159
Journey to Zhenjiang鎭江
Wang Pilsun, who had not shown himself for some time, was said to be in Zhenjiang.
Zhenjiang (鎭江).
A city on the southern bank of the Yangtze, where every road leading into Jiangnan converged.
It was where the Grand Canal met the Yangtze—a transportation heart where the world's goods gathered, then scattered again.
Park Seong-jin stared at the name for a while and murmured,
"Why of all places there?"
Then he nodded to himself.
For a merchant, it was the obvious choice.
Zhenjiang stood at the center of routes, a lifeline of movement.
Until now, logistics had flowed smoothly thanks to Yuan support, but no one knew how long that would last.
What was needed now was not victory in war, but an exit.
Not the end of fighting, but a road home.
"Where are you going?"
Song I-sul's voice came from behind.
Park Seong-jin turned.
"Zhenjiang."
"And why there?"
"I need to meet Lord Wang Pilsun."
He was the one who had handled food, weapons, horses, even minor daily supplies throughout the campaign.
The Goryeo court had paid in silver, and because of that, the front had held.
He must have profited, and surely exerted himself for his own sake as well,
but gratitude was still gratitude.
"Need something again?" Song I-sul asked.
"No. It's not that…"
Park Seong-jin chose his words carefully.
"It seems we're looking for an exit strategy."
Song I-sul narrowed his eyes.
"Hmm. An exit… I see."
A strange aftertaste lingered in his tone.
"Isn't it a bit late?"
"Why? Why is it late?"
"When old man Toqto'a fell—that was the moment.
When trouble strikes, that's when you leave.
Right then, you should have said, 'This is as far as we go,' and turned back."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"If the timing is late, the damage grows."
"Exactly."
Song I-sul's words were calm, but cold calculation lay beneath them.
He must have known all along and stayed silent, believing command belonged to the general.
"You've kept fighting all this time, so losses must be heavy.
Now you'll have to move without Yuan support.
Costs become a problem, and with the White Lotus remnants stirring, the safety of the return route can't compare to before."
As he listened, Park Seong-jin felt his thoughts grow unexpectedly clear.
Talking with Song I-sul had that effect—vague things fell into place one by one.
"The General's words…" he said carefully.
"I only understand them now, after hearing you."
"You're a sharp kid."
After a brief silence, Park Seong-jin asked,
"Then… why was this task given to me?"
Song I-sul smiled slowly.
"You worked there before."
"Before joining the army, I worked with a merchant group. I'm the second son."
"Right."
He nodded.
"That's the connection you're meant to use.
This isn't something solved through official channels.
It's not a military order—it has to be resolved through trust between people."
It sounded less like advice and more like responsibility.
Park Seong-jin fell silent.
"How do you plan to go?"
"Tonight. Once it gets dark, I'll take a boat straight downriver.
We'll have to cross the river anyway."
"Good thinking."
Park Seong-jin turned and bowed.
"I'll return."
Then he paused and asked again,
"But… why me, and why Lord Wang Pilsun?"
Song I-sul snorted softly.
"Your senior brother is great at fighting, but hopeless at politics.
No one to approach, no one to trust."
He waved a hand.
"That's why you go."
Park Seong-jin smiled faintly.
"Thank you."
That night, moonlight slipped through ash-colored clouds.
Park Seong-jin boarded a small boat.
As the oar cut through the water, ripples spread across the river.
In the darkness, his gaze turned south.
A Journey on the Waterway
It was early night.
As the cold settled, fog covered the water, and moonlight shattered faintly.
The boat carrying Park Seong-jin drifted south with the current.
The boatman—specially hired—rowed with ease, yet the boat moved with surprising speed.
It was the hand of someone who read the water perfectly.
From afar came the sound of barking dogs.
Nearby, only the intermittent splash of oars cutting water.
On board were three rowers, Song I-sul, and Park Seong-jin.
The wind was cold, the water deep.
In the unlit darkness, faces were indistinguishable.
Gripping the gunwale, Park Seong-jin sank into thought.
Why are we here?
Where does this war end?
They had fought at Toqto'a's request.
When he vanished, everyone scattered.
Those who remained fought to survive.
That was closer to the truth of war.
"Worried?" Song I-sul asked.
"I am."
"It shows on your face."
"Yes."
Park Seong-jin smiled slightly.
After a moment, Song I-sul continued.
"When you run over water, the mind sways with it.
If the boat is heavy, it sinks.
If it's light, it goes far.
People are the same."
Park Seong-jin nodded.
Because truth cannot always be spoken directly, metaphor is used.
Language that delivers truth straight on does not truly exist.
He spoke of the weight of cargo, but meant the weight of the mind.
Don't make it too heavy—keep your heart light.
That was the essence of this journey.
He was making something simple too difficult.
Go, convey the need for a retreat route, seek further wisdom—no more, no less.
Worrying now would change nothing.
Then lights appeared along the riverbank.
"Stop!"
A rough shout rang out as Zhang Shicheng's inspection post moved closer.
Spearpoints flashed in the moonlight.
"Who goes there!"
"A transport vessel. We have a permit."
The inspection officer raised a lantern, casting light over the boat.
His gaze was sharp.
"Documents from Gaoxing.
Gaoxing is already held by government troops.
These papers don't allow passage here."
"For what reason?"
"Because we're wary of Goryeo troops."
The spearpoints lowered.
At that moment, Song I-sul rose quietly.
"This won't be settled with words."
He let the words fall like a sigh—and the darkness split.
Shik—!
In a blink, the force released from Song I-sul's fingertips tore through the air.
The foremost soldier was flung backward with his spear.
Where he was struck, no one knew—but he hit the ground and died instantly.
The others rushing in were swept aside by Song I-sul's reserve oar.
Three were struck by the heavy blade of wood.
On the narrow deck, there was nowhere to dodge.
Bodies plunged into the water—splash, splash.
"Row!" Park Seong-jin shouted.
The boat spun and slid swiftly toward midstream.
Behind them, signs of pursuit rose.
Lanterns wrapped in paper floated over the water, drawing closer.
Song I-sul hurled palm force into the air.
Bang, bang—
Short explosive sounds rang out as recoil burst, and the boat shot forward.
Arrows rained down from behind, but in the darkness they found little mark.
Most struck the water.
Song I-sul swept his hand.
The air trembled, and the arrows' trajectories veered aside.
"This was expected," he said with a dry laugh.
"I knew they'd be guarding this stretch."
From afar, drums echoed faintly.
When Park Seong-jin looked back, the torches of the river checkpoint were already receding.
He turned his gaze to the moonlight on the water—
light that shattered, then rejoined.
The river flowed south as if nothing had happened.
Without humans, the world returns to nature.
It is we who block that endless return.