Chapter 92 Long ago, a monk of Pyeongju named Geumjun entered the Jurchen lands
"Long ago, a monk of Pyeongju named Geumjun entered the Jurchen lands and settled in Ajigo Village. He is our ancestor.
The founder's name was Hambo. When he came from Goryeo, he was already past sixty. His elder brother, Agonae, believed in Buddhism and remained in Goryeo. Agonae said, 'If, in the future, one among our descendants rises, we will surely meet again. I cannot leave.'
Only the younger brother, Bohwalli, moved together with the founder.
The founder stayed by the waters of Bokgansu in Wanyan territory, while Bohwalli lived in Yara.
Bohwalli's descendants continued as chieftains of Wanyan in Yara, and after several generations, by the time of Jikrihae, they came into contact with the Wanyan of Bokgansu. In the time of Heklibal, Jikrihae's son Seoktomun, together with his younger brother Asaman, led their people back to Bokgansu and submitted."
Aguda stopped there and closed his mouth.
The fire burned quietly.
He did not continue.
The words ended, but the confession did not.
The story carried on in silence.
From the end of Silla to Goryeo, and then to this land, the traces of their ancestors unfolded slowly.
Time seemed to pass, yet the inside of the tent remained unchanged.
Only the firelight flickered low.
Those few words were enough.
There was no need to ask why he had reached out to Goryeo.
Yeongu sat still.
He did not ask.
What would follow was already clear.
The course he and his descendants would take could be seen.
Their request for the return of the Nine Fortresses had come from the sense of shared origin.
If the counterpart had been Liao, such a plea would not have been made.
There would have been neither request nor expectation.
Those who returned them were not separate from that current.
It was said that the Kim clan in the Goryeo court shared Silla lineage.
Likely the Gyeongju Kim.
The name Kim Busik came to Yeongu's mind.
It was only speculation, but there might be an unseen connection between that man and this one.
It was something that could be asked, yet Yeongu saw no need to pursue it.
To raise questions against words spoken in confession is difficult.
Confession is not a presentation of facts but a moment of existential choice.
It is like arguing against someone who says, "This is what I believe."
Thoughts rose like clouds, but he did not voice them.
The nephews of the Wanyan clan sitting beside them seemed to know most of this already.
Even the term "monk" carried layers of meaning.
Now it referred to a Buddhist monk, but in earlier times it could also refer to a lay practitioner or a sage of the Cho-ui tradition.
This was something to ask his teacher.
He needed to confirm whether the one who remained in Goryeo was such a sage.
A generation lasted perhaps thirty years, or even twenty in those times.
But a generation among the Cho-ui sages extended far beyond that.
Yeongu, at twenty-one, was a disciple of Baek In-gyeom, who had lived over a hundred years.
That alone made it clear.
It might even be possible to trace the lineage of the three brothers' ancestor without difficulty.
They lived apart, yet they knew of one another.
Descriptions of who descended from whom were firmly embedded within their awareness.
The connection appeared loose, yet it did not break.
The conclusion was clear.
They would not betray Goryeo.
The lands were different, and conflict could arise.
But the path toward complete rupture did not appear.
Yeongu could trust the Jurchens.
At the same time, he hoped Goryeo would be the same.
Yet he could not be certain.
It might depend on which descendant of their ancestors remained in Goryeo.
The pleading for the return of the Nine Fortresses now made sense.
They had pleaded because they knew each other.
Battles had continued, but decisive clashes were rare.
There had been no attempt to destroy one another beyond recovery.
Looking back, most encounters ended after an exchange of arrows.
Baek In-gyeom's easy acceptance when Yeongu chose to go into the Jurchen camp was now understandable.
He had not seen it as sending a disciple into enemy territory.
At the very least, Goryeo and the Jurchens would not fight to the end.
Differences existed, and conflict could occur.
But those who thought in this way would not sever long-standing ties.
Yeongu spoke.
"Goryeo will not respond to Liao's request."
Aguda nodded.
"I think the same."
In a sense, it was a bold statement.
The ruler of an old kingdom and the leader of a rising confederation placed themselves on equal footing in judgment.
The reason lay in their shared perception.
They believed themselves to be descendants of Silla royalty.
Yeongu said,
"This is my personal view. Shall I confirm it?"
Zonghan asked,
"How would you confirm it from such a distance?"
Aguda waved his hand.
"You would not say it directly. You would receive a reply wrapped in diplomatic language. I will find out myself."
"We have only begun to break one edge of Liao.
It is still a great state.
We do not know how long we must continue this war."
Aguda's eyes narrowed.
An expression shaped by long years settled over his face.
Yeongu lifted his gaze.
Aguda's face sat beyond the firelight.
A fur hat was pulled low.
White fur covered his ears and neck.
The face beneath was long and lean.
The cheekbones were pronounced, the bones more visible than flesh.
His eyes were narrow, half-lowered.
They did not aim at anything.
They were the gaze of someone who had looked for a long time and remained.
As the firelight flickered, the shadows deepened.
The bridge of his nose was straight.
His lips were closed, and a thin mustache extended above them.
The ends rose slightly, but there was no trace of a smile.
A short beard rested on his chin.
It was kept in order, but without ornament.
There was no gloss to his face.
It resembled dry earth, marked by long exposure to wind.
His clothing was broad and neat.
There were ornaments, but they did not draw the eye.
What remained was the face.
He did not move.
Even after he finished speaking, he remained seated as he was.
Yeongu did not look away.
That face was not of a man who had just finished speaking.
It was the face of one who had carried the same story for a long time.