Unlike the times of antiquity, when Nanwian — known back then as Zhongyuan by the Sinae — was under the rule of the Zheng, Li, and Xia dynasties, the movements of people now were not heavily regulated and watched. Back then, a cowherd could not move his livestock over a hill without at least one official knowing about his plans. Every person had a wooden pendant bearing their identity and place of origin, and were forbidden upon pain of death to sell, hide, or lose it, so that the government could always know where a person was and what business he had when they needed such information. 

After the conquest of Nanwian by Taibuga, the Sinae underwent a cultural and demographic genocide. In their place, the Great Khan settled the Asadal peoples in Nanwian and enforced the supremacy of the Asadals over the Sinae, forcing many of the natives of Nanwian to accept becoming the minority population of their own homeland. After the death of the Great Khan and the breakup of the Datar Empire, the Sinae and Asadals fought a brutal war over the mastery of Nanwian, and it was the Asadal king Yeonbul who emerged victorious and established the Sindeok dynasty. 

However, the Sindeok kings never exerted as much power and control over Nanwian as the Sinae rulers had. To keep the peace in the kingdom and prevent it from falling to rebellions, the Sindeok enlisted the help of many others: the religious authorities, the nobility, the merchant classes, even foreign mercenaries and princes, all with their own roles to play in the complex political structure of the kingdom that kept it united and peaceful. Inevitably, many regained their liberties and found new places in the grand social hierarchy of Nanwian, and the Sindeok kings were powerless against the churning of the social classes and the devolution of their powers to the nobility and the officers of state. 

Thus, when rumours went abound throughout the kingdom, King Mundeok was helpless to stop their proliferation. In the towns there were whispers of some great war, though no one knew who was going to make war against whom. The faces of people became unquiet. Every evening people gathered in crowds in the villages and blocked the roads, talking in undertones of terrible things. Some people thought they saw in the night-time reflections in the sky, and that a moon redder than usual rose from behind the pine woods. Disaster or the death of the King was predicted. Some exceptionally ominous currents must have been playing in the air, since the alarm had become universal.

But more importantly, there was a relationship between war and movement of the people that many philosophers and thinkers had puzzled over. One could always be sure that a war was coming, even if the King himself did not know it, when there was great movement of armed men from the villages and towns, and when the inns and dram-shops were overflowing with patrons of all classes. The common soldiery of the kingdom, of which the noble retinues of armoured cavalry were most prominent, but also including the feudal levies and mercenaries drawn from roaming vagabonds and foreigners, but not including the professional salaried soldiers of the royal army since they were subject to the royal military laws, tended to become idle in times of peace for lack of booty and violence. Far from being prone to start conflicts, these men and women generally stayed in their homes and went about their jobs: a soldier was master of many trades, being a fisherman, carpenter, blacksmith, teacher, and beekeeper however their villages required them to be. In every village or town there was at least a house or cottage inhabited by some veteran who had passed through every experience and was some kind of benefactor to wherever they lived. However, the common soldier was not always such a quiet inhabitant, for this was only a temporary life they lived. Whoever wished to carry out an enterprise with armed hand, to make an attack on a neighbour, or defend himself from such attack, needed only to raise a cry, and straightaway he would have armed men flocking to him like ravens to a spoil. But when there were no such undertakings the common soldiers would stay in their cottages, working for their daily bread with all diligence and the sweat of their brows. 

They would continue in this manner until sudden tidings came of some great expedition, of a royal general against the Datars or Jiaozhis, or of a great lord against another or even the King; and at that moment all the untrammeled soldiers would abandon their peaceful occupations and begin to drink with all their might in every dram-shop in the kingdom. After they had drunk away everything they had, they would drink on credit — not on what they had, but what they would eventually have from booty and the spoils of war. This phenomenon was repeated so reliably that it was identified in many treatises of war and governance as the maxim: “When the dram-shops are bursting at the brim, there is something afoot in the kingdom.” 

In the spring of Mundeok’s 33rd regnal year, the unemployed soldiery began to drink as never before, squandering at random all they had earned, not in one district, not in one province, but throughout the entire kingdom from the East Sea to Chopyong — from the length and breath of the realm. The commanders strengthened their castles, looking carefully to everything; the provincial lords increased their retinues; the nobility sent their wives and children to the cities. It was suspected that the Pure Realm sect would make their move, for Minseok’s rhetoric had become more fiery and hopeless by the day. But against whom — the nobility? The provincial governors? The military commanders? The King himself? Or all of them at once? — and when, no one could say for sure. At that time, Minseok had not given his final sermon yet, and there was still suspicion that the King could still dampen the fire of the Pure Realm by diplomacy or treachery. 

