767.the kurultai
Inside the city of Beijing, during the gathering for the kurultai, the vast courtyards were filled with tents from various countries' military camps. Each tent displayed flags, and each flag had its own master. The paths between them were wide, but they were not places where one could walk freely. Eyes were upon you from everywhere, and even a single word could become problematic.
The incident occurred in front of the Goryeo army's camp. Several soldiers from the Yuan dynasty were blocking one side of the Goryeo camp. In front of them stood a Goryeo stableman, with two horses and a cart behind him, which had come to a halt.
"This area is under control starting today. No entry past this point," the soldier said. His tone was polite, but only just so.
"It's the kurultai period. Movement of foreign military camps requires prior permission."
The stableman looked unsure and glanced behind him at the Goryeo camp. At that moment, Park Seong-jin stepped out of the camp. The moment his feet touched the courtyard, all eyes turned toward him. The atmosphere immediately shifted. Though there were no words spoken, his presence itself was already a rumor.
"Don't block the way. If the cart can't get through, we'll carry it by hand," Park Seong-jin's voice was quiet but firm.
One soldier swallowed. He too knew the rumors. Still, the Yuan flag was behind him.
"According to regulations, carts are not allowed inside. This is as far as it can go."
"Regulations are made for people, not the other way around," Park Seong-jin's gaze swept over the shoulders of the soldier, scanning the military camps in the distance.
If it continued like this, it could end right here. He already knew which pressure points to push and which would crumble.
At that moment…
"Senior."
Zhang Zhiqian's voice entered just a half-beat late. When Park Seong-jin turned his head, Zhang Zhiqian had stepped out beside him. He wasn't blocking the way, nor was he stepping ahead; he merely positioned himself between the two parties.
"Please give me a moment," Zhang Zhiqian said.
The soldiers looked at him. His Daoist robe, calm gaze, and manner that naturally bridged the camp inside and out caught their attention.
"The cart carries not Goryeo's needs," Zhang Zhiqian continued. "It's tea and fodder for the horses, to be used at today's banquet."
The soldier narrowed his eyes.
"That makes it an even bigger issue."
"True," Zhang Zhiqian nodded. "Which is why it's a problem. If this is blocked, the banquet will be delayed. If the banquet is delayed, responsibility will fall on the entire courtyard."
He didn't speak to the soldiers directly but cast his gaze past them, toward the crowd behind the camp.
"Among those gathered here, who would want to bear such responsibility?"
The soldier's face stiffened. He didn't want to fight. More precisely, he didn't want to be the one who made the mistake.
Zhang Zhiqian finished with a soft tone.
"Let the regulations be as they are, but for today, simply mark this cart as 'no issues.'"
After a brief silence, one soldier nodded.
"Move along."
The path cleared. The cart moved forward, and the surrounding military camps resumed their noisy activities as if nothing had happened.
Park Seong-jin remained silent for a long time.
"If I were alone…" he spoke low, "I would have broken through here."
Zhang Zhiqian responded, "And you would have been at ease immediately."
"But the whole courtyard would be on alert because of you."
Park Seong-jin looked up at the tents. Countless flags fluttered in the wind.
"…This is a view I can't see."
Zhang Zhiqian shook his head.
"It's not that you couldn't see it, it's that you chose not to. There are ways to open a path with force, and ways to open it by stepping aside. You're just too accustomed to the first."
Park Seong-jin exhaled slowly. That day, he learned something else. This was another study he would have to learn going forward.
---*
Beijing was already bustling. The streets before the city gates were filled with waves of people. Horses, carts, flags, instruments, and the emissaries and attendants from all parts of the Empire mixed together in a crowd. This was the way it always was when the kurultai was held in Beijing. It was the day the heart of the Empire briefly revealed itself.
The city walls were high, and the gates were grand to the point of being overdone. But that grandeur was more about the accumulated power, rather than order. It was the weight before it had been refined. It was pressure that seemed ready to scatter unless someone held it together.
Zhang Zhiqian entered Beijing following formal procedures as a Quanzhen Daoist. The symbol of his Daoist sect led the way, and the officials cleared the path. The bustling noise in the crowd gradually quieted. Some recognized his name, and others bowed their heads just from seeing his face. The old Daoist's presence worked silently.
The reason the Great Khan had called for him was clear. Many didn't trust his words, but the words of the old Daoist were taken differently. Politics was the language of interests, and that language always bred suspicion. On the other hand, the words of a Daoist seemed to transcend interests, which made them easier to trust.
The Great Khan knew this. He was aware that words spoken by himself would invite resistance, but if they were spoken through the Daoist, they would be heard as the people's grievances, as the will of the heavens.
He called the Quanzhen Daoist to hear the complaints from all over the land. The goal was to vent frustrations, soothe them, and, if necessary, absorb them.
As they reached the courtyard in front of the Great Hall, a welcoming crowd gathered. Musicians began to play, and soldiers set up spears to clear the way. Red silk banners fluttered, and golden decorations glittered in the sunlight.
In the midst of all this, Park Seong-jin took a step back. He didn't stand behind Zhang Zhiqian, nor did he step forward. His military uniform was neat, but not flashy. His decorations were minimal. His role as a guard was clear, but he stood without drawing attention. He had no reason to enter the Great Khan's sight, nor any desire to.
When the welcoming noise reached its peak, Park Seong-jin turned his head. He gave a brief salute to Zhang Zhiqian, a gesture of acknowledgment for the bond formed during their shared journey.
That was enough. And then, he vanished into the crowd. Under the flags, behind the carts, between the gaps in the people. No one stopped him, and no one sought him out.
Beijing remained noisy. The Great Khan would soon sit down with the Daoist, and countless words would be exchanged. But Park Seong-jin did not remain. His role had already ended.
He walked again to a place where people's voices would not reach him. A place just outside the heart of the Empire—the place he felt most comfortable.