Chapter 145. The Founding of a State — Hoeryeongbu
The machinery of statehood moved swiftly into motion.
From every direction, tribes gathered.
Their chieftains came with blood heirs and warriors alike.
They were persuaded, ordered, and sent onward to Yeongu.
There, commanders reshaped them into ranks, placed weapons in their hands, and drove them immediately into training.
It took time for them to be assembled.
But once placed within the structure, they did not resist it.
They fit—cleanly, inevitably—into a system already turning.
Elsewhere, construction roared to life.
What rose was not merely buildings,
but the beginnings of a kingdom—Jin.
This was Hoeryeongbu,
the heart and origin of the Jurchen tribes.
It was also where the Meng'an–Mouke system first took form.
People gathered first.
Walls came later.
Inside, houses and tents stood interwoven.
Packed-earth dwellings pressed into the ground,
while leather tents stood beside them, still breathing with the wind.
Nothing declared itself permanent.
Nothing admitted to being temporary.
Horses outnumbered men.
They crossed the open grounds freely,
and soldiers stepped aside without thought, as though yielding to a higher order.
The sound of iron never ceased.
There was no single forge—
fires burned everywhere.
Iron was heated, struck, flattened.
Men sat with their armor spread across their knees.
They threaded broken straps, straightened warped plates, tightened knots with steady hands.
There was a center.
Not a palace.
Not a hall.
Just an open space—
slightly wider than the rest—
where, whenever people gathered, their gaze naturally converged.
That was where 完顏阿骨打 stood.
Not above them.
Not apart.
Just one step ahead.
And when he stood,
silence followed.
No command had yet been given—
yet all already knew one was coming.
Hoeryeongbu was not a finished city.
But it revealed something more important—
the exact moment when scattered tribes became a single force.
Around Aguda's tent, the chieftains' tents spread in a radial pattern.
The strongest stood closest.
The rest followed in the order they arrived.
Behind them, their people stretched outward in long lines.
And behind Aguda's own tent, wooden structures rose—
bearing the shape, unmistakably, of Goguryeo.
At the center, there was always an empty space.
No one marked it.
No one claimed it.
Yet no one stepped into it.
It belonged to him.
That day, as always, the space remained open.
Aguda stepped into it.
Nothing changed—
except that he stood there longer.
He did not speak.
He looked down.
The ground was hardened—
pressed by countless feet.
Layer upon layer of footprints lay embedded there,
and even rain could not gather in that place.
He pressed the earth once with his foot.
It held.
"Build it here."
No question had been asked.
No explanation followed.
And none was needed.
A man stepped forward with a stake.
The first pillar was small—almost insignificant.
No measurements.
No alignment.
It was driven into the ground.
Aguda glanced at it.
It leaned.
He said nothing.
He pushed it once.
It sank deeper.
That was enough.
Others moved.
Stones were cleared.
Earth was leveled.
Space widened.
What rose that day was too small to be called a house.
Too open to protect.
Too slight to contain.
Yet from that moment on—
everything changed.
He ordered the sides cleared.
On one side, a circular altar to Heaven was raised.
Not grand, but deliberate.
Stone laid in careful ring upon earth.
Symbols were placed—
the Five Elements, the Twelve Zodiac Signs.
And at its center,
a stone engraved with the 三足烏.
In all of this, 白仁謙 stood present.
From the first day, he had set direction,
chosen ground,
placed meaning upon emptiness.
A place to speak to Heaven was not chosen lightly.
Each man brought a stone.
Each stone found its place.
Days later, the council gathered.
One by one, the tribes spoke—
and none opposed.
Aguda was raised as emperor.
He declared the founding of Jin
and spoke of its name:
"요나라는 빈철(賓鐵)을 국호로 삼아 그 견고함을 취하였지만, 결국에는 또한 녹이 슬고 부러지니, 오직 금만이 변하지 않고 무너지지 않는다. 금의 색깔은 흰색인데, 완안부의 색깔 또한 흰색이다."
"續資治通鑑" 권92 "遼以賓鐵為號,取其堅也.賓鐵雖堅,終亦變壞.惟金不變不壞,金之色白,完顏部色尚白"
Then he spoke again.
"完顏阿骨打 stood within his tent and began.
The founder of Jin, Hambu, came from Goryeo…"
(※ 이 연설 부분은 이미 매우 강하므로, 핵심 리듬만 다듬고 유지)
"…I do not create something new.
I reveal what has endured.
What began in the East,
what has flowed through generations,
what has reached this land—
that is what I raise today.
We name it Jin."
The words spread outward—quietly, but deeply.
The young of the 完顏 clan nearly collapsed under the weight of it.
They had known fragments.
Now, they saw the whole.
Scattered histories aligned into a single line.
The name Jin gained a second meaning.
Records, legends, blood memory—
all converged.
Yeongu understood.
Now he understood why Kim Busik had stood behind them.
At last—
完顏阿骨打 declared:
"We will report to Heaven and Earth tomorrow.
We will honor the ancestors.
Prepare yourselves."
No voice answered.
Yet all bowed.
Not only the generals—
but every tribe present.
Because they understood.
No explanation was needed.
The moment had already become truth.