Joohyun was among those who now practically lived in the dram-shops, but in her case it was a tea-house where men of better refinement went to. Here was visited by poor nobles, retinue soldiers, and well-off warriors looking for a better grade of entertainment than a common inn, for tea-houses tended to also host kisaeng entourages, which roamed about the kingdom based on their government-mandated schedules. 

After the events of the failed assassination, Joohyun, even though she had not been identified in the reprisals, decided to disperse her companions and rendezvous elsewhere when the entire affair had blown over, just to be safe. Thus, she was the same as all the wandering warriors in the kingdom now, spending all their money on frivolities (although Joohyun was being much more prudent in her finances than most) before the calls to muster were put out. However, she was also assisted by an old family friend, Lee Hyukjae, who had agreed to meet Joohyun in this tea-house just past the Jangseong if she managed to escape Anju. 

Hyukjae, being her childhood mentor in horsemanship and archery, was considered one of the sterling soldiers of the kingdom when he was still in its service. Presently, he seemed very annoyed at a matter that had been taking place for some time among the common soldiery. They found a small corner in the tea-house, which was crowded with soldiers and herdsmen who were resting from herding livestock to the nearby camp of the royal army. There were also some tenants of the Sinae magnate Huang Zitao, a few clerks of the local magistrate, some nobles of their own soil and dependents of none, and many inferior nobles, who lived on other men’s acres and rendered service. These groups all occupied benches in the tea-house and conversed quietly about the coming war — the uprising of the Pure Realm sect. 

Joohyun inquired what sort of problem was plaguing Hyukjae, and he replied, “By goats’ whiskers, haven’t you heard? Even the soldiery are flocking to the Sage’s banner. If Kim Minseok wishes to rise up in arms against the King, he shall have battalions of trained warriors at his disposal! He will not be a mere leader of religious devouts, but a general of an army — armies, even!”

Sensing the great disquiet in Hyukjae’s tone, Joohyun pressed, “That cannot be. The Sage is just a healer and holy man; someone like him cannot be at the head of soldiers.”

“That may be; but he has military commanders under him. Having gained the hearts of many of the common soldiery and their commanders — the headmen, the colonels, and the army commissioners — he has many able men in his debt, who would give blood and health to save their ‘burning world’. Even old Donghae, that hardened wolf of Temur’s Fall, has become like a lamb to him, and I heard two thousand of his warriors followed him to Ohjinam to seek their salvation from the Sage.”

“By the Twelve Hells! I can’t believe it!” Joohyun gasped. 

“You must. We are looking not at an uprising of unruly peasants and unrefined warbands, but the most ignoble of all armed conflicts: civil war! Our country has truly fallen far, such that its own soldiers seek its destruction!”

“You foresee war?” 

“I do not foresee; I can see it happening before my eyes!”

Being an old man, Hyukjae remembered well the times of great men before him, who had held the chaotic elements of the common soldiery in check without help from the royal officials. He knew the rogues and brigands in those ranks perhaps better than anyone else living in Nanwian, and understood well the power the Sage now possessed, with the sympathy of an endless mass of peasants, now less patient of control than in other parts of the kingdom, for Ohjinam was close to Sakju and beyond it lordlessness, booty and freedom. 

“Most worthy headman,” said Joohyun. “You are a famous warrior and respected by even the royal commanders. You should go to Ohjinam and neutralise the influence of the Sage; pacify them.”

Hyukjae answered gloomily, “Half my men ran off to Ohjinam! I am old and without authority now. Only death awaits me… not a headman’s baton.”

Saying that, he gulped down his tea like it was a tankard of melomel. 

Joohyun felt sad at the state of affairs, in which even Hyukjae could not find any silver lining. She began to feel that the quiet of the south, which she had grown up in and had long been accustomed to, was about to end, and there would be a great and unceasing noise wherever she went for a long time. She was also expecting a mustering call for her and her retinue, even though she had none save for the companions who had gone with her to Anju. Other nobles would be excited at the prospect of war, for it also meant opportunities for adventure, glory, and renown, but Joohyun was like Hyukjae in this respect, seeing only death and darkness ahead of her. For she was simply an impoverished noble with no tenants, and only her sword and jacket to call her harness and arms. 

