336.
Night in the Chen Camp — Persuasion and Weight**
Yoon Dam was restless.
Restlessness doesn't burn only inside the mind.
It spills into movement.
It presses down on the shoulders, changes the speed of the voice, and shakes the rhythm of one's steps.
The thought that Zhang Shicheng's heart had to be bound—firmly—sat on Yoon Dam's back and arms.
"If this continues, the frame of the Yingtian campaign will collapse."
He repeated it without leaving Park Seong-jin's side.
The more he repeated it, the more desperate the urgency became.
"General, before His Majesty, at least this must be made clear.
I'll explain everything.
I'll open the matter first.
You only have to support it in your way."
Park Seong-jin kept his mouth shut.
He knew he lacked the language of persuasion.
He had achievements proven through action, and the battlefield had always been on his side.
But the language of diplomacy and persuasion was always difficult—always insufficient.
To hide that insufficiency, he did not speak longer.
Instead of many words, he placed weight on a single sentence.
"Then do so."
His reply was short.
"Let's go together."
Agreement—brief, and heavy.
They crossed the dark road and headed for Chen Youliang's camp.
The tents revealed between torches and sparks still swayed, as if unable to swallow yesterday's cheers.
The soldiers' laughter sounded sharper at night than in daylight.
In the day, battle covers sound.
At night, liquor and fatigue sharpen it.
Chen Youliang's command tent burned a large central fire, and many generals and advisers had gathered around it.
Each time the flames flared, the metal ornamentation on armor flashed, and the rim of every cup caught the light for a breath.
Their eyes brushed the newcomers once, then returned to their council.
The hospitality was sufficient in form.
In the heart, it was an empty seat.
Cups were offered.
Conventional greetings were exchanged.
But few truly listened.
Chen Youliang sat at the center, reviewing records from the previous battle.
Victory records never grow dull.
His hands moved through the commendation scroll with practiced ease—
the hands of a man who handled paper the way he handled a blade.
When he lifted a hand and set his cup down, the noise in the tent thinned for a moment.
"Park Seong-jin of Goryeo! Welcome!"
His voice was boisterous.
Something in it felt awkward—yet perhaps that was his way.
Mischief lingered on his face.
Behind the grand greeting was a distance, a way of treating "this moment" as a joke.
That distance pricked at Park Seong-jin's brow.
Park bowed briefly.
He did not speak much.
Yoon Dam stepped forward first.
He looked at Chen Youliang with sharpened eyes and opened the matter.
Order matters.
Who speaks first decides whose burden carries weight in the room.
"Your Majesty, Zhang Shicheng's cooperation must be secured."
Yoon Dam's voice did not come out thin.
He knew that thin words would be treated thinly.
"Your Majesty should meet him personally and persuade him.
This is the frame of our alliance.
We must strike from the opposite side to put them in true difficulty.
If we don't, even if we win, the enemy will slip away to the east."
He paused, then added bluntly.
"At present, Zhang Shicheng's forces speak of cooperation, yet they do nothing."
Chen Youliang listened with mild interest.
But instead of answering, he gave instructions to the adviser at his side.
The adviser began checking letters and promised documents to be sent to Zhang Shicheng.
Then Chen Youliang turned his attention to another matter.
The welcome was tidy.
The posture of truly taking words to heart was absent.
Between "listening" and "accepting," there is an abyss.
Park Seong-jin drew in a breath.
He had no prepared rhetoric.
He had no talent for pressing with words.
But he had to speak.
Briefly.
Truthfully.
That had always been his way—
straight words like a blade, instead of brilliance.
"Your Majesty."
When Park Seong-jin opened his mouth, the tent grew subtly quieter.
Everyone knew he rarely spoke.
When a man of few words speaks, his words naturally gain weight.
"I'm not skilled at long speeches.
But I can state one thing without doubt."
His voice was low, and firm.
"Zhang Shicheng is keeping Zhu Yuanzhang breathing."
That single sentence changed the air.
Several generals froze mid-lift of their cups.
Someone narrowed their eyes.
Park Seong-jin continued.
"Unless he turns fully to our side, Zhu Yuanzhang's center will not truly shake.
Right now, we intend to strike Zhu Yuanzhang.
But if Zhang Shicheng keeps his airway open from behind, the war becomes more than difficult—
even victory will be only half a victory."
He took one breath and drove the point in.
"If we don't bind him now, the meaning of our landing at Yingtian will fade."
The tent's air grew heavy.
Not because the smell of alcohol suddenly thickened—
but because throats stopped swallowing, and the smell remained suspended.
Several generals traded glances.
Even above a cup, the battlefield's calculations continue.
Chen Youliang's expression shifted.
The earlier mischief fell away, and the coldness of a warrior settled in.
"The general's words are simple," he said, "but they strike the core."
He nodded.
Victory was close, and part of him did not want to bow to someone like Zhang Shicheng.
He wanted, perhaps, to pass over it and move on.
"Zhang Shicheng has received favor from us more than once.
But favor alone cannot bind a man."
Chen Youliang rose and looked toward the watchtower.
Far away, the lights of Taiping lingered faintly on the horizon—festival lights.
Smoke from the battlefield still remained.
The light looked darker, rougher.
"I'll consider what promise I should offer him.
Or what threat I should show."
He waved a hand.
The gesture was unhurried.
The fingertips were sharp.
"But one thing I promise.
Until this war ends, my will will not waver.
Zhang Shicheng will have to choose in the end.
His hesitation only cracks our timetable."
Yoon Dam looked straight at Park Seong-jin.
Now, his eyes said.
Chen Youliang had turned serious for the first time.
If they missed this opening, he would slide back into liquor and arrogance.
"Now that Your Majesty is serious," Yoon Dam urged in a low voice,
"General, speak one more line yourself."
Park Seong-jin hesitated for a moment.
The hesitation was not about words.
It was the alignment of the heart.
He was not a man who could stack sentences into a tower.
But he could place a single request like a blade.
"Your Majesty," he said.
"I ask only one thing.
When we break through the center of Yingtian, make sure no blade comes in from behind.
Only then can we advance faster, and stronger."
Chen Youliang's gaze hardened.
In his mind, a promise was governance.
To craft a promise was to tighten a rope around someone's neck.
"How do we guarantee that promise?
Zhang Shicheng will ask."
Chen Youliang muttered as if to himself.
"We must be ready to answer that question."
He thought briefly, then spoke with decision.
"Tomorrow, I will face Zhang Shicheng myself.
We'll send an envoy first to obtain more than a formal agreement, and there I will present my conditions."
Yoon Dam let out a breath of relief.
Others in the tent lifted their cups again.
The conversation moved to the next chapter of war.
But behind Park Seong-jin, in the darkness, an uneasy shadow stretched long.
He rose quietly and stepped out of the tent.
The wind struck his face.
Chen Youliang would try to persuade Zhang Shicheng.
Zhang Shicheng would hesitate, then present hardened conditions.
And in between, time was not on their side.
War is a fight of blades.
A great war is a fight of time.