311.
Before the Walls of Chizhou지주池州 — "The Letter of Alliance"
As the fog lifted along the riverbanks of Chizhou,
the wreckage of burned ships lay scattered at the water's edge.
Charred planks, soaked and heavy, were caught among the reeds.
A sharp, acrid scent lingered in the air.
The smell of scorched canvas clung to the tongue.
Yet above the river, the banners fluttered lightly.
They were the banners of the Goryeo army.
The river had washed away the night's flames,
and the flags had kept their light.
Park Seong-jin was still in armor even after the battle.
He left the dust as it was.
Dried blood cracked at the tips of his fingers.
He left that as well.
His eyes were already fixed beyond the city walls.
Chizhou held its gates shut and endured.
The city wore the face of one who believed itself the occupier.
Park Seong-jin had no intention of letting that belief last long.
That afternoon, a cloud of dust rose at the far edge of the western fields.
Within it, a familiar banner appeared.
"Chen Youliang's troops!"
Soldiers who had fled were returning.
They had regrouped and come back, their faces catching the light once more.
News that the waterways were cut had called them back.
News that enemy ships on the river had been broken had steadied them again.
Anxiety remained, but behind their eyes lay a faint relief.
People always return when a center appears.
That center becomes strength, justification,
the certainty that survival is possible.
Park Seong-jin addressed them in a low voice.
"What we gained from this river is not land."
He swept his gaze once across the water, then back to the soldiers.
"It is trust.
We chose to help one another.
Coming back today was the right choice.
From now on, do not turn away again."
When he finished, a heavy breath passed through the ranks.
Some bowed their heads deeply.
Others bit down on dry lips.
Park Seong-jin added nothing more.
Too many words loosen the heart.
He cut his speech to only what was needed.
That night, a council was held in the central command tent.
Under the lamps sat Yun Dam and Song I-sul.
At the center of the map, the outline of Chizhou and the Yangtze was drawn thickly.
Along the river were marked the positions of the burned ships.
The ink had not yet dried.
Today's battle was flowing directly into today's council.
Park Seong-jin spoke first.
"Chen Youliang's army has returned.
The alliance is no longer just words.
It is real.
Now we must fulfill our role."
Yun Dam spoke slowly.
"We won the battle, but the battlefield has not ended.
This is the most dangerous moment.
If the alliance is not firmly sealed,
when Zhu Yuanzhang presses south,
we will become beasts caught in a narrow gap."
Song I-sul let out a short breath.
He spoke little, but his eyes showed agreement.
On the river today, he had seen how cutting one waterway
could sever the path of men as well.
Park Seong-jin nodded.
"Right now, trust matters more than combat.
We will send a letter to Chen Youliang."
He took up the brush.
His fingertips were steady, and his characters stood straight, like soldiers.
When a sentence threatened to grow long, he stopped and cut it short.
The shorter the resolve, the stronger it becomes.
This is what he wrote:
To Lord Chen Youliang.
The waterways upon the river have been settled today.
Enemy ships have been broken, and their supply lines severed.
Chizhou still holds, but that is only a matter of time.
What we have gained is not a city, but the flow of this war itself.
He who holds the river holds half the battle.
Yet that half cannot be lifted alone.
Take the front.
The Goryeo army will guard the river from behind and open the paths.
You strike the land.
We will bind the water.
This alliance is not for a day's profit.
If Zhu Yuanzhang presses south, the next flames will engulf all of Jiangnan.
Today's cooperation is the minimum promise for mutual survival.
The river already stands with us.
Now it is time to bind men's hearts into one.
— On the River at Chizhou,
Goryeo Zhonglang General
Park Seong-jin (朴成進)
Park Seong-jin drew the final stroke and set the brush down.
The ink did not bleed.
The writing was calm and precise.
Yun Dam studied the letter, then said quietly,
"This is not a letter that calls for battle.
It is a letter that blocks the path of escape."
Song I-sul chuckled low.
"There's only one choice, then.
Go together—or die together."
Park Seong-jin did not lift his head.
Under the lamp, he spoke slowly.
"That is why people choose their true hearts
only when they stand before a path."
That night, the letter was loaded onto the fastest boat
and sent upriver.
The water was quiet, and the moonlight did not waver.
Yet after that single sheet passed,
the war along the Yangtze folded along a different grain—
from clashes of blades to struggles over paths.
It was a battle for control of the riverways.
Not city against city, but current against current.
Zhu Yuanzhang had not yet grasped the change.
One river had already slipped from his hand.
Yun Dam read the letter once more and nodded in silence.
There was a blade within those sentences.
It avoided people and aimed at the road itself—
a blade meant to open a way.
At dawn, the soldiers began moving again.
New camps rose along the riverbank, and artillery was repositioned.
Ropes on the warships were replaced.
Bowstrings dried through the night, drawn ever tighter.
Chizhou's gates remained shut,
but the waters encircling it already belonged to Goryeo.
Park Seong-jin looked up at the sky and said,
"Hiding behind walls—how pitiful."
Song I-sul laughed.
"Shall we cross over and take him?"
Without turning his head, Park Seong-jin replied,
"The enemy commander must be taken.
His name was Chang Yuchun, was it not?"
"Yes."
The corner of Park Seong-jin's mouth lifted just slightly—
less a smile than resolve settling into place.
Under Zhu Yuanzhang served a fierce general named Chang Yuchun (常遇春).
He possessed strength and decisiveness, cruelty and righteousness alike.
Stories recorded in Jiansheng Yewen and the History of Ming
paint him as a man who followed Zhu Yuanzhang
after recognizing him as his destined lord—
whether by dream or by stratagem, the conclusion was the same.
He was a man who recognized his master
and, once recognized, advanced to the end.
Such men shine on the battlefield.
And for that very reason, they are dangerous.
Park Seong-jin looked up at Chizhou's walls.
Somewhere beyond them, Chang Yuchun's presence
spread thinly across the water like oil.
Hard to explain, unmistakable to feel.
Within it were loyalty, resolve, and unshakable self-certainty.
That certainty could preserve another man's army
and raise another man's state.
And so it had to be removed.
A good general cannot be left alive on the battlefield.
That judgment lies beyond good and evil.
It is the law of war.
Park Seong-jin understood that law.
He also understood its cruelty.
The Night Assault on Chizhou — "When the Night Is Split"
The moon hid itself.
A thin fog lay upon the river,
and the water rippled faintly,
like the breathing of a sleeping beast.
Park Seong-jin ordered the oars stilled.
When even the sound of the hull cutting water faded,
the river suddenly felt vast.
The wind, the distant creaking of burned timbers—
all became sharply audible.
"Now."
Fifteen men.
All were warriors personally chosen by Park Seong-jin.
Words sank away.
Breaths dropped to the bottom.
Their breathing was so low it was hard to tell they breathed at all.
Before the boats touched shore, the warriors slipped into the water.
The surface swelled once, then fell still.
With a blade in one hand and a small grappling hook in the other,
they pressed themselves against the base of the walls.
Torches were few atop the ramparts.
With oil in short supply, the lights left only shadows below.
The enemy was complacent.
After losing control of the river,
they believed no one would return by water.
People die according to the way they believe.