Chapter 1582: A Heavy-Handed Interference

Just as the sky was beginning to lighten at dawn, the gates of the Great Han legation in Goryeo, which had been brightly lit all night, suddenly swung open. A group of Great Han soldiers then filed out in succession, clustered around several mounted officers.

The man at the very center was the newly enfeoffed Count of Xingyang, Zhao Song. Seated high on his horse, he held the reins and advanced slowly, gazing straight ahead, the medals on his military uniform glinting brightly. Though his expression was utterly composed, every glance he cast was filled with a murderous, battle-hardened air, as if he had just arrived on a battlefield.

"Meng Zhigao, take your men and seize the city gate. Bring in the rest of the troops from your battalion and maintain order within the city. Everyone else, follow me — we're heading to Gyeongbok Palace!" The moment he reached the street outside the legation gates, Zhao Song gave a forceful wave of his hand, signaling the surrounding officers and soldiers to obey. "Stick meticulously to the plan and don't cause any mishaps! Don't forget, today everyone is performing before the eyes of the Crown Prince. Whoever disgraces the name of our Liaodong Army can go fish in the North Sea for the rest of his life!"

To eliminate every possible unforeseen factor, he had not rested the previous night, yet he still felt not a trace of drowsiness. His shouts to those around him were sonorous and forceful, and he directed the men nearby with practiced ease.

In his view, commanding an operation was not merely about calculating troop strength and weaponry; more importantly, it was about rousing the soldiers' morale. As long as the commanding general held steady, the soldiers would not easily panic. Thus, throughout his many years of war, he had always remained calm and composed, projecting utter confidence, even when the enemy had already charged right up to him.

And this operation, in his eyes, was a sure thing, which filled him with even greater confidence.

"Yes, sir!" Hearing his vigorous shouts, the officers beside him responded in unison.

Meng Zhigao, the battalion commander of the Great Han's 1st Goryeo Garrison Battalion, took the lead on horseback and charged toward the city gate with a group of soldiers from the legation.

The Great Han stationed two battalions of troops in the Goryeo capital, but only a small portion was placed inside the legation as guards; the majority were camped in the barracks outside the city. The plan, therefore, was to split the legation's forces in two: one group would charge with Zhao Song himself toward Gyeongbok Palace to first secure that critical hub and protect the Crown Prince's safety, while the other group would go open the city gates to let in the soldiers already assembled and waiting outside the walls. If the city refused to open the gates, they would force them open with cannon fire, though the garrison officers all believed it would not come to that.

Once the city gates were opened, the soldiers of the 1st Battalion would follow Battalion Commander Meng Zhigao into the city, take control of Hanseong, and simultaneously link up with Zhao Song and his men inside Gyeongbok Palace. The 2nd Battalion, meanwhile, would remain stationed outside the city under Battalion Commander Wang Yun, patrolling and scouring the area to quell any potential unrest.

The Great Han legation had long had a plan to seize control of the Goryeo court and hold King Yi Hon hostage. Aside from the Crown Prince now being inside Gyeongbok Palace, nothing else was different. Zhao Song had taken their plan and made no changes to it, so the Great Han garrison troops, who had already been conducting considerable covert drills, could now put their preparations into practice.

However, regarding the timing of the operation, some had originally suggested launching it at night or in the early morning hours to better achieve the effect of a surprise attack. This suggestion was personally rejected by the Crown Prince. He believed that this operation, at least in name, was for the continuation of the Goryeo royal line and was a legitimate act by the Great Han to bring order out of chaos; it should not be carried out as if they had something to be ashamed of.

Watching them depart, Zhao Song swept his gaze around once more. After confirming that their spirit and morale were sound, he raised his riding crop and pointed it into the distance ahead.

"Move out!"

