771.he banquet had turned into a meeting discussing the tripartite system and peace.
The gathering that was originally held to welcome the Taoists changed its nature at Zhang Zhicheng's request. The banquet had turned into a meeting discussing the tripartite system and peace.
Loud voices filled the room. The positions of those persuading and those being persuaded mixed, and words frequently overlapped. Anger and calculation, fear and expectation clashed within the same sentences. Many sought peace. Even those who spoke of wanting war were, in truth, looking at the benefits that would follow, not the war itself.
But the question was simple: What more could be gained by waging war in the south?
The army was money. Not just an expense, but an endless money-devouring force. The amount required to maintain horses, weapons, food, and supply lines could consume the entire revenue of a province. It was a money-eating hippo. That army disappeared without a trace. On the surface, it was Tokto. But in reality, it was the empress who had pushed Tokto aside.
Politically, it was the event that had removed a prime minister, but in the end, it had consumed the last strength that the Yuan Empire could summon all at once. After that, no one dared to speak of calling the army again. The lords knew that there was no solution but peace. So, they accepted Zhang Zhicheng's request and swallowed Park Seong-jin's pressure. It was not out of goodwill, but a consequence of choice.
The meeting continued. Discussions about how to fix peace through borders, conditions, envoys, and treaties followed. The discussion shifted from whether to fight to how not to fight.
As the meeting gradually moved in the intended direction, Park Seong-jin quietly left his seat. No one noticed, but it wasn't too fast. A moment later, footsteps followed. It was Zhang Zhicheng.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I just need to take a moment to catch my breath," Park Seong-jin replied.
"Are you frustrated?" Zhang Zhicheng asked.
Park Seong-jin didn't answer. To answer would have revealed that he was still unfamiliar with the situation, so he simply nodded once.
Then, he left the courtyard where the noise of both the banquet hall and the meeting hall mixed.
A few days later, the peace conference came to an end. The loud voices died down, and the words were organized into sentences. Emotions retreated, and calculation and responsibility took their place. It would still take time before the names of the Yuan, Goryeo, and Daehan appeared side by side in a single document, but the direction had already been set.
During that time, special envoys came and went. During the day, behind the curtains, at night, under the lanterns, the terms were refined. Discussions on borders, the movement of envoys, the opening of ports, the safety of merchants, and the safe passage of envoys were all arranged. Even a single line of text required many rounds of back-and-forth. It seemed as though they were conceding to one another, but each side subtly pushed further their points that must be conceded. Half a month passed.
A venue for the tripartite treaty was arranged in Kaifeng. Once the capital of the Song Dynasty, Kaifeng was a city that had gone through both war and decline. The traces of broken walls and newly renovated buildings stood side by side. The conference hall built atop ruins made it clear what this agreement was being placed upon.
On that day, the envoys from the three nations arrived at the same time. The first thing heard was not a sound, but a stillness. The bustling noise that had been flowing across the wide square in Kaifeng suddenly died down. The wind only lightly brushed the edges of the flags. The soldiers were noticeably fewer. They wore armor but kept it closed, their spears set in the ground, and their swords remained sheathed. The flags were held low, as if someone had intentionally left the sky empty. Low, yet visible.
The horses were calm. Their hooves didn't strike the ground, and their snorts were soft. There was no extravagant decoration on the horses. It seemed the horses knew, as if instinctively, that neither speed nor grandeur were necessary in this place.
The envoys faced each other. Their eyes met, and their heads slightly bowed. The greetings were brief but sufficient. No one stepped forward first, and no one retreated. This was a place where courage to step forward was less important than the courage to stop.
The door of the hall opened. The interior was neither excessively large nor small. The ceiling was high, and light fell directly from above. The decorations were restrained. Gold gleamed but didn't show off, and the patterns were intricate but not explained. This was not a hall for judgment but a room for agreement.
A long, low table had been set. It was placed low so that no one would look down on the other. On it, documents were placed—a bundle of papers not yet unrolled. But their weight already pressed down on the space. The ink had not yet touched the paper, but the time, blood, and calculations within the documents were already felt.
Some had fought for these papers, and others had fought to avoid them. And today, this document existed for the reason of not fighting. A moment of silence passed. The hands that unfolded the paper moved slowly, without hurry. Each page was turned carefully, as though it had traveled across time to arrive here.
The moment the document was fully unfolded, the atmosphere changed. No one looked at weapons anymore. No one counted the number of soldiers. All eyes were fixed on the words on the paper. From this moment, it was not force but sentences that would decide everything. The wind blew again. The low flags fluttered simultaneously. Though their colors were different, the direction of the wind was the same that day.
Peace arrived suddenly. As though the long-lasting rain had stopped without warning one day. There was no longer a need to fight. There was no longer a concern for cavalry crossing the border, and there was no longer a need to light signal fires every night. The endless chain of wars since the establishment of the Yuan Empire had finally come to an end.
People still looked at each other with faces that didn't fully believe it. The fact that it had ended seemed too hard to believe. Park Seong-jin made one last request. It was not a condition of peace, but a matter for after peace. He said that if the Yuan Empire's system didn't change, it would not last long. The way the empire was sustained by military power, the loose alliances soothed by wine and rewards, and the habit of squeezing the provinces with excessive taxes—if these remained the same, rebellion and war would inevitably return.
The Great Khan disagreed. However, it was not an opposition of will, but of capability. He lacked both the authority and the system to carry out the necessary reforms. It wasn't that he didn't want to change, but that he couldn't. Goryeo, too, was not in a different position. Park Seong-jin knew this.
The reason Daehan could survive even with excessive taxes was simple. In the south, double-cropping was possible. Even if all the harvest was given to the landowners, the farmers could still keep all of the next harvest. The difference in production overwhelmed the system. But the northern territories of the Yuan were different. The empire, having lost the south, could no longer enjoy the same abundance. He said that unless the tax rate was reduced to suit the realities of the land, rebellion would inevitably rise again.
The Great Khan showed no particular reaction. He nodded, but did not make a decision. Peace was accepted, but reform remained a distant issue.
A few days later, on the way back to Goryeo, an envoy from Daehan came. They had come up to Kaifeng after reaching an agreement, but their appearance was far from light. Dozens of carts followed, filled with goods from the south. Silk, books, tea, ceramics, medicinal herbs, and spices—all precious things. They bowed deeply in the highest of manners.
It was a sight that came as soon as the treaty was concluded—one they could not have traveled before the treaty was signed. It seemed they valued seeing Park Seong-jin in person more than the negotiation or the documents.
The words continued.
"The king requests that you visit at least once."
"If there is anything else you need besides gunpowder, please do not hesitate to ask."
"Our envoy wishes to visit Goryeo, and we request permission."
After a brief pause, more words followed.
"I would like to send students. Please allow us to set up a boarding school next to the military camp. We will send our young people who have no thoughts of our country."
Finally, he added.
"Earlier, you mentioned needing books from the previous era. We are gathering those representing the flourishing culture of the south and will send them to Goryeo as soon as they are ready."
Park Seong-jin pondered for a moment upon hearing this. It was a matter of strength and visibility. Things that had never happened in the previous era were now unfolding quite naturally. Only then did the major officials of the Yuan begin to realize who Daehan of the south had bowed to.
It had once been seen as a vassal state. These were people who had once been mobilized for war, yet now they were bowing to them voluntarily. The war was over, but the world's order had already begun to move in a new direction.