The Request of the Imperial Palace
Jin Mugwang offered the grand ceremonial bow and withdrew.
As he completed the formalities and prepared to step away, the Queen Dowager added a final word.
She asked once more for consideration toward the young Emperor.
She said it was still too early for him to bear the full weight of governance.
Even if the northern front were entrusted to Jin Mugwang,
she did not wish the Emperor to be neglected.
Jin Mugwang lowered his head in reply.
His answer was brief, but its meaning heavy.
Too many requests and questions had been exchanged.
As words passed back and forth, thoughts layered upon thoughts.
The more they accumulated, the more his steps faltered slightly.
He walked without pause, yet his mind was unsettled.
Not every request would be granted.
Somewhere, someone would seek to diminish, to delay, to soften with different words.
If that happened, winter warfare would grow difficult.
If preparations fell short, the border would waver.
A general must assume the worst.
He had to account for the possibility that the White Dragon Unit alone might face tens of thousands.
The defensive garrisons needed at least fifty thousand men.
Anything less would be hard to endure.
More bows and arrows were required.
Crossbows (弩) needed reinforcement.
The shortage of warhorses required no explanation.
One cannot create what does not exist.
The total number of horses in the realm was limited.
They were resources to be divided among battlefields.
He drew a long breath.
The calculations were unfinished, and winter was not far.
Suddenly he felt that all of this was repeating.
The first campaign, victory, return.
Departure again, and another return.
There was always insufficiency.
Always preparation.
Once battle began, his forces were invariably outnumbered.
It was a cycle.
Though seasons changed, the condition did not alter much.
A general of this nation must live with such lack.
He had come to see it as fate.
A sigh rose from deep within his chest.
But it did not linger.
He would simply return to the front.
To place his body at the very front was, to him, consolation.
A general belongs on the battlefield.
He must breathe among blades and soldiers.
If he could stand where he ought to stand, that was enough.
At least that was how he thought.
He could not understand why the garrisons that had barely held together had been dispersed.
The moment an army is scattered, armor, spears, bows, and crossbows do not remain intact.
Someone must have calculated first to reduce troop numbers.
But it is not only soldiers who diminish.
The administrative system collapses with them.
Those who recorded and inspected equipment disappear.
Who was responsible for what, where things were stored—such knowledge blurs.
In the end, nothing remains.
Armor is scattered.
Spears rust.
Bows and crossbows vanish.
Some bury them in the earth during relocation, claiming they are too heavy, promising to retrieve them later.
Such promises are rarely kept.
Some report that the items had never existed at all.
The ledgers retain numbers, but the objects are gone.
Some are simply destroyed.
Attach the excuse of damage, and responsibility grows vague; accountability dissolves.
Reducing troop numbers may seem simple.
But behind it, a larger void remains.
Jin Mugwang contemplated that void.
What must be refilled was not only men.