The Imperial Decree and the God of War

“Do you think I am so cold-hearted that I haven’t considered that? I worry about how your frail body will survive such a long journey, yet you only speak words that wound me. Hmm?”

Yul reached out. After gently brushing the back of his hand against Sohwa’s cheek, he spoke with a voice like a fading sigh.

“I should have hastened my marriage. Since Yeon-gyeong’s child was only just born, it seems there is no other way.”

Yul whispered as if he would have sent his own child had he one, then rose to his feet. Before stepping outside, he looked back at Sohwa one last time.

“Hwa-ya.”

“Yes, Brother.”

“I am sorry.”

At those grief-stricken words, Jin-mok realized what decision had been made. Yul had undoubtedly resolved to send Sohwa with the Imperial envoys.

After Yul departed, Jin-mok clasped his trembling hands together. Just the thought of returning made his heart pound with excitement. The image of Yul’s sorrowful face vanished from his mind in an instant.

Jin-mok’s elated spirit was on the verge of soaring into the heavens.

What should I do? What should I do? I am so happy. So happy. To think I can see His Majesty again… this isn’t a dream, is it?

In his excitement, Jin-mok called for the eunuch waiting outside and ordered him to prepare painting materials. Since the Emperor’s birthday was in autumn, he had to hurry to finish the portrait in time. Fearing he might not be able to paint during the journey, a sense of urgency took hold of him.

Once the paper was ready, Jin-mok ground the ink lightly and soaked a fine-tipped brush. He pressed the brush against the white paper and began to draw. Slowly, the Emperor’s face took shape. It was the image of the man as he had appeared when Jin-mok first had an audience with him: sitting languidly upon a golden dragon throne, resting his chin on one hand.

Dressed in dragon robes of black silk embroidered with gold thread, his ebony hair was swept up into a small crown. The hairpin securing the crown featured a dragon clutching a pearl on one end and the carving of a dragon’s tail on the other.

As he sketched the fine lines of the under-drawing, Jin-mok lost all track of time, completely immersed in his work. Before he knew it, the sun had set, and eunuchs moved about the room lighting the lamps. Jin-mok, unaware even of their presence, finally lifted his brush and let out a long breath.

He had been so focused that beads of sweat had formed on his forehead, and his stomach let out a small growl, having missed a meal. Yet, he felt no fatigue whatsoever. He couldn’t even remember the days when his brush had refused to follow his will.

Jin-mok smiled with joy after finishing the throne and the Emperor’s upper body. If he sees this, will he like it? Even if he doesn’t realize it is a painting by Ha Jin-mok, will he at least be pleased? How wonderful would that be.

As time passed and his excitement ebbed, his body—which had been bedridden for so long—succumbed to exhaustion. Though Jin-mok had often spent entire nights painting in the past, he noticed his hands were trembling and decided to stop for the day.

“Clear this away and bring the evening meal.”

He resolved to eat well, sleep deeply, and manage his health diligently from now on. Only then would he be able to survive the long journey ahead.

From that day forward, Jin-mok was busy during the day painting the piece he had promised Yul, and at night secretly working on the Emperor’s portrait. He made sure to eat his meals and snacks, and took walks in the garden afterward.

Having been bedridden for so long, his body possessed not a shred of stamina. Even walking the full perimeter of the garden was too much; after just a short while, his vision would turn yellow.

It was a problem. Had he known this would happen, he would have taken better care of himself the moment he woke up. Regret was useless now. If he put in the effort now, perhaps he would be slightly better by the time of departure.

It felt like a vain hope, but hope was better than none at all. Thus, Jin-mok decided to gradually increase the duration of his walks.

Yul, meanwhile, abruptly stopped his daily visits and did not show his face for several days. Driven by guilt toward the brother he had surely hurt, Jin-mok’s hands moved even faster.

In a corner of the pond he was painting, Jin-mok added three children. A ten-year-old child was holding and comforting a crying toddler whose knees were stained with dirt as if he had fallen, while a six-year-old stood beside them, looking on with an anxious expression.

Jin-mok wanted to gift them a memory of Sohwa. Even after he departed on a journey from which he might never return, he wanted to ensure their memories of Sohwa would never fade. It was his own way of penance and apology.

