747.inspection in plain clothes (微服潛行)—a ruler moving among the people dressed as an ordinary man.
When the king summoned him and he did not come, the king came out first that day.
It was a disguised inspection in plain clothes (微服潛行)—a ruler moving among the people dressed as an ordinary man.
It appeared as though they met by chance on the road, yet guards were planted all around like crouching tigers.
Park Seongjin sensed them at once and bowed.
The king spoke first.
"I heard you would be in Hongin-bang. It seems the rumor was correct."
Hongin-bang was one of the thirty-five wards of Gaegyeong, the capital refined into the Five Bureaus, Thirty-Five Wards, and Three Hundred Forty-Four Neighborhoods since the reigns of King Seongjong and King Hyeonjong.
"I had business here."
"Another tale of wicked landlords tormenting their tenants?"
"Your Majesty, it is so almost everywhere. Places untouched are rare."
The meeting was staged as coincidence, yet the air was not accidental.
The road leading into Hongin-bang was crowded as always.
The breath of the city radiating from the palace gathered here before flowing outward again.
The phrase "a Buddhist capital" was no exaggeration.
Temple bells overlapped faintly in the distance.
Gray-robed monks brushed past silk-clad nobles.
The scent of incense mingled with roasted tea leaves.
Tea merchants from the south bargained loudly.
Traders from the Central Plains spoke in harsh accents.
Japanese interpreters replied in quick tongues.
Gaegyeong was the capital of Goryeo, yet also a city of the world.
The king halted before a row of tea houses.
A dawon was not merely a shop for tea.
It was a place where news gathered, circumstances were exchanged, and hearts revealed themselves.
Royal guards dispersed quietly, securing space without spectacle.
Only then did Park fully realize this was no chance encounter.
The chosen tea house had two stories.
The lower floor bustled.
The upper floor was calm.
As they climbed, the sound of boiling water rose—
a low hum,
the soft scrape of leaves,
the clear clink of porcelain.
Even the sound of Goryeo tea carried refinement.
They sat by a wide window overlooking the street.
The flow of people, intersecting conversations, porters' shoulders crossing silk sleeves—everything lay visible.
Beyond, palace roofs layered into the distance, mountains embracing the city.
Tea was served in cylindrical cups fashionable in Goryeo, weighty in the hand, warmth lingering at the lips.
Celadon ware shone softly beneath translucent glaze.
It was domestic tea from the southern coast—clean in scent, restrained in taste.
They faced one another.
Below, life continued.
Here, in this suspended space between palace and market, public and private, words would carry weight.
After a moment, snacks were brought.
"A master of the Flower Realm, reduced to this?" the king said without smiling.
"Spending your days scolding landlords."
Park bowed.
"No one else would act. I merely began. In truth, few places were untouched. Royal relatives, high officials, even temples."
The king clicked his tongue.
"Yes. That sense of 'it is natural' is most frightening. Even acts beyond basic humanity are accepted."
"They follow others without examining their own greed. Like flies, determined to gorge even in death."
The king lifted his cup, then set it down.
"I grew up in Yuan. In Beijing. I know well that what seems natural here is not natural elsewhere."
Park lowered his head silently.
However rough, the king remained king.
The system endured because he stood at its center.
"I summoned you, and you did not come. So I came myself."
"I am ashamed."
"They say you hid yourself after returning from Japan, and now you go about threatening landlords."
Park's eyes narrowed.
At another time, he might have sought the one who carried that phrase.
He knew who cherished the current structure of exploitation.
"The people welcome it. Tenants thank me. Some ask me to come."
The king waved a hand.
"Why stir such noise? I cannot live with this clamor."
Park placed his hand upon his chest.
"Landlord abuses are widespread. I could not watch my neighbors suffer. There were too many."
"The Rectification Office moves slowly."
Weariness colored the king's voice.
"They excuse. They adjust methods to convenience."
Park touched the table before him.
Then he spoke words he should not.
"Your Majesty, I fear the lifespan of Goryeo may end if reform does not come swiftly—"
"What!"
Sparks flashed in the king's eyes.
"End?"
"Forgive my disloyalty."
Park's breath tightened.
Words bear seeds.
He knew it.
Still, he continued.
"Choose words you may speak!"
The rebuke rang through the tea house.
Park bowed.
He understood the necessity of appearing to yield.
He did not retreat.
"Recently, I crossed another boundary."
"Did you not already surpass the Flower Realm?"
"I crossed the next."
"What has that to do with this?"
"I can glimpse a little of what has not yet come."
"You would play fortune teller?"
"Believe or not."
The king asked coldly, "And does Goryeo fall?"
Silence answered.
"Who stands after? Which surname surpasses ours?"
"Kim. Yi. Or Park, perhaps."
He spoke as though it concerned someone else.
A cruel objectivity.
Steam drifted from the cup.
Below, the city continued.
The world moved unchanged.
—*
"Is it my generation?"
Park shook his head.
"Several reigns will pass quickly."
"So there is time."
"Not long. Short intervals."
The king's expression grew bleak.
"If all is fixed, what use is effort?"
"The direction may lean that way. That does not excuse inaction. There remains opportunity."
"Land reform."
"Yes."
"Remove the great nobles and with whom shall I govern?"
"Smaller scholar-gentry will rise."
"They are insignificant."
"For now. They are armed with Neo-Confucian thought."
"Those scholars accomplish little."
"They possess philosophy."
The king shook his head.
"Your thought?"
"I am a mere soldier."
"So you see this?"
"They are not evil men. They play harmful roles."
"If not, we fall."
Park did not repeat the word.
The king sipped.
The tea had steeped too long.
Bitterness spread.
"You have loyalty. Help me."
"I lack the capacity. If I step forward, it twists. Employ talent broadly."
The king nodded.
"What lies beyond the Flower Realm?"
"The Manifest Realm."
"And beyond?"
"I do not know."
"Will you become immortal?"
"Your Majesty."
"If we succeed, perhaps our house lasts five hundred more years."
"It may."
"A thousand-year empire."
At the word "thousand," his mood brightened faintly.
—Park glanced at the guards.
Something felt unsettled.
"Is it safe to walk so openly?"
"Not often, but necessary."
"It may be dangerous."
"If danger comes, I die."
"Shall we walk further?"
"You said you came for me."
"And for this."
—The king had shed silk for coarse hemp.
Ornaments removed.
Escort minimal.
Few recognized him.
Gaegyeong's streets were full.
Vendors.
Laborers.
Women with children.
Peaceful at a glance.
Listen closer—
Prices rising.
Grain short.
Rents harsher than last year.
The king did not question.
He listened.
"This year the water is scarce."
"Drought is not the worst. Taxes are."
"In famine, we starve. Those above remain."
"We must harvest barley soon…"
His hand tightened on the cup.
Numbers in reports bore no such weight.
He walked the outskirts.
Farmers bent, hands rough.
They bowed yet guarded their eyes.
The people did not hate their king.
They had learned not to expect.
This journey measured the temperature of politics.
Where dissatisfaction gathered.
Where patience ended and danger began.