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The gates of Geumseong (金城) opened.The wind that had blown all night slipped through the gap in the doors and brushed against the saddles.Yi In-jung pressed down on his saddle once, then mounted his horse slowly.Behind him, dozens of tents still stood where they were.The wine left in the cups had gone cold, and the words once exchanged had already scattered into the air.
Park Seong-jin aligned his horse and asked,"Are we leaving just like this?"
"Yes. Staying put doesn't make things happen just because there's nothing to show for it," Yi In-jung replied, holding the reins."I told Araktai we were returning."
"And what did he say?"
"He said, 'You've worked hard.' Hah."A short laugh escaped him."They know we put in the effort. But there's nothing to gain. Liaoyang, they insist, was always their land, and Ssangseong they greet with a smile and say, 'Let's discuss it.' In the end, it's all about buying time. They ask for things they never intend to give, and then later they'll say peace failed because those demands weren't met."
He urged his horse forward and passed through the gate.The newly risen morning sun cast long shadows across the frost of the steppe.The golden plain was beautiful.Yet that beauty felt strangely desolate—because there was nothing in their hands.
The plan to cooperate with Nahaču and prepare for changes in the Central Plains had ultimately failed.The idea itself had not been wrong, but he was not someone to walk the path with.A temperament that would not take a single step unless even the smallest gain was settled—its limits were clear.
A few cavalrymen looked down quietly from the wall.The banners fluttered in the wind, but there was no farewell, no send-off.Only expressionless faces passed by in the cold air.Yi In-jung turned once on horseback and looked back.
Above the meeting grounds, Nahaču's banner still flew.A black falcon on a red field—a color like dried blood, the color of desire that does not easily fade.
"They must believe we won't last long," he said, his voice low but firm."But we will endure. That's proof that we're still alive."
Park Seong-jin bowed his head.In his eyes passed something deeper than frustration—sorrow.There are things that must be done even when you know they won't work.A soldier is someone entrusted with such tasks.A road where neither gain nor loss is clear—yet it was the only path of return allowed to them.
The wind blew.The snow-covered plain gave a low murmur.From somewhere far away came the sound of a horse neighing.Yi In-jung tightened the reins and muttered,
"Come on. Whether it's battle or negotiation—in the end, the words of the one who survives are the ones that stand."
His gaze turned north.Beyond lay the sky of Liaoyang.He urged his horse forward toward that sky, slowly.He did not look back.
Behind them, the banners of Geumseong swayed in the wind and gradually grew distant.A sliver of light caught on his scabbard for a moment—then vanished.
The Road Home — A Conversation in the Snowstorm
The snowfall grew heavier.The sky over the steppe pressed low, and the wind cut at faces like blades.Yi In-jung's party turned their horses south.The gates of Geumseong receded quickly, and the banners atop the walls flapped as if being torn apart by the wind.
Each strike of hooves against the frozen ground sent white snow-dust spraying up like powder.The breath of the horse ahead rose like smoke, then scattered at once.Yi In-jung pulled his hood low and rode with his head bent.Half his face was buried in snow, but his eyes remained steady.
Park Seong-jin drew his horse close."Commander."
"Yes."
"Did we really… gain nothing at all?"
Yi In-jung did not answer immediately.The wind cut through the silence between them.Only after brushing snow from his gloves did he speak.
"You could say we gained nothing."He paused, then added,"But you never know how things turn out. A few words can become seeds. For now, though, we hold nothing in our hands."
Park Seong-jin nodded, though he could not yet grasp the full weight of those words.Yi In-jung continued,
"You saw Nahaču's eyes today. He doesn't want to fight right now. But that doesn't mean he isn't afraid."He spoke low as he rode."Remember that."
Park Seong-jin hesitated, then asked,"Still… what do we do now?"
"We go back."The answer was simple."Whether it's war or diplomacy, in the end the side that returns and prepares is the one that wins. If they don't want peace, then there will be war again. We may be few, but we won't be easy prey."
Yi In-jung slowed his horse and lifted his gaze northward.Beyond the snowstorm, the outline of mountain ridges faintly appeared.Beyond them lay the road they would face again.
"Park Seong-jin."
"Yes."
"Study is the same. Nothing ends in a single attempt."His voice was clear even through the storm."What you fail to gain now will return someday, in a different form."
A deeper meaning rode on those words, left unexplained.Park Seong-jin answered by quietly tightening his frozen reins.Snow piled on his shoulders, then slid away with the wind.Hoofprints carved a long path across the white ground.
When he looked back, the banners of Geumseong had already vanished from sight.Only the empty wind covered the place they had been.Ash-gray sky, white earth—cutting between them, the two-column procession moved silently southward.