Taking the Pulse of the Capital
The two of them left the inn carrying only a single sword between them.
They strolled slowly through the heart of the capital's marketplace.
They passed the day at ease, sampling food from street vendors and quietly observing the current of public sentiment.
At every tavern where rumors gathered, they lingered, listening for how the consequences of the recent events were spreading.
Three men had died.
It was a calamity that shook heaven and earth.
All perished within the brief span between dawn and morning.
The wounds on the Emperor and the Chancellor were identical in placement, and those with sharp eyes judged it the work of the same hand.
The court trembled.
All officials changed at once into white mourning robes.
Even before the state funeral was concluded, the Empress assumed regency in place of the young Crown Prince.
Within days, the charge of treason against General Jin Mugwang—deemed the late emperor's gravest error—was entirely revoked.
Plans for further troop deployments were withdrawn.
General Jin was granted the exalted title of "Guardian General of the Realm (護國將軍)," among other high honors.
Soon after, a sweeping amnesty was proclaimed.
The emperor's misjudgments, believed to have formed the backdrop of the assassination, were swiftly corrected.
The Black Blades were dissolved.
Their organization was absorbed into the Embroidered Uniform Guard (錦衣衛).
For several days, Sowoon and Jimin remained in the capital, watching the course of events unfold.
The imperial household and the ministries were gripped by deep tension.
Nothing like this had ever occurred in recorded history.
This was not merely an assassination.
It was an unmistakable warning.
A warning to imperial authority, to the bureaucracy, and to the palace guard who wielded martial power in the emperor's name:
do not exercise power recklessly.
You, too, can die.
The Empress read the current of events swiftly.
She grasped at once the meaning behind what had happened.
If matters were not set right, the same hammer would fall upon whoever next held power.
That truth could not be ignored.
Three had died.
Two were slain in places thought to be the safest in the realm.
One fell in the middle of the main avenue, before countless witnesses.
It was a declaration: there is no sanctuary.
The incident carried a clear message.
Power would not be tolerated when wielded as the Chancellor had wielded it.
A ruler crushing ministers and subjects would not be endured.
Martial force, used as the Sword Pavilion had used it, would not go unanswered.
This was not revenge.
It was a line drawn.
A boundary marked in blood—
defining what may be permitted and what must never be crossed.
A warning.
Irresistible.
Inescapable.
Impossible to refuse.
Those who now stood in the places once occupied by the Emperor and his authority grew markedly more cautious.
They began by correcting what was visible to all.
They learned in their bones that survival required visible rectitude.
With every movement of policy, rumors raced ahead of it.
Often the rumor arrived before the deed, and rumor shaped judgment in its wake.
Sowoon and Jimin gathered these whispers one by one.
They weighed which words would fade and which would gather strength.
Inwardly, they felt relief.
The political order was reorganized with startling speed.
Positions once thought irreplaceable were filled by others.
And, unexpectedly,
affairs of state began to run more smoothly than before.