I considered staying for Oroseong’s lord’s funeral but decided against it. First, Heo Seokkyeok was subtly pressuring Jo Jegun with his gaze. Second, Jo Jegun, unable to withstand that pressure, was reluctantly supporting me and my entourage.
“If that’s the case, I’ll leave without troubling a busy man,” I said.
Jo Jegun’s expression was grim. The uncertainty over who’d be the next lord likely weighed on him. It was a hereditary position, after all.
The outcome depended on his actions. If Jo Jegun chose to follow me, even passively, I’d reward him accordingly. He wasn’t a fool—he’d understand my intent. I left a few brief words, confident no major issues would arise, and departed Oroseong.
Sitting alone in a room meant for guests, I thought it felt too spacious.
I should order this room cleaned and another prepared for visitors. As I pondered, the door opened.
“You’ve been calling me often lately,” a familiar voice said, accompanied by a strong scent.
I didn’t need to look to know it was Shin Gwiryeong.
She frowned at So Ikgyeom’s words. “Don’t blame me. I couldn’t ignore the young master’s summons, could I?”
Shin Gwiryeong smiled faintly, as if on cue.
“It’s not just anyone—it’s the young master I so admire,” she said.
“Enough nonsense,” So Ikgyeom snapped, clicking his tongue in irritation.
“Would one more word change anything?” he added.
Shin Gwiryeong laughed softly. “Who knows? I’m just making sure.”
A servant from the So family brought tea. Shin Gwiryeong paused, lifting the cup to her lips before continuing, “Thanks to you, I’ve realized something.”
Her gaze slid from So Ikgyeom’s scowl to the table, landing on a letter.
It was from Grand Prince Ikwon, Ye-kyeong.
“Now he’s rushing to Wolha to investigate some rebellion?” she said.
“Things have changed so much. Who’d have thought it’d come to this?” she added, her voice tinged with amusement.
So Ikgyeom’s frown deepened.
Shin Gwiryeong continued, unfazed. “His Majesty’s second son, Yehwi, left a trail of chaos. A reckless wastrel, a filthy beast lost in the past, clueless about his own actions. Years passed, his body grew, but his mind stayed stunted. A man who gnawed away decades of merit.”
“Yet he’s still the most beloved grandson,” she said.
So Ikgyeom knew. Yehwi’s frail nature wasn’t fit for a sage king. His wounds were deep, but that didn’t justify his cruelty, selfishness, or arrogance.
And he was too young.
If only he could’ve prevented the Deposed Queen’s death or her dethronement, would his grandson have grown differently?
He tried to guide him. The scars were inevitable, but he believed he could care for him. Yet his grandson rejected him, drove him out, and even threatened him.
When threats failed, he turned the blade on himself.
So Ikgyeom remembered that foolish choice.
He realized he could do nothing for his grandson and shouldn’t try. The least he could do was show minimal loyalty.
“It’s not just anywhere—it’s Wolha. I can’t help but worry what hardships His Highness will face. What’s your heart saying, General?” Shin Gwiryeong asked, tilting her head like a mischievous beast.
“Why did he go there? I’m curious,” she said.
So Ikgyeom glared. “You already know, so don’t ask.”
“Oh, General, don’t tease. How would I know what’s happening at the far edge of the north?” she replied, her dark eyes curving like a crescent moon.
She spoke with a mix of mockery and pity. “What means do I have?”
Calling it a rebellion and feigning ignorance was a blatant lie. The Pyeonggwang Merchant Guild, led by Shin Gwiryeong, had branches across Mokryeoguk and dozens abroad. If she didn’t know something, even Mokryeoguk’s emperor would struggle to.
So Ikgyeom slammed his fist on the table, making it shudder.
“You think I called you for idle chatter?” he growled.
“Well, I’d need to hear what you have to say first. Is it a jest, or something else?” Shin Gwiryeong replied, her smile fading.
“This is pointless,” she added.
She tapped her head. “I know what I’m planning.”
So Ikgyeom groaned, adjusting his posture. Facing Shin Gwiryeong was always unsettling. Last time, Ye-kyeong’s presence had shielded him from her jabs.
“Speak plainly,” he said.
“Of course, always. Always so direct!” she replied, mocking.
