733 — When the Obvious Slips Past
Some things pass as "natural" before we ever question them.
And so we live without knowing when exactly the world began to bend out of shape.
We already know that many nations serve the interests of a few through distorted politics.
And yet we accept, without protest, the structure in which we ourselves serve those interests.
We fail to recognize that what feels "natural" is often the deepest form of paralysis.
The meeting with Pyeonunja struck deeply at Park Seong-jin.
The Daoist had recognized his attainment of Hyeongyeong at a glance,
and had warned that present efforts would not necessarily lead to good outcomes.
If allowing things to flow according to fate could save more lives,
what then should one choose?
Still troubled by that question, Seong-jin sought out Lee In-jung.
The Soldier's Position
In the military order, the head of the martial ranks was formally held by the Supreme General of the Ungyang Army.
Lee In-jung's appointment to that role was not merely ceremonial.
He had merit.
He had capability.
Above all, his loyalty was unquestioned.
Though not the highest-ranking official in name,
in practice he had become the center of the military faction.
Seong-jin did not expect an answer from him.
But when faced with grave matters, he had always spoken with Lee first.
So he relayed everything.
A deep crease formed on Lee's brow.
"How can we know who is right? Or which future is better?"
"He told me to look from the position of a third party," Seong-jin replied.
"If I do, I will see."
"And?"
"He told me to look directly at the inequality that endless rebellions reveal."
Lee remained silent for a time.
Then he said quietly,
"Even so, I am a general of Goryeo."
"So am I," Seong-jin answered.
"That is why it is harder. We stand in a place where true objectivity is impossible."
Lee spoke as if reaching a decision.
"I will report this to His Majesty."
"What will you say?"
"That reform must move faster."
He paused, then added,
"If sages say it would be better to let Goryeo fall, how can we remain still?"
There was no anger in his voice.
Only responsibility.
They did not continue.
There was no certainty to be had.
Only the awareness that the ground beneath them was slanted.
The Choice
This was not a matter for official documents.
Not something the court could simply deliberate and conclude.
It was a matter of personal choice.
One path: actively push reform and dismantle the old order.
Another: preserve the existing structure.
There was also a third way.
Withdraw entirely.
Abandon the desire to correct the world.
Preserve one's inner stillness.
For centuries, that had been considered the highest wisdom.
And yet Seong-jin and Lee chose to inform the King.
The message was simple:
Do not let Goryeo disappear.
Accelerate reform.
Was that right?
Only now did the question truly take hold of Seong-jin.
He realized he was still thinking like a soldier.
Protect the state.
Prevent collapse.
He had not fully stepped beyond that framework.
Pyeonunja's visit had been clear:
Release.
Withdraw.
Let what is exhausted fall.
But Seong-jin had not accepted that.
He went instead to urge faster reform—
to extend the life of a state that might already have reached its end.
Whether that choice was right or wrong could not yet be known.
What was certain was this:
He was still a soldier of this nation.
And that fact would never allow his judgment to be entirely free.
The Audience Hall
The Royal Audience Hall was another world.
The ceiling soared high.
Thick beams, lacquered deep red, supported dragons inlaid with gold leaf, twisting across the wood as if alive.
Each scale was detailed.
Obsidian eyes caught the light and returned it as depthless shadow.
Eight pillars stood in symmetry.
Azure Dragon. White Tiger. Vermilion Bird. Black Tortoise.
Guardian beasts carved into each column, layered beneath vivid dancheong patterns of blue, crimson, and gold.
Five centuries of authority clung to the color itself.
The floor was polished stone worn smooth by countless steps.
A violet silk carpet embroidered with phoenixes and peonies absorbed light beneath each footfall.
The throne stood elevated on three tiers:
waves and clouds below,
mountains above that,
and at the highest, heavens and stars.
Behind it unfolded the Sun-Moon-Five-Peaks Screen—
the King positioned as the axis of cosmos.
Aloeswood incense burned softly.
Not sharp enough to sting the nose.
Deep enough to slow speech.
Seong-jin walked forward and thought:
If this brilliance is the face of the kingdom,
how dark must be the lives of those who suffer beyond it?
The thought startled him.
Before, "the people" had been an abstraction.
Now their hardship felt tangible.
He noticed the King's finger brush once across the carved armrest—
an unconscious gesture,
yet it seemed the motion of someone bearing invisible weight.
Thus began their conversation.
The Dialogue
"I have audience with Your Majesty."
"Enter. Come closer."
"A Daoist named Pyeonunja visited me."
The King's brow moved almost imperceptibly.
"Few know that name. You met him?"
"Yes. He recognized my realm at once."
"What did he say?"
"That our efforts may not lead only to good."
Silence.
"Why bring such words to me?"
"Because they were too heavy to ignore."
"Speak clearly."
"He said it might be better for the people if Goryeo did not exist."
Silence again—
but not confusion.
Deliberation.
"So the Daoist would have us abandon the state?"
"He said to release it. To entrust it to the flow of time."
"And what do you choose?"
"I came to tell Your Majesty."
"That is your choice?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because the world I see is not finished."
"Explain."
"War has stopped. Bloodshed has been prevented. The people breathe."
"Is that your achievement?"
"No. But it is proof. Proof that change remains possible."
"The Daoist called that a futile prolonging."
"Yes."
"Yet you speak otherwise."
"Because I am a soldier."
"…."
"I cannot accept watching a collapsing nation without resistance."
"That may be a soldier's limitation."
"I know. That is why I speak cautiously."
"The more cautious the words, the more dangerous."
"Even so, I must speak."
"What do you ask?"
"Do not halt reform."
"There is already fierce opposition."
"I know."
"Blades have already been drawn."
"Then we must move faster."
The King studied him.
"You wish to extend Goryeo's mandate?"
"Not its mandate. Time—for the people to breathe."
"The Daoist said that prolongs suffering."
"He may not be wrong."
"And still?"
"And still, Your Majesty—
the human world cannot simply be left to drift."
"You would redirect the river?"
"Not block it. Carve a channel."
"If reform fails?"
"I will bear the responsibility."
"You?"
"A man who carries a sword must carry consequence."
"You cannot carry the karma of a nation."
"Even so, I will not retreat."
"The Daoist departed. You remain."
"Yes."
"Do you understand that difference?"
"I do. I also understand that I may be wrong."
"Then why speak?"
"If Your Majesty stops, this nation will rot where it stands."
Silence.
"At the very least, we can slow decay and share its burden."
"That is your best judgment?"
"It is, for now."
"You might extend the life of the state."
"I will bear that responsibility."
"Or destroy it more completely."
"I am prepared."
"…."
"I do not intend to become an immortal."
Silence.
"I will remain among people—
even if that means making the wrong choice as a human."
To remain in the world is to be stained by it.
Yet he believed that was the honest path.
"That is your road?"
"Yes."
"…."
"Return."
"I will await Your Majesty's decision."
"Do not wait."
The words might have sounded like dismissal,
but the tone held no rejection.
"Your words," the King said quietly,
"are already within my heart."