“All this would be nothing,” Hyukjae began, seeing that Joohyun’s face had grown burdened, “if it is as they say, that the King intends to make war on the Datars. All this fire will be turned against the Datar, and in that case we have time on our side. I will go myself to warn the castle commanders and tell them to supply themselves with much powder, for they can hold out forever if they have unlimited powder. I will also inform Governor Taemin of Gyeonggu, who is the last hope of united resistance against the forces of Ohjinam, but I do not know how successful I will be. But there is time if war begins with the Datars. There are not many people at Ohjinam now, as they are scattered around, fishing and hunting around the streams and villages. Besides, the name of Taemin is terrible, as a cannon is to a flock of ducks, and if the Sage knows that he has his eye on Ohjinam, the peace might be kept out of fear of the Governor.”

“I wish that there would be no war,” muttered Joohyun. 

“The weapons have been sharpened; the warriors are drinking to their coming deaths. Wish not for no war, but a quick end to it, so that all may be satisfied with abundant booty and easy glory.”

They spoke nothing more, and had their tea again. At that moment, a new guest entered the tea-house with a tremendous uproar. This newcomer, bearing the seal of a royal general on his chest to denote his high rank, rattled the doors upon his entrance, and looking across the room insolently cried out, “My respects, gentlemen!”

He was a man of about forty years of age, low stature, and an irritable appearance of which was made more prominent by wide eyes protruding from his face — evidently a rash man quick to anger. 

“My respects, gentlemen!” he repeated more loudly and sharply, since he was not answered at once. 

“Respects, respects,” answered the others in low voices. 

Hyukjae did not like this man, and said to Joohyun, “He is Leeg Haesong, the colonel of Prince Seonggu’s archers. No one in Prince Seonggu’s army likes him. for he is an incorrigible blusterer, always persecuting someone with lawsuits. But for all that he has great influence, and besides, he is an excellent archer, so people are polite to him.”

“That does not mean he is permitted to be rowdy here; this is a tea-house, not an inn,” said Joohyun. 

“Will you chastise him, then?” 

Joohyun said nothing, because she was aware that she was just an impoverished noble, while Haesong was undoubtedly a wealthy landowner to be able to enter Prince Seonggu’s service. 

Haesong took a table that was given to him due to his distinguished status, and his attention was soon turned to the kisaeng musicians playing in the center of the room. Before this, Joohyun’s eyes had been inadvertently drawn to the head kisaeng amongst them, although she had tried to rectify this multiple times in Hyukjae’s presence. Joohyun would have asked the songstress for her name, seeing that her face was pleasing to behold and her voice light and uplifting, but again, Joohyun was just a noble of no means, and she would only be embarrassing herself in front of the entire tea-house and probably earn the ridicule of the kisaeng as well. But even as she conversed with Hyukjae, Joohyun could not help but wonder how fortunate a man would be if he had someone like that kisaeng as his intimate confidant. 

Presently, the songstress, who played a haegeum to accompany the other musicians who mainly concerned themselves with flutes and drums, was singing a long poem that sounded unfamiliar to Joohyun’s — and presumably most people’s — ears: 

Beneath the endless canvas of the open sky,

Nomad's heart, a traveler am I.

Mountains rise like ancient sentinels bold,

Desert winds whisper tales untold.

On a quest through dunes of gold,

Beneath the sun, my story unfolds.

Joohyun thought that it was a rather unique song that was not displeasing to the ears, but evidently Haesong held another opinion, as he smacked his table in offence at the foreign song. 

“Halt!” he cried, storming from the table. 

One of the kisaeng managers attempted to calm Haesong, but he was kicked to the floor, and Joohyun developed an intense disdain for this man. 

“Are you not from Nanwian?” shouted Haesong. “What is this Datar nonsense? How dare you sing foreigner rubbish in front of an official of the King?”

The musicians helped their manager to their feet, but cowered from the royal commander simultaneously — save for the haegeum player. There must have been some sort of fighting bones in her body since she was so tall, or perhaps she was affronte