With every stroke of the brush, Jin-mok apologized to them in his heart. I am sorry for unintentionally taking your brother away. I am sorry for occupying this body and for leaving for a land so far away.

Though it was the Great Empire that demanded a hostage, it was Jin-mok’s own will that desired to leave. He forgot the sweat dripping from his brow as he poured himself into the painting. He wanted this piece to be a small comfort to those who would remain after Sohwa was gone.

The envoys, who were expected in three days, arrived after more than five. According to the eunuch who delivered the news, one of the party had fallen ill after eating something spoiled. Thanks to their delay, Jin-mok was able to finish the painting for Yul. It seemed he could finish the Emperor’s portrait as well with just a few more days of labor.

No matter how rushed things were, there would surely be a few days of grace for banquets and formalities before the departure.

The thought of leaving soon made his heart thrum. Whether that pulse belonged to the Sohwa who didn’t want to leave or the Jin-mok who anticipated meeting the Emperor, it was hard to tell. That night, Jin-mok clutched his racing heart and found it difficult to sleep until dawn.

On the second day after the envoys’ arrival, Sohwa was summoned to the Great Hall. Ordinarily, the King and Yul would have been seated upon the dais, but perhaps because they were before the Imperial envoys, they sat on chairs placed below the platform.

The envoys of the Great Empire were positioned among the ranks of the ministers. Jin-mok bit his lip hard at the sight of the Imperial garments he hadn’t seen in so long, fearing he might make a mistake in his excitement.

When he stepped before the King and bowed in respect, Wi Yeon called to Sohwa in a gentle voice.

“Hwa-ya.”

“Yes, Royal Father.”

“These gentlemen have come from the Great Empire with a decree from His Imperial Majesty. Receive the Emperor’s command alongside this father.”

As Sohwa bowed toward them, the envoys rose and returned the gesture. The King waited for the greetings to conclude before gesturing for Sohwa to come closer and standing up.

“I hear you have already been told by Yul?”

“Yes…”

Hearing Sohwa’s trembling voice, the King gave a warm smile and lightly patted Sohwa’s shoulder as he approached.

“Stand behind Yul.”

Once the King, Yul, and Sohwa were positioned, one of the three envoys unfurled a golden scroll embroidered with the Imperial seal and spoke solemnly.

“Let the King of Gyeong receive Our decree.”

As the King knelt first and bowed his head, Yul followed, and then the ministers prostrated themselves in unison. Sohwa hesitated before belatedly kneeling and resting his forehead on the back of his hands. The envoy then recited the decree.

“Upon the approach of Our birthday, We wish to remind you of the treaty forged with the Late Emperor. Let the King of Gyeong remember he is a friendly ally of the Empire…”

Listening to the words flowing from the envoy’s mouth, Jin-mok pictured the Emperor. His bowed head lifted of its own accord. Despite the Emperor’s absence, he felt the illusion that the man’s mannerisms, voice, and smile were present in that room.

His eyes met those of another envoy—not the one reading the decree. Seeing the man’s unpleasant scowl, Jin-mok hurriedly lowered his head back onto his hands. In his heart, he called out with yearning.

‘Your Majesty, I am coming to you soon.’

Even as the envoy recited the list of tributes to be offered, to Sohwa, it sounded like the Emperor’s own voice. That dear, gentle, and missed voice continued to linger in his ears.

Ju Sang-gang was the 28th Emperor of the Great Empire. His reign title was Hyeongyeong. Currently twenty-nine years old, he had first taken to the battlefield at the age of fourteen under the command of his father, the Late Emperor.

From then on, he saw nothing but victory. By nineteen, he had subjugated four nations, and after becoming Emperor at twenty-three, he had decimated the remaining three in just two and a half years. It was only natural that he earned the epithet “God of War.” The wars that had spanned several generations ended with the unification of the world as soon as he ascended. The people, who had been torn apart by long years of conflict, praised his achievements, finally breathing a sigh of relief.

Furthermore, the current Emperor was not merely a master of war.

Every summer, he inspected the waterworks, and in places suffering from drought or famine, he lowered or exempted the people’s taxes. He frequently opened the granaries of provincial offices to share with the starving and dispatched inspectors to look after the grievances of the populace. He possessed all the virtues an auspicious Emperor should have.

Thus, the praise of the people only grew more fervent, and the Emperor’s authority became something no one dared to challenge.