743.
Baeksu's house was different from a distance.
The wall struck the eye first.
It was not a mud wall but dressed stone stacked with care.
Neither high nor low, yet firm enough that one could not easily peer inside.
Above the wall, the line of roof tiles ran like a gentle wave, and the gate was wide enough for two men to pass abreast with space to spare.
The lacquer on the door panels still shone, as if the fresh coat had not yet fully dried.
Inside the gate lay an outer yard.
It was broad, the earth tamped smooth.
Not a single hoofprint.
The traces of daily sweeping and leveling were plain.
A servant approached in silence and took their horses.
He bowed deeply, yet without servility.
It was the movement of a man long trained in such a house.
The main hall was two stories.
In Goryeo, even in Gaegyeong, it was not a common structure.
A corridor of servant quarters wrapped the second-floor gallery.
The lower story had thick pillars set wide apart, and the upper level jutted out like a pavilion.
Intricate wood carvings lined the railing, and the painted colors, caught by sunlight, spread softly.
It was not ostentation.
It carried the leisure of one who had enjoyed such things for a long time.
As they stepped deeper, a garden opened.
It felt like another world brought inside the house.
A pond came into view first.
Not large, yet deep, so the water held a dark sheen.
Strange rocks were placed along the edge, and between them rare flowers and grasses had been planted.
Unknown blossoms had opened ahead of season, and under broad-leafed trees, shade lay neatly arranged.
A small wooden bridge crossed the water.
Beyond it rose a low artificial mound.
It was clearly modeled after the Three Divine Isles.
Near the pond sat a place with silk cushions laid out—
for tea, for a zither, or simply for watching fish drift.
In the pond, red and white fish circled slowly.
Even without being fed, they showed no sign of hunger.
Inside the house, people had gathered.
All wore fine clothing.
Silk, with colors restrained.
Men in garments like tidy official robes.
Women in wide-sleeved dress.
Even the children were clean.
No shadow lay on their faces.
Their laughter was low and soft.
When one spoke, another nodded and received the words.
No one spoke over another.
No one hurried.
They spoke of the day's weather, of flowers, of the pond's color.
Tax rates, tenancy, the names of those driven out—
none of that entered this place.
Baeksu sat among them.
He was not young, yet his face held no tension.
He was a man well-fed, well-slept, well-grown.
A teacup rested in his hand, and even in drinking he showed no haste.
His words were careful, but it was not fear.
It was propriety.
When a child ran toward the pond, a woman laughed and said,
"Careful. You'll fall in."
The child's steps were light, and the voice held no worry.
It was the voice of someone who knew there would be no falling.
This house was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
That peace was complete within its walls.
Hunger and screaming outside did not reach here.
As though there were no reason, no need, for them to reach.
Park Seongjin understood as he looked.
The house itself was not the wrongness.
The world that made such a house possible was the wrongness.
And he already knew it was not only this one house.
News had clearly gone ahead.
Before the two even reached the gate, the outer yard stirred.
Human presence—
unhidden, as though there were no need to hide.
Soon dozens of martial men flowed out from within and blocked the road.
Their hands on their swords were loose, and their stance was practiced.
Trained private soldiers.
They had said private armies were abolished.
Yet abolition always stayed on paper.
Names changed.
Clothes changed.
Affiliations blurred.
It had not been removed.
It had been hidden.
When needed, it appeared like this, as if nothing had ever happened.
Park Seongjin smacked his lips.
Of course.
It was always this shape.
They spoke of sheathing the blade, yet left it intact where their hands could not reach.
Then they reported the work done and waited with lifted chins for praise.
They took credit without carrying responsibility.
Some of the men blocking the way avoided his gaze.
It was not the look of those ignorant of what they did.
It was the look of those who had not yet reached the thought that it was wrong.
They had been ordered.
They had been paid.
They believed standing here was natural.
Park Seongjin swallowed a curse.
Was there anything more rotten than this.
Men tasked with public duty worked like this.
They mouthed law and institution, yet chose only the easiest road.
They blurred responsibility and left only violence.
The way was blocked, yet the situation was already clear.
This was not merely the house of an estate holder.
What guarded it was not wall or gate,
but the naked face of this country—
not yet stripped away,
and never even intended to be stripped away.
—Park Seongjin stepped forward.
He did not raise momentum.
He did not raise his voice.
He merely stood, and the air settled in that place.
"I have come to see Lord Baeksu. The master of this house."
A short silence passed.
From behind the men blocking him, a low voice came.
"He is not here. Withdraw."
An expected answer.
Always the same.
The one who must bear responsibility does not appear.
Only those beneath are put forward.
Whether Baeksu had fled or they had blocked the way on their own did not matter.
The result was the same.
They prevented him from meeting the one who must speak.
Then Park Seongjin named himself.
"I am Park Seongjin. Jungnangjang of the Yongho Guard."
The name fell like a heavy sound.
At once, the momentum of the men in front visibly cracked.
Some folded at the waist by reflex.
Some stepped back a pace.
A myth of the martial world spread beyond Gaegyeong.
A name that had crossed Liaodong and the Central Plains, Jiangnan and Wa.
Even the recent inability of petty vermin to run wild traced back to this name.
Park Seongjin swept his eyes over them once and spoke.
"This is not a matter to be settled by the blade. It is an economic matter. It can end through dialogue. It is not a matter for men who call themselves generals."
At that, one man stepped forward.
"Who are you?"
"I am Hamun, the Daenae Chonggwan of this house."
Park Seongjin's eyebrow lifted by a hair.
"Daenae Chonggwan? Is this the palace? You use palace titles in a private house with no restraint. I have caught one thing already. If this is 'inner,' then is the one inside His Majesty?"
Hamun's face hardened.
"It is… simply chonggwan."
"Fine. Then I will ask the chonggwan."
Park Seongjin's voice stayed low, yet it was firm.
"You claim land that does not yield even fifteen seok yields twenty, twenty-five. You then take seventy percent. With what does that household live?"
"We cannot bear responsibility for their laziness in farming."
"If we prove the land yields less than fifteen, what then?"
Hamun hesitated, then said,
"Still… they must pay seventy percent."
"They have already paid twelve seok, I hear. Return two."
"…What?"
"You said you would 'verify.' We measured the area and checked the past years' yields on the way here. The average comes to fourteen as proper."
"That is not so."
"Have you calculated the average?"
"That…"
"Or did you simply decide, 'this place is twenty, that place is twenty-five'?"
"It is set that way."
As if prepared, Hamun held out a document stamped with seals.
"They consented."
Park Seongjin glanced at it.
He did not touch it.
Yet the paper flared.
"Ah—hot!"
Hamun reflexively dropped it.
As it charred, his hand burned as well.
No flame could be seen, yet the heat was unmistakable.
"Where is consent written?"
Hamun clutched his hand, dropped to the ground, and burst into sobs.
"It was… written there…"
Park Seongjin drew another paper from his robe.
"From this day, that land belongs to the tenant. Not a single coin more will be taken. This is the document stating it."
He tossed it forward.
When Hamun instinctively reached to catch it, heat surged again.
This time, both hands burned as though igniting at once.
"Aaaargh!"
A scream tore out.
Park Seongjin tilted his head slightly.
"Strange. Why do only other men's papers burn?"
"I… I did not… do it…"
Hamun's words drowned in sobbing.
The private soldiers around them stood frozen, unable to move a single step.
Now they all understood.
No blade was needed here.
The order built from lies and violence could not hold.
It was collapsing under its own weight.