Magnificent Romance of the Three Kingdoms - Chapter 8

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The third watch.
The northern night sky was piercingly clear, bristling with star clusters. They hung so low it felt as if they might cascade onto your shoulders at any moment.
In his study, his breath pluming white in the cold, Ryeohan was lost in his reading despite the late hour. He was just reaching to trim the flickering lamp’s wick when a voice called out, sharp with urgency.
“Little Lord! Guksang summons you!”
It was Head Steward Eom. Normally, he would have announced himself to a handmaiden and waited, but he was in such a rush he hadn’t even taken off his shoes.
“What is it, at this hour?” Ryeohan asked, closing his book and rising to follow.
“He said… he wishes to give his final will.”
“But he was perfectly fine this morning.” Ryeohan’s voice was sharp with disbelief.
“He said he doesn’t think he’ll make it through the night.”
“I just don’t understand. Other men are bedridden for ages before they…?”
“It must be due to his spiritual disciplines, I believe. He is no ordinary man, Your Lordship. He even knows the day of his own death. You simply cannot compare him to common men.”
“I suppose you’re right, but…”
As they spoke, Jong Chan-mu and the other retainers, including Bu-ro and Dan-nyeo, fell in behind them as an escort. They arrived at the central hall, where the guards remained outside as Ryeohan hurried alone into the inner chambers.
All the high-ranking officials were already there.
“Sit.”
Ryeohan’s gaze immediately sought his great-grandfather. Myeongnim Dap-bu’s face was ashen. It was a shocking, stark difference from the man he had seen that morning.
“Ryeohan!”
“Yes!”
“Just as your name, Ryeo (麗) and Han (漢), implies… you must unite not only Goguryeo, but all of Hwaha (China)… and in accordance with the divine decree of Dangun Seongje, you must bring great benefit to the people!”
He gasped for breath.
“And… all of you… place your hands on Ryeohan!”
Bewildered, they all did as he asked, placing their hands on Ryeohan’s outstretched one.
“Clasp them tightly!”
“Yes, sir!” It was Yeon Mussang, boisterous as ever.
“All of you, as one… must ensure… that the final will I have given to Ryeohan is fulfilled! You must! You must…!”
“Yes, sir!” Ryeohan and the assembled ministers accepted the command in unison.
“The rest of you, stay as you are. Ryeohan, sit before me, facing away.”
“Yes!”
Ryeohan hesitated. Though it was a solemn command, some instinct screamed that this was wrong.
Dap-bu’s order thundered out.
“Will you not sit down at once!”
“Yes!”
Who would dare defy him? Ryeohan sat cross-legged, his back to the old man.
“I intend to infuse you with my transcendent power. Your mind and body must be perfectly focused!”
“You mustn’t, Grandfather!” Ryeohan shouted, finally understanding what he was about to do.
“Silence! I am leaving soon. What use is this power to a body returning to dust? I have placed a heavy burden on you; this is so I can make my own journey lighter. Do not delay another second!”
“Yes!”
Realising his great-grandfather’s will was iron, Ryeohan pushed aside his protest and cleared his mind.
“Are you ready?”
As Ryeohan, his eyes half-open, gathered his spirit, Dap-bu’s left hand came to rest gently on the ‘Gate of Life’ vital point on his back. Slowly, his transcendent power—the sum of one hundred and twenty years of cultivation—began to flow into Ryeohan’s body.
This continued for a quarter of an hour.
Ryeohan’s jaw was clenched, his brow slick with sweat and furrowed in pain.
After a long while, Dap-bu quietly removed his hand. He began to sway, back and forth.
“Aaargh…!”
With a great sound—part shout, part groan—Myeongnim Dap-bu’s body went rigid, still sitting upright.
He had died as he sat.
It was the twenty-fourth day of the ninth lunar month.
A great star of Goguryeo had fallen.
“Grandfather! Grandfather…!” Ryeohan cried out, roused from his trance.
He choked on a sob.
“Grandfather!” His call turned into a wail. “Oh, Grandfather…!”