With that, he took the lead, galloping at full speed along the broad avenue between the legation and the royal palace toward the palace itself. Ever since the Great Han had propped up Yi Hon to restore the kingdom and demarcated the legation quarter in Hanseong, they had placed great importance on the quarter's prestige and appearance, as well as on communication with the royal palace. Under the personal supervision of Deputy Envoy Zhang Daoyan, the roads within Hanseong had been repaired, and a wide, straight thoroughfare had been built between the legation and the palace, making it convenient for legation personnel to travel to and from the palace.

Of course, at the time, the legation staff had merely intended to display the Great Han's current might and to facilitate intervention in Goryeo's state affairs; they had never imagined this road would come in handy under such circumstances.

It was now early morning. Though most people were still resting, quite a few had already woken up. Many city residents, seeing a group of ferocious-looking Great Han officers and soldiers burst out of the legation with weapons drawn and charge murderously toward the royal palace, were stupefied with terror. They hurriedly shut their windows and doors, pretending they had seen nothing. Some of these households belonged to the scholar-official families of Goryeo courtiers, who had a clearer understanding of the current political situation and the tensions between the legation and the court. They were especially frightened and uneasy, barring their gates and huddling inside their homes, terrified that their families might be caught up in the disaster and bring calamity upon themselves.

Yet, whether scholar-official families or common households, vanishingly few ever considered rallying to the king's defense. Yi Hon had already acted perversely and lost the hearts of the scholars and commoners during his previous reign. Now, restored to the throne solely by the Great Han's might, he had never been able to win the people's loyal support and was seen merely as a usurper who had begged the Great Han for restoration by wagging his tail. Now, seeing him about to fall into misfortune once more, not many people were distressed for him; quite a few, on the contrary, were secretly cheering.

Zhao Song paid no heed to what these Goryeo scholars and commoners thought. He spurred his horse and galloped down the main road as if no one else were there. Ever since being transferred from Liaodong to the capital, amid the upheavals of the past few months, he had not been able to ride at full tilt like today for a very long time.

Although the horse beneath him was a warhorse only recently commandeered from the legation, it was, after all, well-trained, and under his urging it proved exceedingly vigorous, galloping ahead relentlessly as if determined to outstrip all the other horses. Throughout this ride, the early-spring wind, still carrying a chill, whipped back and forth across his face. Yet it caused him neither pain nor cold; instead, it ignited a fierce flame in his heart, and in a daze, he felt as if he had returned to the long-missed battlefield.

To shield himself from the wind, he narrowed his eyes slightly. Suddenly, his ears were filled with a din of roars and shouts mingling Han, Manchu, and Mongol tongues, along with the clashing of weapons. Those were days long past, yet they constantly lingered in his mind, as if they had never left.

Hazy shapes and shadows also flickered before his eyes: rows upon rows of banners in every color, stretching endlessly as if they could blot out the sun, and countless forests of spears that seemed to glint with a piercing, icy light... just as it had been when he arrived on the Liaodong frontier and fought battle after battle against the Jianzhou slave armies.

Back then, he was not yet a brigade commander, but he was already a senior officer. Even then, he often led from the front, charging the enemy lines with the men under his command. He displayed extraordinary bravery, worthy of being a model for all, and was commended before the entire army several times by Grand Commander Chen Sheng.

Some said he did it to boost the soldiers' morale and display his own valor. Some said it was because he had seen too many instances of the Jianzhou slaves' brutal abuse of Han civilians and wanted to avenge them. Some said it was to silence those who claimed he had only risen through the ranks because of his connection to His Majesty. All of these were true — all were reasons for his ferocity — but they were not the whole reason.

The most fundamental reason he did it was that he wanted to. Yes, only when charging the enemy's battle lines on foot or on horseback, weapon in hand, locked in mortal combat with the foe — only when he saw enemy soldiers wounded and dying because of him and his men — could he feel a joy and exhilaration rising from the deepest recesses of his heart. This was an exhilaration he could find nowhere else.

This feeling of exhilaration could make a man feel as if the entire world lay in the palm of his hand, that nothing else mattered — only swinging his weapon... only killing the enemy held any meaning.

It was only when he left the battlefield that he realized how deeply he yearned for that feeling.

