521.They touch the entirety of people's lives,
Issues that strike at the foundation of a state—like land reform—cannot be forced through with threats or brute strength.
They touch the entirety of people's lives, and beyond that, they reach into how people understand life itself—their worldview.
Because of this, such a problem cannot be handled as a mere policy tweak or institutional adjustment.
It collides with layers of perception that have accumulated deeply and over a long time.
Among scholars, there is an old analysis.
The aristocracy of Goryeo, it is said, placed little expectation on the afterlife.
The reason was simple: the present life was already abundant enough.
When reality is satisfying, people feel less need to imagine a distant world beyond it.
In eras of extreme hardship, people hasten to look past the end of this life and dream of the next.
But the privileged class of Goryeo lived under different conditions.
They owned vast tracts of land and harvested generous yields.
Even when taking half the crop as rent, their wealth continued to grow.
Power and honor followed naturally.
All of it together already formed the shape of heaven in this world.
If they had one wish, it was this:
"May these good days continue tomorrow."
Their worldview began with prosperity in the present and was built upon the order of the present.
Any reform that shook that order sounded to them like a crack forming in paradise.
They did not receive reform as policy.
They felt it as intrusion, destruction—something close to plunder.
For those without land, reality was entirely different.
In the shadows lived people with not even a handspan of earth to call their own.
They were called free commoners, yet their lives were tightly bound to the soil.
They paid more than half their harvest in rent and survived the year on what remained.
When famine came, debt and subjugation followed immediately.
At the end of that road waited inherited poverty.
To the aristocrats, it was heaven.
To them, it was an unbroken hell.
This contradiction returned as peasant uprisings, slave revolts, and armed clashes in the provinces.
When heaven and hell coexist within one country, the roots of that country weaken from the cracks.
Rot rises from below, and those above sense the stench late.
By the time it reaches them, the roots are already badly decayed.
That is why reform, even when righteous, does not work easily.
To those who wish for "this good world to continue,"
the words "share what you have now" sound not like persuasion, but like a demand for loss.
Even if a young king is brilliant and far-sighted, few will willingly set aside their present happiness.
People may recognize a crisis, yet still struggle to loosen their grip on what they hold.
For those already living in paradise, that instinct is even stronger.
No matter how formidable a warrior like Park Seong-jin might be,
no matter how much fear he inspires—enough to shake the entire capital—
interests do not move easily.
Land reform was not a matter of choice.
It was a matter that put their entire way of life on the line.
So even in the face of crisis,
the words "it must be done" were drowned out by
"things are fine as they are."
That resonance was closer to instinct than logic.
And instinct does not break easily under swords or speeches.
This explanation matters.
The land question was not simply a policy dispute.
It was the structural reason Goryeo could not endure for long.
Park Seong-jin and the young king were standing face to face with that structure.
This moment was not a debate over reform.
It was the point at which the fate of the nation would be decided.
If this barrier could not be crossed, Goryeo would collapse from within.
External threats had largely been held back.
A temporary peace had been secured.
The instability of the Yuan, the unease north of Liaodong, still lingered.
The problem of the Japanese raiders persisted as well.
Yet none of these were blows that would shatter the state at once.
They were scattered raids, shaking the provinces in fragments.
The scale of those attacks was steadily growing.
For now, they were still minor.
But repeated small embers become a wildfire.
That possibility was becoming clearer by the day.
The King's Fury
It was the third afternoon at the Secretariat–Chancellery.
Cool air lay over the hall as a censor carefully raised a document bound in both hands.
The moment the king opened it, his expression hardened.
"What is this. How does something like this reach me."
The censor bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, these are collected confessions from those who slandered General Park Seong-jin.
The general personally handed them over to the Office of Mounted Police,
and a separate report from that office will soon follow."
The king raised a hand, cutting him off.
"So what am I to do with this."
The censor swallowed.
"It is said that General Park was deeply disappointed to learn that such men exist within the court.
He believed them to be scholars of learning and character,
but seeing them engage in slander behind the scenes,
he questioned whether there is a flaw in how officials are selected—"
He stopped before he could say more.
Those were words Park Seong-jin himself had spoken before the throne.
The censor wished only to do what was ordered and remain standing.
He had no intention of staking his life on questions of right and wrong.
It was not only Park Seong-jin he feared.
The king's presence, as he read the document, was overwhelming him as well.
Silence settled over the hall.
The king slowly swept his gaze across the court.
"What should be done with those who spread rumors instead of doing their work."
No one answered.
The moment they spoke, the spark could leap onto them.
With a cold smile, the king continued.
"It seems the senior ministers have no thoughts at all."
As everyone held their breath,
Chief Councillor Yun Won-gyun stepped forward unwillingly.
"Your Majesty, this is shameful beyond measure.
It is a trivial matter, unworthy of public deliberation."
The king narrowed his eyes.
"Is arresting someone for false accusation a trivial matter."
Yun Won-gyun's mouth stiffened.
"What I mean is that it is problematic for a military officer
to attempt to enforce justice through force."
The king's gaze shifted to where the military officials stood.
"Should I understand that as disparaging the military."
Yun Won-gyun immediately bowed.
"My words went too far."
The king rapped the desk.
"Then speak plainly.
If Park Seong-jin was in the wrong, I will advise him.
Should he have remained silent after hearing slander,
or was it wrong to hand the matter to the Mounted Police."
Cold sweat beaded on Yun Won-gyun's forehead.
In the end, he said nothing.
The king gave a snort, as if confirming that silence.
"I will give my judgment."
All eyes turned toward the throne.
"To grant land and stipends to such men is an empty gesture.
They should be stripped of office."
The entire court rippled like a disturbed tide.
The king continued, his voice firm.
"The privately held lands owned by these men shall also be reclaimed by the state.
Originally, all land was public land.
Over long years, it merely became private through convenience and greed."
His voice dropped, cold and heavy.
"The lands of those who caused this trouble must be returned."
Yun Won-gyun rushed forward in alarm.
"Your Majesty, reclaiming stipends is reasonable,
but private land is another matter."
The king shot back at once.
"If stolen goods become legitimate because one paid money for them—
then where does theft ever end.
If the beginning is stolen, the end is stolen."
He did not retreat.
"Strip them of office.
Reclaim their private lands for the state."
The censor collapsed, his strength gone.
Color drained from the faces of the ministers.
More than twenty high officials were stripped of rank,
and their lands were taken back into state ownership.
The small ripple Park Seong-jin had stirred
became, in that moment, a tidal wave that shook the entire court.