But Myeongnim Dap-bu would never reply again.
A serene smile still graced his lips.
Yeon Mussang threw his head back and wailed like a child. Udeukmu was also weeping, crying out “General! General!” in raw, choked shouts. The normally composed Eom Chungeom was trying not to cry, clenching his jaw, but his entire body was wracked with violent, choked sobs. Eulji Jjeu-meun had turned away, endlessly wiping tears with the back of his hand.
A state funeral was declared.
It was unprecedented for a mere subject, but King Sindae would hear no arguments.
And then, after dismissing the court, he too took to his sickbed.
He was ninety-one years old.
Ever since Dap-bu had helped him ascend to the throne at seventy-seven, the man had been his steadfast minister, his older brother, and his dearest friend. His sorrow was incomparable, his grief boundless.
The funeral would follow tradition: the body would be placed in a coffin and kept at home for three years before being interred in a stone tomb in a propitious spot, shaded by fir and pine.
But for a state funeral, the hall was desolate.
Such is the way of the world. In life, the death of his dog would have brought a sea of visitors; now that the man himself was dead, the world’s sympathies had vanished with him.
Only the vassals of Shinryeoseong and a few high-ranking officials paid their respects. The one comfort was Jo-ui Seonin, the nameless and unheralded, who travelled from far and wide to pay homage—a glimpse of the profound respect they had held for him in life.
Three months passed in a blur.
Ryeohan was supposed to be managing the household, but he couldn’t grasp the work. He delegated everything to the Head Steward and Eulji Jjeu-meun. As he was in mourning, his marriage was naturally postponed. Uso and Uran visited only a few times. Before, they would have visited far more often, but recently, their footsteps had grown sparse.
“Your Majesty, what brings you here?”
She laughed softly. “I’ve come privately. For once, I’d like to be treated as a sister, not a queen.”
“Even so… please, come inside.”
This was a conversation at the house of U In, between him and his younger sister, the current Queen, U Hui-yeon. The Queen was sixty-two; there was a nearly thirty-year age gap between her and King Sindae. Her rise from a mere court lady to Queen was a testament to her astonishing political skill.
After moistening her throat with tea, the Queen spoke.
“He is old now. I don’t think he will recover.”
“Then, the matter of the succession…?” U In asked, leaning forward on one knee.
She smiled. “My preference is for the second son, Nammu.”
“But the eldest, Balgi, will surely put up a fierce resistance.”
“He’s too old! He’s over sixty. Are we to prepare for another funeral the moment he takes the throne? Besides, he’s far too greedy.”
“If that’s the case, what about the third and youngest sons?”
“They are too young and inexperienced.”
“Is that why you blocked the marriage talks?”
“Hohho… The Yeonna-bu clan must continue to produce queens. Thanks to our useless ancestors, we lost our vast lands in the west and were chased into the capital. Now, we must preserve our fleeting lives by becoming consorts to the royal family.”
“Heh… And just when I thought a great figure was emerging from the Yeonna-bu clan…?”
“Are you speaking of Myeongnim Dap-bu?”
“Who else? At one time, it seemed he could make birds fall from the sky… It was because of him that So-a’s betrothal-in-the-womb was promised… Ahem.”
“I have no time to discuss the past. At the Council of Nobles, you must strongly support Nammu. And So-a is to be confined to the house. A future queen cannot have a reputation for being wayward!”
“I understand, Your Majesty!”
“Don’t see me out.”
“Very well…!”
The nineteenth day of the twelfth lunar month.
This time, King Sindae passed away.
At ninety-one years old, he had taken to his sickbed and, failing to recover, departed the world.
It was another funeral, this one brought on entirely by profound grief.
Another state funeral was declared, and the royal court and the Council of Nobles were thrown into a flurry of activity. After several meetings, the second son, Nammu, was designated as the successor. This was the man who would become King Gogukcheon. He was fifty-two years old.
Time is indifferent, and it flies like an arrow.
The third month.
The ground was only thawed on the surface, and patches of snow lingered in the mountain shadows, but the sunlight grew warmer by the day.
