The weather at the beginning of winter was far from pleasant. Although they were travelling south, the road ran along the sea, treating them to storms and snowfalls over and over again. Instead of the usual blooming thickets and sunny groves, they had to look at dreary grey landscapes and freeze at night. The rivers they had to cross were churning and threatening to overflow, and they rode up to one bridge with water up to their knees, covered by a thin skin of ice. Lord Fang hid from the bad weather in the carriage and wondered why the envoy preferred to get soaked in the saddle. The Manchus truly had rather wild habits.

  When their caravan finally crossed the border and reached Anju, the northernmost city of Joseon, Lord Fang could hardly believe his luck. The magistrate of Anju was an old acquaintance of his and a very hospitable one at that. The messenger sent ahead had surely already warned their gracious host of the guests, and hot water, heated rooms with warm floors — the best of Joseon inventions — and a hearty dinner were no doubt waiting for them.

  The magistrate’s family greeted them in full: the venerable Lord Kwon himself, his beautiful second wife, and his young daughter Yeon-mi. Adviser Fang had not seen young lady Yeon-mi for three or four years — she always spent summers with relatives in the countryside — and was pleasantly surprised to see that she had grown into a proper beauty, with thoughtful dark eyes and pale skin.

  They exchanged the proper greetings. The servants and guards went to park the carts in the spacious courtyard of the local office, while the envoy and the adviser were the first to step into the welcoming warmth of the house awaiting them. Lord Fang thawed, warmed up, and softened. Even the upstart envoy no longer seemed quite so repulsive. The Manchu quickly found his footing among the new people and, through the interpreter, began telling them various stories from his nomadic childhood. The interpreter skilfully trimmed and softened the juiciest parts, such as “…and we cut off the horse’s head and hung it on the gate to drip blood.”

  At first, Adviser Fang laughed into his sleeve, but then he noticed that their host was sitting too quietly. Seizing a moment, he asked the venerable magistrate what had happened.

  “Ah, dear Envoy,” the man shook his head, noticed the Manchu’s frowning brows, and hastily corrected himself: “dear Adviser Fang, I mean to say. Forgive me, habit after so many years. I am very glad to see you, but this time you have come so early that I have not yet managed to gather everything due. Please, understand my position and be merciful if I do not make it in time.”

  Lord Fang understood that the magistrate was not speaking of ordinary taxes — his eyes were far too anxious. The same patron who granted Fang the precious antidote pills also held sway over this Joseon official. In his case, however, he held him by the throat by threatening, in case of disobedience, to deal with his beloved daughter. There had been some incident several years earlier when it had nearly come to that, and since then the magistrate of Anju had been their loyal ally.

  The new upstart envoy, of course, knew nothing of this and took the magistrate’s complaint at face value.

  “The envoy says he can grant you a little time, dear magistrate,” the interpreter translated. “You do not have to send your share of the tribute to the capital. We will collect it here, in Anju, on our way back.”

  The envoy bent to the interpreter’s ear and added something with a snort of laughter.

  “The envoy says that in return for this kindness you will have to feed us such a delicious dinner again,” the interpreter relayed, the corners of his lips twitching as he barely held back an unseemly giggle.

  “Please convey my deepest gratitude to the Envoy!” the magistrate proclaimed. “By the way, may I be so bold as to ask how it came about that Lord Zhao was appointed envoy?”

  Special Adviser Fang sighed and looked off to the side. The interpreter began to relay the Manchu’s words, but the adviser understood them without translation.

  “I am not just an envoy, dear magistrate,” the man declared with an arrogant smirk. “I am the eyes and ears of the emperor! Not long ago, strange things took place in Joseon. The king, we were told, had fallen seriously ill and was at death’s door. His son, who had been living at our court, had to go home at once. The emperor kindly allowed it and released the prince.”

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  Adviser Fang could not suppress a quiet snort. The emperor, indeed. Everyone knew that the Qing Empire was ruled by his uncle, Prince Regent Rui, son and brother of the previous emperors. It was doubtful that a ten-year-old boy in golden robes could decide anything at all. In another five or ten years, however, the country would inevitably face yet another power struggle, and Lord Fang prayed that his mysterious patron would end up on the winning side. But none of this, of course, could be said aloud.

