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Chen Youliang and Park Seong-jin — The Second Audience: The Language of Legitimacy
Two days later, the Goryeo delegation was summoned again.
At the heart of Chen Youliang's main camp, the red drapes were drawn back.
The atmosphere inside was calmer than before.
Soldiers lowered their spearpoints in greeting.
A faint, unfamiliar incense drifted through the tent.
When Park Seong-jin entered, Chen Youliang rose from his seat to receive him.
"I apologize for making you wait," Chen said.
"I've given your words considerable thought."
Park bowed.
"A matter that concerns all under Heaven deserves careful reflection."
Chen smiled faintly.
"Under Heaven… You always speak of it.
But tell me—whose world is it, truly?"
Park answered with a subtle smile.
"It is regrettably not yet Yours, my lord."
The words curled upward at the edges,
suggesting not yet—but soon.
Chen laughed aloud.
"Isn't it said that the world belongs to the people?"
"Yes," Park replied.
"The world belongs not to Heaven, but to the people.
No—the people themselves are the world.
That is what I was taught: to understand this is to inherit Heaven's mandate."
He spoke carefully—
not what I believe, but what I was taught.
The tent fell silent.
To those who ruled by force,
it sounded like a warning:
without legitimacy, power was nothing.
Chen chuckled low.
"If Heaven heard that, it would be furious."
Park spoke evenly.
"If Heaven is angered, then perhaps it has strayed too far from the people.
A Heaven that ignores suffering is no Heaven at all.
It has been gone for far too long."
Chen's gaze shifted.
"I hear your teacher is a Daoist.
Are these his words?"
Park shook his head.
"No. Only how his words changed once they took root in me.
I am a soldier. I lack eloquence.
I cannot even be certain that what I say is correct."
"Then your teacher speaks of the Dao," Chen said.
"Those who speak of the Dao always believe they are right.
But I believe in Heaven.
Throughout history, Heaven has chosen one man to pacify the world.
That is the Mandate of Heaven."
Park answered quietly.
"Many who seized power by force later invoked Heaven
to justify what they had already taken.
Heaven does not grant the mandate.
People accept it."
Chen's eyes narrowed.
"So you claim Heaven does not use men—
men create Heaven?"
Park closed his eyes briefly, then looked up.
"Heaven descends where people's will gathers.
When that will falters, Heaven withdraws in silence.
In our land, we call this Innaecheon—
man is Heaven."
Chen tapped the table slowly.
The sound echoed through the tent.
"Your words are convincing," he said.
"But words alone cannot build a state.
People's wills change too easily.
Power built on that will never rests."
Park replied, unwavering.
"Power built by invoking Heaven is even more unstable.
It demands endless violence to sustain itself."
Chen smiled slightly.
"You grow bolder with every word."
"Words are merely vessels," Park said.
"If the vessel breaks but the meaning remains, I have no regrets."
Chen fell silent, studying him.
"Very well," he said at last.
"You speak of balance.
If you wish to establish that balance with me—
what will you offer?"
Park paused, then answered.
"Trust."
"That is all we have to give."
Chen scoffed.
"Trust is the first thing to die on a battlefield."
"Which is why it is precious," Park replied.
"To demand profit from one who offers to stand beside you
is… small.
What more does Your Grace desire?"
His voice did not waver.
"You believe yourself chosen by Heaven.
We will acknowledge that belief first.
Then surely things will proceed without effort—
if Heaven is truly omnipotent.
Is that not so?"
Chen snorted.
There was no such Heaven.
Only a world forged by violence, blood, and tears—
later labeled as Heaven's will.
Park continued.
"We ask only that you envision a world beneath that Heaven
where blood no longer flows.
We seek neither land nor mandate—
only peace."
Silence followed.
Chen's eyes wavered.
"A bloodless world… peace."
"Beautiful words.
And beautiful words are often empty."
Park lifted his head.
"That emptiness is why we are here."
Chen looked at him for a long moment, then smiled—
a mix of caution and admiration.
"Are all Goryeo envoys skilled with words?"
"We are warriors," Park answered clearly.
"I am a soldier myself.
Today, I simply chose to leave my blade in its sheath."
Chen's smile faded.
"Your words are persuasive.
But I have not abandoned Heaven's mandate.
If I inherit Heaven, and you support it—
would that not benefit us both?"
Park bowed slightly.
"To serve Heaven is the work of men.
If you gain the hearts of the people,
Heaven will already be with you.
The people are Heaven."
Chen waved his hand slowly.
"That is enough for today."
Rising, he muttered,
"Your words stir the heart—
but they have not yet changed me."
Park answered softly.
"If your thoughts have wavered, then movement has already begun.
Nothing in this world is fixed.
All things move, tremble, and change."
Chen stopped mid-step and turned.
"If trembling is movement,
then the world must tremble constantly."
Their eyes met.
A silence deeper than words passed between them.
"Go," Chen said at last.
"I will think further."
Park bowed.
"May not Heaven, but the will of the people, illuminate your path."
Chen remained alone in the tent.
Light filtered through the drapes above him.
He murmured,
"Heaven is distant.
People are close…
That may be the more frightening truth."
He smiled faintly—
tired, yet strangely warm.