776.
The party that left Beijing felt much lighter than when they had arrived. Despite all that had happened, the outcome had been favorable. Success has the power to lighten the heart. The sound of hooves on the earth even felt soft. The first thing that changed with the end of the war was the sound. There was no hurried presence anywhere, and the nervous whispers that used to carry military orders had vanished. It was spring. Even though they were in a foreign land, the scenery didn't feel unfamiliar. Once they passed the city walls, the fields opened up. The earth, which had been frozen through the winter, was now breathing, and the willows along the roadside were tinged with soft green. The buds at the tips of the branches were still cautious, but they were already signaling that the season had changed.
As they passed by the village, smoke rose. This was smoke they hadn't seen during the war. It wasn't the smoke of a military camp or from a furnace, but a sign that people were living there. Children stopped playing by the roadside to look up at the horses, and the elderly nodded as they basked in the sun. Curiosity, rather than fear, came first.
When they crossed the river, the water was unusually clear. The melted ice made the water flow slowly, but steadily, and along the banks, new grass was already peeking through. Waterfowl took off, breaking the surface of the water. Even that trace seemed peaceful.
As they entered the Liaodong region, the sky changed. It widened and rose higher. Though the northern chill still lingered in the wind, there was definitely a scent of spring mixed in. The horses lowered their heads and grazed, and the faces of the soldiers showed signs of relaxation.
Someone said, "The road seems so long now that the war is over."
That was true. Things they had missed in their haste now caught their eyes. The texture of the rocks, the gentle curves of the hills, the outline of distant mountain ranges—everything seemed fresh, as though they were seeing it for the first time.
As they neared the Yalu River, the scenery became even more familiar. The sounds and accents changed, and the houses along the roadside began to take familiar shapes. The fields and the height of the fences reminded him of his hometown. The southern mountains, seen across the river, were still faint, but even their faintness gave him a sense of peace.
Now, the road was homeward bound. It wasn't the same road they had taken in haste, dripping with blood, but one that was leading them back alive. The fact that the war had ended brought a force that changed how they saw the landscape, more powerfully than any victory flag. On this road, spring was quietly, yet certainly, signaling that the world was starting anew.
The king slowed his pace for a moment. The light of spring spread beyond the plains. The road after the war was strangely quiet, and that quietness only made the horses seem more eager to move forward. The king spoke.
"'Cultivate yourself, govern your family, and bring peace to the world,' they say. You have already achieved peace in the world. What will you do now?"
Park Seongjin lowered his head for a moment. It wasn't humility, but an attitude directed inward.
"Even if I have not properly cultivated myself, what more can I do? I will continue to travel along the borders, improving myself, again and again."
The king's eyebrows raised slightly. Anyone who had accomplished such a feat would usually take up a position. Passing the civil service exam was once as difficult as reaching for the stars, and even if one passed, there were many who couldn't find a position to fill. Government posts were always limited, and without connections or recommendations, even lower positions were difficult to come by. But this young man, despite his great achievements, still spoke of self-cultivation.
"Ah," the king exclaimed quietly.
Park Seongjin continued, "Through this experience, I have come to realize just how much I am lacking. I have spent too long on the battlefield. I am lacking in human virtues, manners, literature, and learning. I felt it even more when I met the Taoist masters from Jin."
The king laughed.
"Oh, if Park Seongjin is lacking, then where in this world is anyone complete?"
Park Seongjin didn't raise his head.
"Truly. When I looked at the writings, I felt even more strongly how much I was lacking. When I read the records of the Taoists' writings, I felt the inadequacy of my own words. I knew that their writing was flawed, but I also couldn't write anything better than that. I will study more."
The king thought inwardly. A talented person will inevitably return to a position that serves the country. This road was the best opportunity to bind him. However, Park Seongjin seemed to be someone who didn't even realize that possibility. He had no intention of entering office. His face was one of a person with no desire for the world.
The king changed the subject.
"You are almost twenty now. Shouldn't you consider marriage?"
Park Seongjin didn't respond and instead gazed into the distance. The road ahead, bathed in the spring light, seemed endless. Should he do that? Could he be true to a family? The more he looked at his home, the more difficult it became to imagine a life there. If he said no, his mother would worry. He had visited home every day, but the time spent in love and care was almost nonexistent. He would briefly show his face, then return to the martial training grounds. Though the time spent with his family at the noodle shop had increased, his heart still stayed with his duty. The delicate thread of fate brushed against him. If he held on, it seemed like he could stay, but as soon as he let go, it would scatter like the wind. It might not even be tomorrow—it could be tonight that he leaves this land.
But marriage? Park Seongjin shook his head.
"How can I marry when I don't know when I'll leave? I haven't properly returned home after such a long war."
The king stopped walking and looked at him. Unlike the decisive face of a battlefield commander, the Park Seongjin before him was uncertain, unable to take the next step.
The king quietly spoke.
"The war is over. Now peace has come. And you must leave heirs."
Park Seongjin didn't answer. He knew the king's words were true. But he couldn't be sure that the path he had been allowed to walk was the one for him. Peace belonged to those who stayed. It was a world for those who took root, connected time, and prepared for the future. However, he was someone who had learned how to leave rather than stay. He knew how to leave this land, not in the body, but in the heart, first, while in the stillness. To marry, to settle here, meant to anchor himself to this place. To leave heirs meant to promise to return. He wasn't sure if he could make that promise.
