749.We must go to the Kurultai.
A few days later, something snagged on his ki-sense, and when he looked outside, the king was there.
Again in plain clothes.
This time the guards did not scatter.
They sat inside the restaurant, ordered noodles, and waited as if they belonged there.
When Park Seongjin came out of the kitchen to offer greetings, the king waved him off.
"Hey. One bowl each, pass it around."
"Loyalty."
As Park bowed, the diners inside glanced over, puzzled.
He hurriedly cut ten portions of noodles and dropped them into boiling water.
The preparation took hands and time, but once the noodles were cut and cooked, pouring in broth was quick.
He handed off the work and stepped outside.
The king was smiling broadly.
Something good had happened.
When word spread that the king had come, the household came out to bow.
When Park sat down, the king spoke first.
" "
"What has happened?"
"To raise Ayushiridara as Great Khan. Toghon Temür's son—though to you it is simpler to say: Empress Gi's son."
"Then why… does Your Majesty go in person?"
The king cut the end off the sentence.
"Come with me."
"To the Kurultai… you mean as escort?"
"As escort—and guard."
Park thought briefly.
He had not cared much for Yuan's internal affairs.
He had carried himself as though the fate of villains meant nothing.
But the king of Goryeo was a member of the Kurultai.
Even Goryeo kings of the tributary era attended in the status of imperial sons-in-law.
"Loyalty."
The king set down his spoon and added, short and flat:
"We leave tomorrow."
"Loyalty."
—The next day, when Park arrived at Manwoldae, everything was already ready.
A corps lined the broad courtyard before the palace.
Spears and banners glinted in morning light.
Horses, bridled, rumbled low.
Saddles were tightened.
Wagons bore rations and document chests neatly stacked.
There were no shouted urgings, yet the air was taut.
It was obvious this road had been prepared for a long time.
The commander of the escort was, again, Yi Injung.
He checked armor beside the horses, sweeping his gaze over the soldiers.
Familiar faces.
Silent nods exchanged in place of greetings.
Park approached and bowed at the waist.
"Brother."
Yi Injung turned, the corner of his mouth lifting.
"Mm. I heard you're going too."
"It has been long since we traveled together. I ask for your guidance."
"I should be the one asking."
It was a short exchange, but years lay inside it—
battlefields shared,
backs entrusted,
judgments that met without speech.
There was no need to speak them aloud.
A rider stepped forward, and a low signal sounded.
Banners caught the wind.
Horses rose as one.
Manwoldae's high roofs slid backward.
The palace's shadow shortened.
At the road out of Gaegyeong, the column naturally matched pace.
A road north.
From horseback, Park glanced back once.
Beyond the walls, the city lay sunk in morning haze—
a view that would soon disappear.
He tightened the reins.
Quietly, unmistakably, the column began to move toward Beijing.
—*
The Northern Road
The road to Beijing was quieter than expected.
Off the main road, villages were scarce.
With early summer approaching, the fields already held deeper color.
They rode at a measured pace and made camp when the sun leaned down.
That night as well, they settled beside a small stream.
They did not build a large fire.
Both men and horses wore faces used to long travel.
A soldier on watch ran in, breath urgent.
It was not yet fully dark.
"There is commotion downstream."
Yi Injung lifted his head first.
"Bandits?"
"Unclear. Voices—
it sounds like crying."
Silence.
There was a rule for a moving column.
Do not entangle in small matters.
Marching comes first.
Yi Injung looked at Park.
He did not ask.
He handed the decision over.
"I'll take ten men," Park said.
Yi Injung nodded.
Downstream, a small cart lay overturned.
There was little baggage.
An old man, a young woman, and two children.
A family.
Three drifters stood before them, holding blunt weapons too crude to call swords.
"Hand over a road fee."
The old man was already on his knees.
He did not speak.
His face said speaking was useless.
Park stepped forward.
"Leave. Don't do this."
One drifter laughed.
"And who are you, to meddle?"
But he shrank when he saw the soldiers behind Park.
Park's words stayed short.
No explanations.
No threats.
One drew his blade.
And that was the end.
A hand bent at a strange angle toward the slashing steel.
One step in—his sleeve hooked the wrist and broke its line.
A tug at the hem, a press at the shoulder—
the man lifted, then slammed into the ground.
Overwhelming strength and technique.
The other two, seeing it, fled and left their comrade behind.
They did not even have enough loyalty to retrieve him—
only enough numbers to gather and play at robbery.
Park did not chase them.
The fallen man sniffled.
"We were just… trying to live…"
Park replied,
"So am I.
I do this… to live.
But I've learned something.
The words 'I had no choice—I had to live' don't justify much.
Men say 'to live' while they mean: to eat more,
to eat for free,
to eat easily."
Muttering.
Grumbling.
Park himself did not know why he talked so much.