His stomach churned. He knew he shouldn’t be swayed by her words, but his anger was hard to suppress. He was usually calm, but she got under his skin.
“Where’s the Grand Marshal’s composure now?” she teased.
“Shut your mouth,” So Ikgyeom snapped.
“You knew, didn’t you? You tried, didn’t you?” she pressed.
Shin Gwiryeong stared, unyielding. “After letting it all go, growling at me is pointless. Do you think you still have choices, General? Truly?”
She paused, staring at him. He wanted to look away, but the room felt too small to escape.
“You’re still hesitating,” she said, shaking her head slowly.
“There’s still something for you, General.”
“What?” he demanded, his fist clenching under the table.
“What am I? Who am I?” he asked.
“I’m the General,” he answered himself, the words bitter.
Shin Gwiryeong looked at him with dissatisfaction.
“And?” she prompted.
“Why does it matter what I am?” he shot back.
He gripped the cold teacup, lifting it to his lips but setting it down without drinking. Swallowing now would make him sick. His insides twisted.
“Don’t blame me,” he said.
He was once a girl’s father. Now, he had only one kin left—a grandson.
But he’d been a warrior longer.
A martial officer fighting for the nation, for his lord.
Not a man fighting for family.
“It’s not my fault,” he insisted.
“Then whose is it?” she asked.
“He chose this. You know that,” So Ikgyeom said, his face darkening as he recalled Yehwi.
Was his face round? Were his lips thin or full?
He couldn’t picture it.
To lose kin and live cloaked in grief, yet forget so quickly—he despised himself.
Shin Gwiryeong glared with pity. “You keep running.”
“There’s nothing I can do!” he shouted.
“Is that so?” she replied.
She snatched Ye-kyeong’s letter. “What does His Highness think?”
She held it before his weathered face. “Why go to Wolha suddenly? Why would that lazy man travel so far, seeking hardship?”
The letter rustled. So Ikgyeom leaned back.
“Why did His Majesty allow His Highness’s investigation?” she asked.
“There could be a rebellion,” he said.
“You believe that? Am I a fool?” she retorted.
So Ikgyeom fell silent.
“You’re the fool, General, believing that. You’re done,” she said. “Age spares no one.”
“Be quiet,” he growled.
She smiled, but her eyes didn’t. So Ikgyeom realized she wasn’t joking.
“Don’t worry. His Highness will be delighted. Will you stay silent as your last kin risks death, General?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“He’s just going safely,” he said.
“He’s changed,” she interjected.
So Ikgyeom froze. He’d said that once.
“His Highness has changed, hasn’t he?” she pressed.
He’d resented himself for rejecting him. He’d sworn to provide Jongmeoki Flower, though always insufficient. The palace’s atmosphere had shifted. His kin had changed.
But it was a fleeting remark, weaponized now. He should’ve been more cautious. He, So Ikgyeom, had been reckless.
“Was it true?” she asked.
“It was,” he admitted.
“Then what’s there for me to do?” she said.
His expression darkened further, wrinkles deepening, shadows falling.
“I won’t be sure,” he said.
“You think His Highness won’t take the throne?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” he said, his shoulders sagging.
“You’re sure His Highness needs my help?” she pressed.
“But, young master,” he began.
While he hesitated, Shin Gwiryeong unfolded Ye-kyeong’s letter, reading it. She muttered that she’d take on his request. The prince likely wanted that too.
“Opportunities are only seen after they’re lost. By then, it’s too late,” she said coolly.
Still, So Ikgyeom couldn’t be certain. If his kin had changed, he might change too.
He’d grown close to Yu Geung. Among the entourage, Hanseon was the most open, but exhausted from travel, he struggled to ride and was quieter than usual.
Pausing for lunch, I teased Yu Geung. “You think you’re stuck on this unplanned trip because you caught my eye?”
Choking on his water, Yu Geung coughed violently, shaking his head. “No, no, Your Highness!”
I slumped, sighing. “Sure you do.”
“No, please retract that!” he pleaded.
“What’s not true? You choked, so I must be right,” I said.
After some playful banter, I stood. “Let’s go.”
After traveling until riding grew tedious, Namakseong’s gate came into view.