Ahead, there seemed to be a wall, and beneath it, a group of men holding weapons were watching him. The old sensation surged back ever stronger. He opened his mouth and drew deep breaths; the blood all through his body seemed about to ignite, searing him, making him feel as if his body on horseback had floated up into the clouds. The shouts of "Commander! Commander!" from the subordinates behind him — he could no longer hear them at all.

Unconsciously, he had already raised the riding crop in his hand, just like the cavalry saber he had wielded in the past. As his horse galloped, he drew closer and closer to these men, his hand raised high. Yet the men opposite merely stared at him dumbfounded, as if they were looking at some kind of monster.

You're dead.

With a thought somewhere between mockery and a statement of fact, Zhao Song, at the very front, brought his weapon down hard. But what reached his ears was not the dull thud of a saber cleaving into a human body, tearing muscle and snapping bone — it was a crisp "Smack!"

Only then did Zhao Song realize that the weapon in his hand was merely a riding crop. He quickly snapped out of his battle-lust and back to normal, aware that he was not fighting a war right now, but merely leading men to storm Gyeongbok Palace.

Zhao Song cast a sidelong glance down from his horse. The guard he had lashed down with his crop was still rolling on the ground, wailing in agony. Though the man had not been killed, the pain was surely considerable. By now, the other mounted officers had also caught up. They had originally intended to coordinate with the infantry following behind, but because Zhao Song had suddenly accelerated and charged ahead, they had been forced to follow suit. Thus, those now outside Gyeongbok Palace were all officers, while the main body of soldiers was actually still behind them.

The guard Zhao Song had lashed was howling so wretchedly that the other guards all felt a visceral sympathy, but they cowered where they stood, none daring to step forward and rescue the man from Zhao Song, who was like a god of death.

The incident had erupted so suddenly that they had made no preparations whatsoever. By the time Zhao Song had felled this man, they had already recognized that these people were from the Great Han legation. For years, the Great Han legation personnel had run rampant and domineering in Hanseong; even the royal palace guards were frequently berated by them. Under the weight of such accumulated intimidation, they dared even less to resist, merely standing there trembling, not one of them even running off to report.

Zhao Song dismounted, then swept his gaze over these guards, his arrogance written plainly on his face. "I am Zhao Song, Count of Xingyang of the Great Han. By order of the Great Han Crown Prince, I am taking over the guard duties of Gyeongbok Palace today! Anyone who dares resist will be executed on the spot!"

Fearing these men might not understand Han, an officer who knew Goryeo repeated the speech in the Goryeo tongue. Upon hearing that the man before them was actually a veteran noble general of the Great Han, and that he was acting under the decree of the Great Han Crown Prince, the guards lost any remaining will to resist and fell to their knees one after another.

Seeing them so sensible, Zhao Song was somewhat satisfied. His gaze then shifted to the guard still wailing on the ground.

"One of you will go with our men to pass on the order: all guards of Gyeongbok Palace are to assemble at the designated location. No one is permitted to approach the royal palace, especially the Crown Prince's residence — violators will be killed without exception! As for the rest of you, come and carry this man away and tend to his wounds."

………………………………

"Ugh... ugh... ah!" With ceaseless moans escaping his lips, Yi Hon, the King of Goryeo, awoke once more in his royal bed.

The cold sweat from the nightmare he had just had had already soaked through his clothes. He groped his way to the edge of the bed and then slapped it heavily.

The content of the nightmare was nothing remarkable — it was the most deeply etched day of his entire life. On that day, taking advantage of his being bedridden by illness and unable to attend to affairs, his own nephew, Prince Neungyang Yi Jong, along with his supporters from the Westerner Faction — courtiers like Yi Gwi, Yi Gwal, and Kim Ja-jeom — had staged a palace coup, leading soldiers in a charge into the royal palace.

Fires blazed everywhere under a sky-wide glow, and piercing, wretched screams rent the air — even today, they still seemed loud enough to burst his eardrums. On that single night, a horde of ferocious soldiers killed all who resisted and then made him a prisoner.

