While the palace folded in upon itself like a dying flower, an old alliance was beginning to awaken.
Under the pale light of morning, Lord Yi Seong-jae crossed the palace gates like an ancient tree rising once more in the midst of a storm.
When his name was announced through the corridors, even the constant murmur of officials faded. It was as though the court itself had suddenly remembered the weight of a forgotten word: integrity.
From within the royal chambers, a weakened yet commanding voice ordered that he be allowed to enter.
Lord Yi advanced with steady steps. When he reached the monarch's bed, he bowed deeply, offering the kind of reverence that only decades of sincere loyalty could sustain.
"How does Your Majesty fare?" he asked calmly. "I heard your health has not been favorable. I took the liberty of bringing medicinal herbs prepared by a Yakcho-ui, an herbalist in whom I place great trust. Perhaps they may ease your suffering."
He took a small chest from his escort and presented it before the King with solemn respect.
The monarch, pale and visibly weakened, lifted a trembling hand and signaled to one of his sibi, instructing him to take the chest and deliver it to the Naeui, the Royal Physician.
Then, with a faint motion of his fingers, he dismissed everyone from the chamber.
The doors closed.
The silence that followed was heavier than the incense still burning in the braziers.
"Sit, Counselor Yi," the King murmured.
Lord Yi obeyed.
For several seconds, the monarch studied him, as though searching his face for the stability the kingdom had begun to lose.
"Thank you for coming to see me so quickly."
"I am honored that Your Majesty still considers me of use," Yi replied humbly. "And I am deeply concerned for your condition."
The King exhaled with difficulty.
"As you can see… I am not well. The physicians cannot determine the nature of my illness. My body weakens… and with it, the kingdom."
A pause followed. The wind brushed softly against the paper walls.
"There are matters I must settle… should Heaven decide to summon me sooner than expected."
Lord Yi's expression darkened.
"Your Majesty, please do not speak that way—"
"Listen to me, Yi Seong-jae," the King interrupted with sudden firmness. "I must know if I can still trust what I see within my own court."
The silence deepened.
"Tell me," the monarch continued, "what do you think of the path this kingdom has taken… and of those who claim to protect it?"
Lord Yi understood.
This was not a conversation about illness.
It was a confession wrapped in caution.
With a grave face and a heart heavy with foreboding, he answered:
"Your Majesty… tell me how I may serve you. And I will speak the truth I have always upheld—even if that truth proves uncomfortable."
The King remained quiet for a moment before continuing. Though weakened by illness, his voice still carried the gravity of one who had ruled an entire kingdom.
"Whispers travel through the halls of the palace… and what is spoken within these walls has reached my ears as well. Too many things are being said, Yi Seong-jae. The kingdom is dividing… and I can no longer see who planted the fracture."
He paused to steady his breath.
"I have heard that my people are starving. That the villages are emptying. That men sell their lands and mothers weep in silence. And what torments me most… is hearing that the people no longer look upon their king with respect, but with resentment."
His fingers trembled slightly upon the silk covers.
"Amid conspiracies behind my back, I no longer know whom to trust. My own court seems to bend toward interests that are not mine. The balance of power is shifting… and not in my favor."
His weary yet piercing eyes locked onto Lord Yi.
"I need you to be my eyes and my ears—inside and beyond the palace walls. I must know who serves the kingdom… and who serves only himself. Order must be restored. Not for my name, but for Joseon."
The silence that followed felt almost sacred.
Lord Yi bowed his head deeply.
"Your Majesty, as long as breath remains in me, my loyalty will belong to the throne and to the Heaven that sustains it."
The King nodded faintly, exhausted.
The audience was over.
Lord Yi rose with solemn dignity, bowed deeply, and withdrew in silence, leaving the monarch to rest beneath the invisible weight of the crown.
After announcing his arrival, Lord Yi made his way directly to the Saganwon, the Office of Censors, where his son Yi Jun-ho served as Daesagan, the head of that formidable institution.
Jun-ho had inherited many of his father's qualities—perhaps even surpassed them. He was admired by many and feared by others, for he had earned a dangerous reputation within the court: he did not hesitate to expose corruption, even when it originated within his own clan.
Despite his youth, his character was extraordinary. He was composed, principled, and possessed a mind sharpened by relentless study. He knew the Confucian classics with profound mastery, and when he spoke, he never raised his voice. Yet his arguments carried enough force to dismantle anyone who dared challenge him.
Without question, he was a worthy heir to the name of House Yi.
When Lord Yi arrived at the Saganwon, the officials immediately announced his presence. Yi Jun-ho came out to greet him, and upon seeing his father, embraced him firmly.
It had been a long time since they had met.
For a brief moment, that small gesture shattered the rigid formality both men usually maintained in public.
They sat together as servants poured tea.
And for the first time in many months, father and son began to speak—not as officials of the court, but as men who understood that the fate of the kingdom was slowly tightening around them like a closing fist.