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The Road Toward the People
The road was thick with mud.
The fields had been abandoned for a long time, left to rot.
Where armies passed, the land kept scars—
a shattered plow,
dry rice husks,
a snapped banner.
Chen Youliang reined in his horse.
An old man was turning soil along the edge of a paddy, his back bent nearly double.
Chen dismounted and walked over himself.
The old man didn't even look up.
"What are you looking for?" Chen asked.
"Leveling the ground," the man replied.
His voice was rough, dried out like tree bark.
"The soil's gone hard."
"Even when it rains, the water won't sink in."
Chen listened, then nodded.
"The land's dried shut."
The old man finally raised his head.
Chen smiled slowly.
"What's your name?"
The man answered flatly.
"What use is a name?"
"When you're hungry, you eat.
When you die, you go back to dirt."
Chen didn't argue.
He bent down and scooped up a handful of earth.
It was cold and coarse.
Inside, it was still damp.
"This soil can still breathe."
The old man looked at him properly now.
"Who are you?"
"And why say that?"
Chen straightened.
"I came to see the people."
He mounted again and moved on at a slow pace.
Children watched him from afar, faces hollow with hunger.
Their eyes held less fear than expectation.
In that moment, Chen understood for the first time—
what he should truly fear
was the weight of those eyes.
Resolve
That night, he stopped at an abandoned temple in Nanjing.
He raised no tent.
He sat directly on the old dais.
Zhang Hui and Yao Zhang stood silently behind him.
Soldiers who followed later kept their distance.
Chen spoke quietly.
"I was told not to invoke Heaven,
but to receive the will of people."
He folded his hands.
"Tomorrow—gather the people of Nanjing."
"Open the granaries."
"Distribute the provisions."
Yao Zhang startled.
"Then the army will go hungry."
Chen answered without hesitation.
"The army moves."
"The people must eat for the army to move."
"They're refugees, Your Majesty."
"Refugees are people."
His gaze was clear.
"If Heaven truly raised me—
then now it's my turn to give Heaven form."
Goryeo Camp — The Message Arrives
As the sun tilted low, the Goryeo main tent still held the heat of day.
Small weights on the map trembled faintly.
The canvas hummed when the wind brushed it.
An interpreter entered, breathing hard.
"A message."
Yi In-jung lifted his head.
"Speak."
The interpreter steadied himself.
"Chen Youliang went directly among the people."
The air in the tent shifted.
Park Seong-jin narrowed his eyes.
"…You're sure?"
"Yes. Without an escort—only a few close aides."
"He went to see the people himself."
A pause.
Yi In-jung asked quietly,
"During wartime?"
"Yes."
"And he released part of the military grain to refugees."
"They opened the granaries."
Someone in the tent drew a sharp breath—
half shock, half calculation.
Song I-sul spoke first.
"That's madness."
His tone was absolute.
"Grain is the army's lifeline."
"To release it means he chose people over Heaven."
Yi In-jung remained silent for a long moment, his fingers tracing Jiangnan on the map.
"The man who spoke of Heaven went down to see the people…"
He continued slowly.
"It could be a performance."
"Plenty of men want to look righteous."
Then he shook his head.
"No. This isn't theater."
"It's a choice."
"Or perhaps… a very dangerous kind of strategy."
Song I-sul nodded.
All eyes turned naturally to Park Seong-jin.
Park stayed quiet for a while, then spoke.
"It is a choice."
"Our words shook him."
"We told him not to shout about Heaven—
but to enact it."
"If the people are Heaven, then he went to seize their hearts."
Song I-sul looked at him.
"General… did we throw our words too far?"
The question was careful.
Park took a breath.
"That's why it's dangerous."
"Poison becomes medicine when the illness runs deep."
Yi In-jung let out something closer to a breath than a laugh.
"Then Chen Youliang has taken the medicine."
"Yes," Park said.
"He'll change."
"And I believe an alliance with us will follow."
The tension in the tent eased—just a little.
Not completely.
A junior officer asked cautiously,
"Then what is our position?"
"We wait," Park answered.
"…Wait?"
"Yes."
He looked down at the map.
"We need to see how far our words reach."
Song I-sul nodded.
"And when they come back, they may be stained with blood."
Park lifted his head.
"Which is why we prepare."
"It may still become war."
"But I'm optimistic."
He paused.
"People rarely change."
"But if they do—
the consequences are never small."
Outside, the wind rose.
The banners snapped once, hard.
Yi In-jung said quietly,
"A man who believed in Heaven went to look at people…"
He stopped, then added,
"Our words might delay a war."
No one replied.
That night, the Goryeo camp was silent.
No drums sounded.
No blades were drawn.
Instead, everyone shared the same thought.
Are our hopes too large?
And at the same time—
have we already come too far to turn back?