Afterward, he was dragged before the deposed Queen Dowager Inmok. This queen dowager was his father's primary queen, but she had never been particularly favored and only bore the late king a legitimate son after Yi Hon had already reached adulthood. By then, however, it was too late. His father, having already lived through the Imjin Waeran, did not wish the country to endure further turmoil, so he passed the throne to Yi Hon and enjoined him to treat this mother and son well after his death.

Yet, after ascending the throne, Yi Hon had naturally regarded this mother and son as thorns in his side. A few years into his reign, he found a pretext to execute that younger brother, Grand Prince Yeongchang Yi Ui, and the Queen Dowager Inmok was also banished by him to the cold palace.

It was impossible to imagine how deeply this woman hated him. When she saw him, her entire face contorted, and she screamed at him in an exceedingly shrill voice. As for what she screamed, he had not heard it clearly back then, and naturally, he would never be able to make it out now.

He did not beg these rebels for mercy. The moment he saw that woman's eyes — eyes that seemed to burn in the dark of night — he understood that begging would be futile and would only give her greater satisfaction.

It was said that when Queen Dowager Inmok collaborated with these rebels to overthrow the king, the condition she set was that she must personally witness his death. But in the end, the rebels refused her, deciding that directly regicide would be too difficult to explain to their suzerain, the Great Ming.

However, Yi Hon would not thank them, for these people replaced a swift execution with a torment worse than death — right under Queen Dowager Inmok's own gaze, these rebels used quicklime to sear his eyes blind.

That heart-piercing agony was like countless needles stabbing into his face, burrowing straight into his brain. The unending pain made him howl uncontrollably, yet no one pitied him. All his ears could hear were his own howls and that woman's shrill, immeasurably gleeful laughter.

She seemed to laugh like that for the entire night.

From that moment on, this nightmare had clung to him without cease. Although he had since experienced drastic reversals of fortune — first exiled, then restored to the throne — and although those rebels, including Queen Dowager Inmok herself, had all been executed by him, this nightmare could never be shaken off. It visited his mind almost every night, making him endlessly relive the agony of that night, until he finally struggled awake.

Yet, ever since the coup plotters had blinded him, he could only "see" things in his dreams. Therefore, no matter how terrifying the nightmare was these years, upon waking, he would instead feel a lingering attachment to the dream he had just had, savoring everything his mind had conjured.

For Yi Hon, this was yet another sleepless night.

"Your Highness?" The eunuch who had heard him strike the bed hurried over at once. His voice rang out in the pitch-black darkness, as if coming from the edge of the sky.

"Water, give me some water," Yi Hon weakly commanded. His entire body was drenched in sweat, like a fish just scooped out of water, and after the violent thrashing he had just endured, he had no strength left.

"Your Highness, please drink." A cup was brought to his lips. This eunuch had served him for a very long time, and so tonight, as soon as he was summoned, he had immediately poured a cup of water.

Yi Hon lowered his head and slowly drank along the rim of the cup. As the cool liquid flowed into his stomach, he finally began, bit by bit, to regain control of his body.

"What time is it now?" he asked.

"It is already the second ke of the mao hour, Your Highness," the palace attendant replied in a low voice.

"The second ke of the mao hour... is it daylight yet?"

"Yes, the sky... the sky is already faintly bright." The attendant's answer was slightly hesitant. "But... but it is still early, Your Highness may rest a while longer."

Speaking of daylight before a blind man was truly somewhat cruel, especially when that blind man was the sovereign, holding the power of life and death over you.

"It is already daylight, what more rest is there?" A bitter smile suddenly surfaced on Li Hun's face. "Help me up, and change my clothes quickly."

The inner garment, already soaked through with sweat, now clung tightly to his body, making him feel extremely uncomfortable, especially since it was still spring and the morning was a bit chilly.

"Yes, Your Highness." The attendant answered respectfully, then walked aside and picked up his everyday casual robes, intending to change his clothes for him.

The update is late, sorry.