Chapter 119 — The Envoy Lodge
The air changed the moment he approached the envoy lodge.
There were many people.
Voices were low.
Movements were swift, restrained.
Soldiers were already stationed at the gate.
They stood with spears upright, unmoving, sweeping passersby with nothing but their eyes.
Those gazes did not block the way,
yet they slowed one's steps.
Inside, people moved briskly.
Officials in formal robes hurried along, documents in hand.
Servants carried wine and food, stepping aside as they passed.
One spoke, another bowed in reply.
Voices stayed low.
Laughter was brief.
But the eyes lingered.
At the center of the courtyard stood the banner of the envoy.
When the wind brushed past, the cloth swayed slowly.
Those who passed beneath it did not stop,
yet each cast a glance upward.
The buildings were meticulously kept.
Pillars stood straight.
Eaves stretched long and clean.
The doors were wide open,
yet the interior remained deeply veiled.
Those entering and leaving brushed past one another—
they saw each other,
and yet passed as if they had not.
The Khitan envoy's guards came into view.
They stood at measured intervals—by the gate, along the veranda, and at the edges of the courtyard.
Their armor was not heavy.
Layered scales wrapped their bodies, short shoulder guards resting on top.
Bows hung at their waists, quivers slung diagonally across their backs—
ready to fire the instant they mounted.
Their stance was firm.
They did not spread their legs wide,
nor did they stiffen their posture.
They revealed no force,
yet could move at any moment.
Their eyes were sharper still.
They swept over people, buildings, the path itself.
Their gaze did not linger long,
but nothing escaped it.
What they saw, they did not lose.
They spoke little among themselves.
Everything seemed already decided.
A slight tilt of one head
was mirrored at the same angle by another.
The courtyard air was soft.
Silk garments brushed against each other.
Wine cups passed from hand to hand.
A faint fragrance drifted through the air,
and speech flowed with practiced courtesy.
As the sun dipped and its remaining light clung to the tiled roofs, cooling,
Yeongu arrived at the lodge.
The bustle of the day had settled.
Lamps flickered to life one by one, revealing the space in sharp relief.
Someone was already waiting at the entrance.
Torches stood on either side,
their light spilling across the doors and pillars.
Between them stood rows of men,
perfectly aligned without the slightest disorder.
At the front stood an official from the Ministry of Rites.
His robes were immaculate, hands folded, head slightly bowed.
As Yeongu approached, the man stepped forward.
"Deputy Commander Lee Yeongu has arrived."
The words flowed inward through the doorway.
Inside, movement followed at once.
Footsteps did not overlap.
Sound was pressed low.
The doors opened wider.
From within, Xiao Yajin appeared.
Light fell across his face, half revealing, half concealing.
He walked forward slowly and stopped at the edge of the veranda.
"You have come a long way."
His words were brief, his voice evenly controlled.
He did not extend his hand.
He did not step forward.
Instead, he stepped back, offering the space.
At that moment, the Khitan guards on either side shifted their gaze.
All eyes fell upon Yeongu at once—
then scattered as if nothing had happened.
Their hands did not move.
Their swords remained at their waists, bows on their backs.
Yet the space tightened,
as if the air itself had been drawn taut.
The official stepped back again.
A path opened naturally.
"Please, come inside."
Xiao Yajin turned slightly aside.
The lights within flickered brighter.
The glow stretched inward like a road.
As Yeongu stepped in, the attendants on both sides bowed in unison.
Their backs were not deeply bent,
their eyes lowered.
Neither excessive nor lacking.
Stepping onto the veranda, the ground beneath his feet changed.
A solid warmth, unlike the dirt road outside, rose through him.
Inside, a table was already set.
Wine and food were arranged.
One seat remained empty.
Everything had been prepared.
He was led into a brightly lit hall.
As he sat, dancers entered and began to perform.
It was the kind of reception that would easily become rumor.
The resemblance to the corrupt generals he had condemned weighed heavily on him.
This isn't right.
The thought rose unbidden.
This was far from "a few questions."
When they wanted something, they brought courtesans, fine wine,
and boxes whose contents could not be known.
One such box lay before him now.
It meant only one thing—
Betray what matters most.
Those who failed to understand that
were the ones who ruined politics.
Damn it… this isn't it.
Seeing his discomfort, Xiao Yajin spoke as if offering an excuse.
"They are performers who come here daily. Please do not take it to heart."
They were beautiful—dazzlingly so.
It seemed that every beautiful woman in the world was brought before this man.
"Were they brought from Khitan?"
"No. A few travel with us, but most are local entertainers. We merely dressed them."
"Then why are they dancing like this in a meeting with me? I must have come to the wrong place. I was told there were questions to ask. This clearly isn't that."
Yeongu's blunt words unsettled Xiao Yajin.
One should not mix with the low-born.
They lacked the instinct to read the situation.
"It is a small gesture. A way to ease the conversation."
"Then a sword dance would be better."
Xiao Yajin laughed.
"As expected of a warrior."
He clapped.
The music stopped.
Only then did Yeongu realize music had been playing.
The dancers froze mid-motion.
Even their smiles vanished, replaced by cold expressions as they withdrew.
Two women stepped forward, swords in hand.
They were ceremonial blades—too thin to be real weapons.
Music resumed.
The dance began again.
But this was no mere dance.
They were reproducing real techniques—
thrusts, strikes, cuts—
softened, flowing, but unmistakably Goryeo martial forms.
"What do you think? Better, yes?"
They moved gracefully in splendid garments.
Yeongu's eyes narrowed.
"That's not the point. I came because you said you had questions. This… I'm not used to this. I understand it's meant as courtesy, but I would rather end this with questions and answers."
Xiao Yajin smiled broadly.
"Very well. I will not stop them. What I want is simple. Goryeo's cooperation."
"That is a matter for the ministries, not for me."
"I know. But your voice carries weight. If you speak of the northern situation—if you say Goryeo must support us against the Jurchens—it would make a great difference."
The box before Yeongu opened.
Gold-lined edges, intricate patterns—
inside, rows of silver ingots.
"This is only a portion. If the matter succeeds, you will receive many times this."
Yeongu understood everything at that moment.
Why envoys came and went.
Why men betrayed their country.
Silver.
Always silver.
He stood.
"You've come to the wrong man. Yesterday I was fighting Khitan forces at Chulhajeom."
Xiao Yajin froze.
His gaze drifted to the banner-staff resting nearby.
That weapon had cut down hundreds.
"Are you… the one from that battle?"
Yeongu did not wait for the answer.
"Seek someone else. If you want peace, go to the Jurchens. You know why they fight."
He turned and walked out.
He whistled sharply.
His horse came like the wind.
In an instant, he was gone.
Xiao Yajin stood frozen.
He had no time to respond.