The road was deepening in spring. The grass grew, the water swelled, and the faces of the people showed signs of relief. Yet, in Park Seongjin's heart, the trace of a different season was already quietly taking root. It was the season of preparing for departure, not for war.
The unspoken choice, the gaze already directed elsewhere—that was Park Seongjin's dilemma. The king interpreted this silence differently. It wasn't a misunderstanding, but a deliberate attempt to lead him in another direction. The king quietly smiled and spoke.
"I knew you would make that expression."
The king continued.
"Therefore, you must serve as a high-ranking official."
Park Seongjin slowed his steps, but his head remained bowed. The king continued.
"There's a good match for you. A family that is upright, and the temperament of the person is gentle."
The king said, "A family that would suit someone like you."
Park Seongjin's footsteps paused for a moment.
"They even subtly showed interest at the Yuan court," the king added.
"The current Park Seongjin, honestly speaking, is the perfect son-in-law. The nation's treasure."
It was an exaggerated statement. So exaggerated that it almost felt unreal. The king watched his reaction and swallowed his smile.
"Did you think I would say this without any preparation?" the king asked.
"Among the servants in your house, I've sent a few," the king added.
At that moment, a few faces flashed through Park Seongjin's mind. Those who spoke little, who always kept their places, who never asked unnecessary questions, who worked silently. He had suspected it, but hadn't wanted to confirm it.
"I wasn't spying," the king hurriedly added.
"I was simply concerned that your life might pass too lightly."
The king's voice was sincere, not that of a battlefield lord, but of an elder who cared for a person.
"You're always preparing to leave," the king said.
"But those who are about to leave must have something to hold them here."
At that, Park Seongjin finally looked up. He looked at the king, but his gaze lingered beyond him.
Park Seongjin spoke quietly.
"Your Majesty, you are considering far too much."
The king laughed and said, "Isn't that the duty of a king? Better to keep the nation's treasure than let it go like the wind."
Park Seongjin said nothing in response. He neither denied nor agreed. The king did not press further. He stopped here.
"Think it over slowly. The war is over, and peace has just begun," the king said.
Park Seongjin lowered his head. But in his heart, he already knew. The more the king cared for him, the heavier the day of departure would become. The king wanted him to stay, and Park Seongjin was looking at the road he had to walk. That gap was not yet spoken, but it was quietly forming like a crack between the two.
This king was not someone who had come to the throne by accident. He had spent many years in the Yuan court, raised like a hostage, and at the same time, had seen the inner workings of the empire. His ascension to the throne wasn't just about bloodline. He had survived the power struggles in the Yuan, waited for the right time, and made his own path. His goal was clear. To free himself from the shadow of the Buwon faction and restore royal power. To fix the broken land system. To reclaim the army under royal command. These were the minimum reforms needed to ensure Goryeo could stand strong. His ideals were high, and the direction was right. That's why people called him a reformist, and he himself intended to become one.
But he also knew that reforms don't come easily. Power was needed, and someone capable of handling that power had to be by his side. That's why he cherished Park Seongjin, wanted to keep him, and sought to keep him within the borders of the nation.
What he hadn't seen was that Park Seongjin had already set his sights beyond the royal power and the path of reform.
The king was silent for a while, choosing his words carefully. It wasn't a silence of withholding words, but a silence of gathering thoughts. Slowly, the king spoke.
"If you leave, this nation will shake again."
Park Seongjin didn't raise his head. He knew that what the king said was true.
The king continued.
"Royal politics is about leaving people behind. Establishing systems, changing laws, all of it is ultimately about leaving people behind."
He looked at Park Seongjin. Not the man who overwhelmed thousands on the battlefield, but the young warrior standing on the road.
The king's voice lowered.
"If someone like you stays, this country won't shake again."
He didn't bring up marriage to bind him, nor was it a chain to keep him. It was the only way to keep a person in this land for a long time.
The king added cautiously.
"If you have a family, people can't just leave."
There was hope in those words. Hope that Park Seongjin would stay a little longer in this world.
Park Seongjin finally looked at the king. There was both respect and gratitude in his eyes. But there was no hesitation.
Park Seongjin quietly spoke.
"Your Majesty, what you desire is the power to hold on to this world for a long time."
The king nodded. That was his path.
Park Seongjin's gaze drifted far away.
"But the path I walk is closer to letting go, not holding on."
A faint crack crossed the king's face. It wasn't denial, nor was it anger. It was silence born from a place of incomprehension.
"You are trying to restore this land," Park Seongjin said. "But I do not wish to stay long in this land."
His words were a rejection, but not disrespectful. The king finally realized. This man didn't seek position, nor was he bound by ideals. He had stayed here out of duty, connection, and chance, nothing more.
The king closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he spoke softly.
"Then, you will eventually leave."
Park Seongjin didn't answer. It had already been answered.
The king said no more. He didn't hold him back. He didn't persuade him. That was the last courtesy the king could offer.
Those who live life on this earth try to leave something behind, but those who walk the path of detachment leave nothing. That day, the king finally accepted that the country he was trying to build could never align with the path of the man who helped him. And that tragedy had not yet begun.