The Funeral — The Plan
While Sowoon kept vigil atop the mountain, nature lashed out mercilessly at those who had entered without leave.
The gentle warmth of spring, which had coaxed out tender shoots only days before, turned savage once the sun fell.
A blade-edged northern wind tore across the ridgelines.
Branches twisted and shrieked as though ripped from their sockets, and the path that had glowed under moonlight was swallowed in an instant by black clouds.
White powder—whether frost or snow—whirled through the air, dragging the temperature down with it.
Left alone, Sowoon shifted into the shadow beneath a cliffside rock.
Facing southeast, he avoided the direct assault of the northern wind, though the sleet still found him.
If it could not be avoided, it had to be endured.
He pressed himself into a hollow in the granite, wrapped his wind cloak tight so it would not snap loose, and curled inward.
He slowed his breathing and deepened it, coaxing warmth back into his limbs.
Guard duty had once seemed a simple post.
In this weather it felt otherwise.
For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should have gone down with the others.
Yet he had survived the north winds and blizzards of Haran.
Years of ambush had hardened him.
He sealed every crack where wind might creep in and wedged himself into a blind spot no ordinary man would imagine.
His breath steadied.
His muscles loosened, ready to spring at any instant.
Only his eyes remained exposed, fixed forward.
The cold was not the true enemy.
Solitude was.
Being alone bit deeper than the wind.
Meanwhile, Lee Hee and his men descended the mountain and searched the outskirts of the village.
In his mind, a single plan had already taken shape.
If the Great General were left merely "missing," that absence would tempt every faction's greed.
Rumor of survival would become pursuit, manipulation, coercion.
Death, however, was different.
The dead posed no threat.
There was no cause to chase a corpse.
He reached his conclusion.
The Great General must not be said to have vanished.
He must be made dead.
Only then could the main family in Hanam breathe, could the White Dragon Unit rest, could Lee Hee himself buy time.
And perhaps one day, under another name, another path might open.
The first step was a funeral.
In darkness they found a cemetery.
The storm had driven off all passersby.
Dozens of graves dotted the slope, most old and neglected.
Lee Hee chose one newly raised, its sod not yet fully rooted.
They dug from the rear and pulled out the coffin.
The lid came off.
He inspected the body—condition, build, sex.
If it did not suit, he covered it again and moved on.
Middle-aged.
Neither too large nor too small.
Recently buried.
At last he found what he needed.
It was filthy work.
In daylight any man would have retched.
The darkness spared them some of that.
Lee Hee's expression did not change.
"Yes. This one."
At his word, no one questioned further.
In a low voice he said, "It is the Great General. Handle him with respect. From this moment on, observe proper rites."
Then they understood.
They were not merely disturbing a grave.
They were crafting the Great General's death.
Once death was fixed in shape, none could pursue him.
Not the princess.
Not the emperor.
Not those whispering rebellion.
A dead man held no political value.
Absence would become mourning, not pursuit.
That was the fulcrum Lee Hee intended to use.
"This matter goes with you to your own graves. From grave to grave. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Their faces were somber.
They restored the burial mound to its former shape.
They pressed the sod back in place and erased their traces.
The coffin and body were lashed separately onto horses.
Lee Hee removed his own wind cloak and laid it over the corpse.
Now the group resembled a small funeral escort.
When the rain stopped, the stench intensified.
The reek of decay clawed at the throat.
No turning of the head could escape it.
Two at a time, one leading the reins and one steadying the load, they climbed the mountain slowly.
No one spoke.
This was not simple deception.
It was a disguise forged to protect a man's life.
Lee Hee had already arranged the next steps in his mind.
Near the iron sword and white outer robe the Great General had left behind, they would stage the discovery.
Perhaps it would appear a fall from the heights.
Perhaps self-inflicted death.
The wounds, the blood, even the semblance of beast damage—every detail required calculation.
Sowoon would make the discovery.
His grief would not be feigned.
It would be real, and that truth would shield them from suspicion.
A disappearance disguised as death.
It was the only freedom they could grant him.
The climb grew heavier.
Horses slipped in the mud, the coffin swaying with each step.
The night deepened.
The path blurred.
Yet Lee Hee's resolve did not waver.
He meant to guard the Great General's absence to the end.