237.
The Empress's Command — The Reactivation of the Shadow Guard
Though it was deep night in the capital, the palace lights did not go out.
Lanterns hung between golden pillars swayed uneasily in the faintest draft.
Beneath that wavering glow, a group in black lay prostrate without a word.
They were the Empress's personal secret corps—the Shadow Guard.
The Empress walked forward at an unhurried pace.
Her silk hem brushed the cold marble floor, producing a low, rasping sound.
Her face was pale, and in her eyes there remained not even the smallest warmth one expects of a human being.
"He—
is still alive."
At those words, all who knelt pressed their foreheads to the floor.
At the very front knelt the master of the Shadow Guard.
A man without a name, without a face, without a record.
For decades he had lived as the Empress's shadow.
Sweat beaded at his temples.
"Your Majesty," he said, "now that an edict has already been issued, we lack sufficient cause to move.
The situation in Jiangnan is changing by the hour.
More than half of our intelligence network has been diverted there.
At present, we are critically short of personnel."
The Empress's gaze shifted to him, slowly.
She said nothing, but the air froze first.
"You say the cause is weak."
The Shadow Guard's master bowed even deeper, reflexively.
"The Great Khan has already settled the matter as Heaven's will.
His command is that it not be pursued further."
Before he could finish, the Empress's fan snapped through the air.
Smack.
The thin edge of silk cut across his cheek.
A thin line of blood slid down in silence.
Her voice was low, and perfectly clear.
"Heaven's will.
Heaven is a word I made.
Those I remember are alive.
Those I forget are already dead."
At that instant, even the sound of breathing vanished.
"Do not forget who you are.
You are my hands and my eyes.
Do not ask after Heaven.
Obey my will."
She let her gaze drift briefly into the distance, then added quietly,
"Repay Gi Cheol's grievance."
Turning away, she left one final sentence behind her.
"The Empire's honor may waver.
My name will not."
As her words fell, the Shadow Guard's master collapsed fully to the floor.
"I will remember," he said.
Long after her shadow vanished beyond the hall, he could not rise.
Cold sweat ran down his spine.
So softly it was barely audible, he murmured,
"…This is impossible."
At that moment, a fleck of ash fell from the ceiling—
the remnant of incense long extinguished.
In a place without flame, the light flickered once.
"Do not use the word 'impossible'—"
The Empress's voice echoed again, from nowhere.
"—in my presence."
That night, the capital palace sank once more into darkness.
But deep beneath it, in secret passageways, dozens of Shadow Guards were already moving in silence.
They had one destination.
Eastward—
to Hwaju.
There, a man who had once passed through Heaven's gate was quietly catching his breath.
On the Road to Gaegyeong — A Conversation with Yi Jiseon
The road toward Gaegyeong was slow.
The revolt of the powerful clans had already been suppressed, and there was no need to hurry.
One great burden had been lifted.
Yet news arrived that Princess Noguk wished to see Park Seongjin again.
No reason was given.
That was how it always was.
When summoned from above, explanations were rarely offered.
That any had been given before was courtesy enough.
Park Seongjin glanced sideways at Yi Jiseon, who rode beside him.
"Master," he asked, "why are we being summoned again?"
Yi Jiseon slowed his reins and answered briefly.
"Leakage of heavenly secrets."
Park Seongjin laughed.
"That again?
What does it even mean?"
Yi Jiseon's voice was firm.
"It means allowing the hidden currents of Heaven to spill outward.
Things that must not be spoken."
"So serious as that?"
Yi Jiseon fell silent for a moment, as if weighing each word.
"There are five reasons one must not commit such a breach."
Park Seongjin's eyes lit up.
"Five reasons?"
"First," Yi Jiseon said slowly,
"fate does not change, but choices do.
When choices change, the flow twists.
We may speak of direction, but never of outcome."
Park Seongjin countered,
"Then is it right to remain silent even when one knows?"
"Yes," Yi Jiseon nodded.
"The moment words are spoken, a backlash follows.
It does not strike only the listener—it returns to the speaker as well."
"Hm… even you?"
"Of course."
Yi Jiseon smiled faintly.
"One must not borrow Heaven's words lightly."
Park Seongjin nodded, though doubt still lingered on his face.
"That is why soothsayers seldom meet good ends."
"Backlash," Park Seongjin murmured.
"Second," Yi Jiseon continued,
"my role.
I am one who assists the flow, not one who provokes fear.
Words carry force.
They can save a person—or kill one."
A brief gust of wind passed.
The straps on their saddles trembled lightly.
"Third," Yi Jiseon went on,
"knowing the future costs you the present.
Certain prophecy does not move people.
It paralyzes them."
Park Seongjin slowed his horse and muttered,
"I understand that much.
If you know fate… the reason to strive disappears."
"Exactly."
Yi Jiseon's lips curved just slightly.
"That is the fourth reason.
Knowing every answer is not a blessing, but a curse.
We were made to live fully in this world.
To let the future or heaven ruin the present is not wisdom."
Park Seongjin sighed.
"If only I had met you earlier…"
Yi Jiseon continued calmly.
"Those who know fate eventually destroy themselves trying to defy it."
Park Seongjin, nodding in both agreement and sympathy, asked,
"Then what is the fifth?"
Yi Jiseon looked up at the sky.
"The fate of the one who speaks fate," he said softly.
"Those who leak Heaven's secrets do not live long."
Park Seongjin asked quietly,
"And those who stay near power?"
"They usually die with it."
Yi Jiseon added one more line.
"The Buddha once said:
'Do not pursue the past, nor worry about the future yet to come.
The past is gone, the future not yet arrived.
Observe only what arises in the present.'"
"Did the Buddha really say that?"
"Yes."
The road curved, and the shadows of distant mountains fell across it.
Truth is never far.
Perhaps it is because something must not be done that we wish all the more to do it—
even if it leads straight to ruin.
Park Seongjin remained silent for a long while.
At last, he spoke.
"Then a diviner is… someone who makes another's fate a little less miserable."
Yi Jiseon smiled briefly, then shook his head.
"Less miserable—
or less arrogant."
The sun was already tilting westward.
Their shadows stretched long across the dry plain, moving forward side by side.