  The envoy ignored his snort and went on:

  “After that, something strange happened. The king of Joseon recovered, and the only prince turned into three. The emperor was enraged — the Joseon people had apparently mocked his kindness and deceived him. And then they sent an invitation to the ceremony of raising some long-dead concubine to the rank of queen on top of it all. I am going to find out what happened and report to the emperor. If your king truly decided to make sport of him, then you need not worry about gathering tribute, dear magistrate. In the spring our troops will come and take it themselves.”

  The Manchu ended his speech with a loud laugh, but heavy silence fell around the table. The magistrate forced a servile smile.

  “I hope it is just a misunderstanding that will soon be resolved,” his wife said. She was a little over thirty, quite good-looking for her age, and clearly knew it. She cast the envoy a playful glance and added: “But if it turns out that our king truly deserves punishment, may I dare ask that it be you who comes to sack Anju?”

  Flirting with another man in front of her own husband and a crowd of officials was risky. The magistrate frowned anxiously, clearly unsure how to react. The envoy, however, grinned from ear to ear and slapped the table with a burst of laughter.

  “I will see what I can do,” he promised, still chuckling. “And at the same time we will find a husband for your daughter. In Great Qing, marriages with other peoples are encouraged. Take our Special Adviser Fang here — he is a han. He married a Manchu woman and was promoted. Am I right, Adviser Fang?”

  Now it was the adviser’s turn to blink in fright. How did this upstart know about his family?!

  The envoy continued to amuse himself and frighten those around him with coarse jokes until late at night. When Adviser Fang finally managed to step out into the courtyard and turn his flushed face to the falling snowflakes, it was already completely dark. The magistrate came up, stood beside him, and heaved a heavy sigh.

  “How do you endure this, Lord Fang?” he asked.

  “Do not get me started,” Adviser Fang shook his head. “A dreadful man.”

  “Let us see whether the carts have been unloaded,” the magistrate suggested, and they went to the courtyard of the city office. The Mongol bodyguard followed behind them like a familiar shadow.

  The slaves were just finishing carrying the last sacks under the supervision of the steward, Pak. The magistrate and the adviser counted the bales, making sure none of the precious contraband was missing, and the magistrate locked the barn doors with a heavy padlock.

  “Forgive me that this time we must do it in secret,” Adviser Fang apologized.

  “I understand,” the magistrate sighed again. “Do not take it personally. There has just been too much all at once. We had a mine collapse here recently, people are nervous. I forbade them to wag their tongues, but…”

  “And what is so secret about that?” Adviser Fang shrugged. A cave-in was a cave-in, such things happened.

  “In itself, nothing,” the magistrate shook his head. “But once I report it to the capital, they will send an inspection here. And while my storeroom is full of your goods… Well, it is better to keep quiet for now. I will report it in spring.”

  “Ah, I see,” Adviser Fang said slowly, nodding and putting his hands behind his back.

  “As for a husband for Yeon-mi, your envoy actually hit the mark there,” the magistrate went on complaining. “It is the second year I have been looking for someone worthy, and still nothing. We might go to the capital, but who would let us leave? And now they say some rat has been seen at the market. Walking around, asking questions… Did your patron send him?”

  “What rat?” the Mongol spoke up. Both magistrate and adviser jumped, they had almost forgotten he was there.

  “Some fellow is going around asking what is happening here,” the magistrate grimaced, catching his breath again. “If he finds out about the cave-in — and he surely will — and then reports it to the capital, it will look bad. But I have already ordered the guards to catch him, do not worry. I do not want to arrange a manhunt in front of the new envoy, though.”

  “How long has he been sniffing around?” the Mongol continued his questioning, stepping closer. Now he loomed over both officials and looked rather menacing.

  “Well, they reported him to me about… er… four days ago, yes,” the magistrate began counting on his fingers. “At first I paid it no mind, then I checked again, and yesterday I gave the order to catch him. The whole story is murky. He definitely is not one of yours?”

  “I do not think so,” the Mongol shook his head and narrowed his eyes, staring over the roofline. “We need to get rid of this dog.”

  “And find out who set him on us,” the magistrate added.

  The Mongol nodded in agreement.