lightly in his hand.His breath extended in a single, long line.His body did not hurry.
The sword tip moved more slowly than before.The traces in the snow were still different.
But at their center, one breath continued without breaking.
The Conference at Gold City — Nahaču's Summons
That morning, Gold City was unusually still.Snow that had fallen through the night covered the ramparts and gates, and not even a single line of wind stirred.The white walls gleamed as if carved from ice.
The knock on the guesthouse door came just as the sun began to rise over the battlements.
"General, envoys from the Northern Yuan have arrived."
When Park Seong-jin opened the door, white breath spilled into the air.Standing outside was Arakhtai—the Northern Yuan commander who had first received them.
But he was different today.The coldness remained, yet within it lay a subtle formality.Before words changed, his manner had already shifted.
What matters more than words is atmosphere and context.
"I have come to escort Jungnangjang Lee In-jung."
He spoke the rank precisely.That alone was both courtesy and warning.
Lee In-jung rose slowly.
"I received word. Lord Nahaču requested me personally, did he not?"
"That is correct. After hearing yesterday's discussion, he wished to see you himself."
"The location?"
"The North Pavilion. A place where the Khan often stays."
Park Seong-jin's eyes widened for an instant.The North Pavilion stood at the heart of Gold City.It was not a place foreign envoys were easily permitted to enter.
Lee In-jung's expression did not change.
"I understand. I will follow shortly."
Arakhtai nodded, then turned to Park Seong-jin and Oh Jin-cheol.
"You two will remain here."
Park Seong-jin stepped forward instinctively, but Arakhtai immediately added,
"Gold City is secure. Refrain from unnecessary movement."
With that, he turned and walked off along the snow-covered path.
Silence returned to the guesthouse.
"It could be dangerous," Park Seong-jin said.
"There is no negotiation without danger," Lee In-jung replied.
Oh Jin-cheol fastened his robe neatly.His fingertips trembled for a moment, then stilled.
"A place like this is more frightening than holding a sword.One sentence can save a country—or lose it."
He buckled his sword at his waist, habitually tapping the scabbard.The sound seemed unusually loud.
"Why bring it?" Park Seong-jin asked.
"In case… we need to move."
As they proceeded deeper into the city, snow had half-melted along the alleys.Smoke from braziers burned through the night drifted faintly above the walls.
Arakhtai and Lee In-jung walked side by side.No words passed between them.Only the steady rhythm of footsteps on snow continued.
"Have you ever walked such a path before?" Arakhtai asked at last."A road into the heart of enemy territory."
"Many times. But today is different.This is not a path to face an enemy—it is a path to meet a person."
"A person?"
"Yes. When war ends, only people remain.If you understand that, war itself looks different."
Arakhtai fell silent, then nodded.
"That may be why Lord Nahaču has taken an interest in you."
The North Pavilion stood on a hill within the city.Once, sealed letters had passed through here from golden tents of the steppe.Deep Western-style patterns were carved into the walls.
When the doors opened, the interior was dark and deep.Only a single fire burned low at the center.
Beyond it sat a man—one who had shaken both the steppe and these lands.
He wore a silk robe draped over bearskin.His posture was relaxed, yet his gaze was profound.He did not move, and yet the space itself seemed bound around him.
"I am Lee In-jung, Jungnangjang of Goryeo."
Lee In-jung bowed.
Nahaču raised a hand slowly, gesturing for him to sit.
"You've come a long way.The war has ended, but the hearts of nations are still fighting."
"That is why I have come. To let those hearts rest."
Nahaču smiled.
"Your king… is not foolish."
He lifted a cup and poured wine.
"A single word from you may change the fate of the North.You came prepared for that weight, did you not?"
"Yes."
"Then today, we are not here to fight, but to speak."
The firelight flickered, illuminating their faces.No swords. No banners.Only words and silence filled the space.
Outside, the wind rose again.Snow drifted through the window lattice.
Nahaču set down his cup.
"When this snow stops falling—if your words are sincere… I will take that outstretched hand."
Lee In-jung bowed quietly.
"I hope that day comes."
The flame trembled once more.They sat facing each other in silence,as snow fell and the world held its breath.