Yeon Pal-chwita, claiming he was lonely, came to visit with Jwa So-gun, announcing he was setting off to tour the country. Ryeohan, who had long understood the importance of information, asked him to form an organisation. His request, born from his love of wuxia novels in his past life and his observation that Yeon Pal-chwita mixed easily with beggars, was to create a “Beggars’ Sect” (Gaebang).
He laughed. “My lord, are you really telling me to become a king of beggars?” he retorted. But he was eventually won over by good alcohol and a stern command, and left with So-gun.
With them gone, Ryeohan felt even more isolated. To banish the thoughts from his mind, he dedicated himself to assimilating the 120 years of transcendent power his great-grandfather had passed to him. He was now able to wield about half of it—one gapja (60 years). The rest still lay dormant in his meridians.
While the world was awash in the vibrancy of spring, Goguryeo was struck by a sudden calamity.
A great calamity, one on which the fate of the nation hinged.
An invasion by Gongsun Du, the Han Administrator of Liaodong.
It was a cunning strategy: to sweep in and destroy them before the new king’s power had stabilised.
In the face of this surprise invasion, the capital, Gungnae Seong, was plunged into chaos, yet simultaneously seized by the spirit of war. A state of emergency was declared, and conscription began.
This wave also swept up Myeongnim Ryeohan. Now sixteen, he could not escape mobilisation. In Goguryeo, all men were subject to conscription at fifteen, treated as adults and immediately burdened with military duty.
Even if he weren’t of age, he could not sit idly by. Ryeohan immediately gathered the 300 Jo-ui Seonin of his household and 70 men selected from his servants—a total force of 370—and rode for the palace. This force included his strategist Eulji Jjeu-meun, as well as Udeukmu, Yeon Mussang, and Jong Chan-mu; it was the entire strength of his household.
Back at the manor, only the three widowed ladies, Head Steward Eom, the two maids, and the remaining women, children, and elderly were left. Geum-ryeong and Ok-ryeong had forcefully demanded to go, but they were of no help in a battle. On Ryeohan’s strict orders, they were forced to remain at home, swallowing their tears.
Owing to his family’s status, Ryeohan was given the rank of Malgaek, a Cheon-injang (Commander of a Thousand). The remaining numbers to fill his unit were provided by Gyesu, the new Crown Prince (as King Gogukcheon had no sons of his own). This meant he was under the command of the Daemodal (Great Leader), Crown Prince Gyesu.
To aid understanding, the Goguryeo military structure was as follows: The capital’s central army had five Malgaek, commanding one thousand men each (East, West, South, North, and Centre). Commanding these five thousand men was the Daemodal.
Normally, there was only one Daemodal, but as this was a war for national survival, another was appointed: Wi-gung, the third son of King Sindae, the current king’s younger brother. He was also made the leader of five thousand hastily assembled men. Beyond this, as it was a siege, every citizen in the capital who could fight was mobilised for a desperate last stand.
Women carried stones in baskets or in their skirts and boiled cauldrons of oil. Men without proper weapons took up bamboo spears or farming tools; failing that, they prepared to roll stones and logs. It was, in truth, an all-out war of desperation.
Facing them, the army of the wise general Gongsun Du was equally desperate. They used siege ladders, battering rams, and crossbows—every weapon at their disposal—to take the fortress. But against the desperate resistance, casualties merely mounted on both sides. The castle remained impregnable.
This continued for a fortnight.
The walls were high, and the people were united in their defiance. Nothing was going Gongsun Du’s way. To make matters worse, regional armies were now marching from all corners to relieve the capital. He was trapped. In the end, Gongsun Du made his decision: he would withdraw.
The capital of Goguryeo did not merely watch them go.
The order was given to the two Daemodal: pursue and annihilate them, as if to vent all the suffering they had just endured.
As the enemy retreated through the night, Myeongnim Ryeohan also rode out in the vanguard of the pursuit, alongside the two Daemodal.
It was just at the moment when the first grey light of dawn was breaking.