At some point he had become a man who described the world.
Define it in words, and the world becomes that definition.
That was the power of language.
He loosened the man.
He only threw the drifter's weapon into the stream.
Soldiers rushed in.
They set the cart upright without much delay.
Park spoke once to the old man.
"Going north?"
"Yes… we heard we have kin…"
"This road is dangerous. Stay near here until sunrise.
When we move in the morning, move with us."
The old man bowed deeply.
On the way back to camp, a soldier asked,
"You didn't need to kill them?"
Park slowed a step.
"If you kill, it ends."
"And if you spare him?"
"Then what follows is his share."
It sounded like talk of choice—
but men whose throats are held by hunger have little room for such talk.
He knew it.
They would do the same again to others.
In the end, a stronger hand would catch them and kill them.
Yi Injung saw Park returning and made a little space near the fire.
—*
They traveled through empty land, long abandoned.
For the first few days, there was much talk.
The road was long; talk came naturally; answers followed.
As days stacked, the same words returned.
Only then did it become clear how little substance most of their speech carried.
Even when there was substance, it was already a story that had passed.
Words that ran on the same structure, the same terms, toward the same conclusion—
they steadily lost their strength.
Conversation thinned.
People walked in silence, waiting for the time to pass.
The feeling of being on a road with a clear direction held their minds steady.
Whatever lay at the end, movement still continued toward a single point.
That alone was enough.
The road was not dark.
The heart did not stop.
The only exception was Park Seongjin.
Even as the horse swayed under him, he kept his gaze lowered, watching his breath.
His work was always the same.
To see.
To illuminate.
To observe—
and so it was contemplation.
He had simply carried the life he lived at home onto the road.
With the same routine repeating inside motion, the density of practice increased.
His distance from people remained.
When speech vanished, that temperament became clearer.
Even while moving with the column, he watched himself from one step away.
He noticed that posture, nodded to it silently, and went on.
Sometimes when Yi Injung brought up old battles, Park listened for a moment.
For a while, it felt pleasant.
Then even that conversation faded of its own accord.
After realizing Park's silence was practice, Yi Injung reduced talk.
He also asked the soldiers to keep quiet.
To gather the mind in stillness while moving.
Not meditation seated and unmoving, but concentration continuing amid walking, riding, swaying.
A composure not separated from life.
It seemed as though a thin light lingered only around him.
Park too had first thought this long journey merely spent time.
There were moments his mind did not fully settle.
But as the road continued, he naturally seeped into its current.
He used it to revisit his practice, and that process deepened.
People often say daily life becomes practice.
Yet daily focus is usually short and shallow.
This time on the road was different.
Time no one hurried.
Time in which one could nod for an entire day.
In that quiet, he stayed long—
and that staying became a clear turning.
—*
The second group appeared as the sun began to tilt.
The scale was different.
A shadow of perhaps fifty expanded from a dot at the edge of the plain.
They were the ones who had inspected the column from afar the night before, then withdrawn.
Seeing a hundred soldiers changed their math.
Judgment ran through the night.
By morning, a conclusion had been made.
They gathered others doing similar work nearby.
The number spilling into the field passed three hundred.
The first to respond was not man, but earth.
Dust rose across the broad plain.
Even without wind, it spread outward.
Then came hoofbeats.
Low, dull sounds layered into a single vibration.
The ground groaned.
A tremor climbed up through the feet.
The horse-bandits charged spread wide.
They peeled left and right to draw a circle.
They split into three, then four, then rejoined, tightening a net.
A movement that calculated escape routes.
The circle on the plain narrowed.
The Goryeo formation sank as if drawing breath.
Front-rank soldiers corrected their grip on spears.
Shield-bearers pressed shoulders together.
Cavalry settled deep into saddles.
Horses flattened their ears and blew hard.
Anxiety spread through the line.
"They're… many."
A low voice slipped out.
Bandits of this scale were uncommon.
Calculations ran fast.
The line hardened.
Each position became clear.
The king halted his horse.
The reins pulled taut.
His gaze fixed beyond the plain.
This column was on the road to the Kurultai.
The realization showed on his face.
Not chance.
His brow narrowed slowly.
The king called Yi Injung.
"What do we do?"
Yi Injung drew the reins.
His horse lowered itself into place.
He swept the plain, then looked to the king.
"We crush them."
A short sentence.
With that single line, the air of the army changed.
Shields moved forward.
Cavalry spacing widened.
Archers naturally slid back.
Preparation continued without words.
The bandits' shouting drew near.
Curses and laughter rode the wind—
a momentum that promised plunder.
From horseback, Park drew one breath and watched the field.
Within the dust he read greed, calculation, impatience.
Their pressure pressed down on the coming fight.
"They're coming."
With that short word, the roar burst.
The battlefield held its breath.
Everything was gathering into the next moment.