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On the night after Zhu Yuanzhang departed, Liuhe Fortress sank into an eerie stillness.The lights were gone, and the drums had fallen silent.The flags atop the walls hung limp, and whenever the wind blew, scraps of fire-scorched cloth fell away.The remnants inside the fortress could not bring themselves to judge that the fighting was over and scattered instead.Command remained a void, and the soldiers stayed where they were.
The Collapse of the North Gate
Inside the fortress, people moved with weapons in hand.Some sharpened spearheads, others tended dying embers.They faced one another, yet no words passed.Only tension filled the space.
At dawn that day, the north gate began to shake.Outside, huihui trebuchets hammered the walls.Bricks cracked and fell, and through the smoke of bombardment, the first light of morning seeped in.Night receded as if pushed back, darkness thinning.At the moment that change touched them, a shout burst out.
"Enemy!"
With the cry, dead sound came back to life.People seized their weapons and moved.But the motions failed to interlock—the gestures of an army moving without a leader.
The gate collapsed.What entered first was not troops but fire.Firepots hurled by trebuchets fell, igniting storehouses, palisades, and roofs in turn.The flames rode the wind, and screams tore out from the thick smoke.
"Fire!""Help!"
People surged toward the gate.But there, the battlefield was already knotted tight.The Goryeo vanguard poured in first, followed by Yuan cavalry flooding after them.Spears clashed, swords snapped.Firelight stained faces red.
White Lotus soldiers climbed the battlements only to be swallowed by flames.The remnants of Guo Zixing's force fell one by one behind palisades.Park Seong-jin swung his sword in the midst of it all.Blood and ash were mixed across his face.Panting, he shouted,
"Don't capture them!""Let the ones who run go!"
But the battlefield was already moving on individual judgment.Nearby Goryeo units advanced while keeping formation.Yuan soldiers scattered, drawn by the fire.Fire seized the fortress before men did.
After time passed, only firelight remained inside the city.The walls were lower; stone pillars had sunk.Zhang Shicheng and Guo Zixing were nowhere to be seen.Those who survived raised their hands and looked up at the burning sky.Park Seong-jin slowly lowered his sword.
The flames were reflected in his eyes.
Yi In-jung's Report
Yi In-jung was compiling the situation before the shattered gate.On ash-covered ground, he lifted his brush.
"Fortress taken."
After a brief pause, he continued.
"Rebels killed or surrendered."
He wrote again.
"Casualties — under assessment."
Beside him, Yun Gyeongbok spoke quietly.
"It's hard to call this a victory."
"Yes," Yi In-jung nodded."That silence is why."
Dawn by the River
At dawn the next day, fog lay along the riverbank.A faint rhythm of oars carried over the water.A small boat drifted along the river, oars cutting the surface at steady intervals.Across the river, thin smoke rose.
Fire remained; the fortress was still.The boat slowly dissolved into the fog.The riverbank returned to quiet.Only the smell of fire-scorched stone lingered on the wind.
Winter in Beiping, the Name Tokto
Winter in Beiping was unusually long.Ice pressed down upon the land, and the wind carried the metallic tang of the northern steppe.At the tip of that wind rode the name of the empire's eminent grand councillor, Tokto (脫脫).
He was a commander of Merkit blood.From the moment he first entered the Great Khan's court, he was known as a man who sought to set the realm straight with book and sword.He spoke little, dressed plainly, observed ritual—and decided swiftly.
He sat quietly, yet when needed, rose before anyone else.If his uncle Bayan had founded the empire, Tokto was the one who raised it again.He gathered shattered order, bound scattered authority, suppressed the White Lotus rebellion, and calmed the turmoil of Jiangnan.The court at Dadu leaned on him, and Emperor Toghon Temür trusted him.Wherever his name appeared in reports, rebellions vanished and bandits hid.
Under his brush, law was set; under his word, the state moved.Yet that very fact became the problem.As his merits accumulated, ministers increasingly avoided his gaze.They bowed before the emperor while refusing to speak his name aloud.The greater the achievements, the deeper the unease; the longer the silence.
"Grand Councillor Tokto thinks himself a king.""He commands many troops.""If he changes his mind, the realm will split in two."
Such words spread beyond the walls of the Secretariat.Whispers did not linger; they slowly took shape.
Toghon Temür trusted him.But the ministers' words gained weight by the day.
"Your Majesty, power is concentrated in one man.""After the rebellion is quelled, what if he turns the army?""He is Merkit.""He is not of Mongol stock."
Those words put origin before loyalty, stature before merit.Days later, an edict reached Tokto.
"Dismiss Grand Councillor Tokto."
The official reading it trembled, unable to raise his head.
Tokto said nothing.He merely ran a hand slowly over the scabbard he had set aside.
"If this is the law of the empire, I will obey."
He lifted his head and looked to the sky.There were no stars.
"If power has issued the order, then that order is the law."
That night, no lights burned in his house.The generals and officials who followed him scattered.Days later, in the Liuhe encampment, Yi In-jung and Park Seong-jin heard the news.
"They say Grand Councillor Tokto has been dismissed."
"Why, on the eve of victory?"
Yi In-jung answered briefly.
"Victory was the problem."
He said no more.
How could one explain those tangled political calculations and maneuvers?Only this thought remained: the fall of the Yuan Empire might come sooner.Tokto had been a loyal minister prolonging its life.
From beyond the walls, the wind blew in—carrying the smell of ash.