The excavations took three days.

  They found the bodies of two horses, nine people, and one dog. The animals were burned immediately to prevent outbreaks of disease, while the people were laid out on tables in the mortuary and the locals were gathered for identification.

  The cold had preserved the flesh fairly well under the collapse, but once the bodies were brought into the warmth, they began to emit a revolting stench. One of the guards stationed at the entrance for several hours even fainted. Under other circumstances the matter would have been dealt with as quickly as possible, but it so happened that the attention of all the high-ranking figures was diverted by an entirely different event.

  Just as the last bodies were uncovered — there were nine of them, incidentally, instead of the eight missing miners — and the final broken beams were dug out, another discovery was made. The collapse had shifted part of the mountainside and opened the entrance to a cave higher up the slope. And there, wrapped in several layers of dusty yellow silk, lay a sword of indescribable beauty, made of pure gold!

  At least, that was how the peasants who found it described it, with such rapture that it sounded like a magical object from legend rather than a real artifact. The sword was to be handed over to the guards, and both princes and the envoy raced almost side by side to the magistrate’s office to see the marvel.

  They found nothing.

  The soldier who reported this shifted awkwardly, blushed, and finally blurted out that inside the bundle of yellow silk there had been a stick, and that the real sword must have been stolen by someone. But by whom?

  At these words the envoy flew into such a rage that he nearly beat the guard with his boots.

  Yi Hyun, with the words “golden sword” pounding in his temples with every heartbeat, proved more restrained and ordered immediate searches of homes and the interrogation of all the peasants who had worked on clearing the mine.

  The elder prince showed admirable composure and merely promised to find the sword at any cost, “if it is so valuable to the honored envoy.”

  No one said it aloud, but Yi Hyun was certain that everyone was thinking of the same golden sword. If it was the genuine sword of the Ming emperor, a symbol of the liberating struggle against the Manchus and a sign of the true Son of Heaven, its value was immeasurable. The Manchus would seize it and present it to their child-emperor, thereby securing his authority over the world once and for all. For Joseon it would become a banner of liberation during the Northern Campaign, which Yi Hyun had dreamed of ever since he learned to read.

  ***

  Similar thoughts troubled Dorgon as well. Setting out on the long journey, the regent had, of course, taken care of his own safety. Two taciturn imperial guards traveled with the embassy, ostensibly assigned to the envoy for the duration of the mission by the emperor himself. In addition, some of the servants, porters, and cart drivers were in fact warriors from his White Banner in disguise. Dorgon had fought more than one battle alongside them and could rely on his old comrades to guard his back.

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  He had not, of course, expected to have to use them as trackers, setting them on the trail of an unknown thief, but the sword was more important than his personal protection. Especially since that protection had managed to miss both a threatening note in his quarters and an ambush on the road to the mine the day before.

  Perhaps they could at least succeed in finding the peasant who had stolen the sword?

  It would, of course, have been convenient to involve the Joseon men. They knew the terrain, the language, and the inhabitants of this backwater far better. But Dorgon understood that the temptation might be too great and did not want to rely solely on their word. If one of the princes brought him the sword, he would, of course, be pleased. He even believed that Xian would obey his order. Yun, however, was still an open question.

  “What do you think of your elder brother, Ah-Xian?” Dorgon guided his horse closer to the prince so he would not have to raise his voice. He had insisted on riding out to the mine and seeing the cave where the precious find had been made with his own eyes. Perhaps some trace of the thief remained there. “Would he make a king?”

  As always, the unflappable Xian smiled brightly.

  “My elder brother is educated and not foolish,” he replied. “But who am I to judge whether he can become a good king.”

  “And what about the fact that he tried to deprive me of my prey during the hunt?” Dorgon laughed. “Is that foresight?”

  “He does indeed have a quick temper,” Xian nodded, still smiling just as sweetly. It was entirely unclear whether this was meant as an excuse or a warning.

  The search of the cave yielded little. There had once been another entrance through a narrow passage on the far side of the slope, now blocked by rubble. It was possible that the sword had truly been hidden there many years ago and that the path to it had later been lost. The cave showed no signs of habitation by man or beast. Now, with one wall gone, it had simply become a low, open grotto at the mountain’s summit.

  On the return ride to the city, Dorgon grew bored and decided to pose his question to the elder prince as well.

  “What do you think of your younger brother, Great Prince Seojin?” Since the captain of the Joseon guard was riding nearby, Dorgon had to address Li Yun formally. “Would he make a king?”

  “My younger brother…” Yun gazed thoughtfully into the distance. “If names are not correct, then words will not be appropriate; if words are not appropriate, then deeds will not be accomplished.”

  This saying of Confucius spoke of the harm caused by appointing people to unsuitable positions. The meaning was obvious, but Dorgon chose to clarify.

  “So he is not suitable?”

  “He lacks experience and is too soft, like a steamed bun,” Yun sneered, wrinkling the bridge of his nose. The guard captain riding behind them snorted quietly at the comparison. “And when virtue does not match position…”

  “There will inevitably be calamity,” the regent finished the quotation.

  This time, however, he was inclined to disagree with the revered Confucius. The calamity Dorgon himself foresaw for Joseon lay not in excessive harshness or softness, but in the lack of unity between the brothers. He had seen the same thing in the fallen Ming dynasty: relatives of the former emperor tearing at each other’s throats while Manchu troops took city after city from them.

  Dorgon himself had been his father’s fourteenth son, serving first him and then his elder brother. His brothers commanded banners and sat on the council. They did not always agree, but they were always united in the face of an enemy, whether rebellion, drought, or epidemic. That was the strength of their clan, and that strength Dorgon did not see in Joseon now. Though, it was true, in the capital he had thought the princes rather close…

  Contrary to what the subjugated peoples surely believed, Great Qing had no goal of destroying its tributaries. On the contrary, Dorgon would have been glad to patronize prosperous neighboring states, as had been customary in the days of the Ming dynasty. Wealthy countries parted more easily with gifts, well-fed peoples did not wish to rebel against foreign rule. It would have been better for everyone if his intentions were understood. But such understanding usually came only by the second or third generation, and for now he had no choice but to keep his tributaries in check with threats and force.

  The wind blowing through the darkened branches of the frozen forest seemed especially cold today.