The scent of old paper and drying ink was Yi Ji-hoon's most constant companion. In the vast, echoing quiet of his personal library within the sprawling Gyeongbok Palace, it was a fragrance more familiar than the perfume of his own mother, Lady Yoon, and certainly more comforting than the weighty silence that often hung between him and his father, Prince Dae-jung.
Ji-hoon, at eighteen years of age, was considered a scholar of some promise. His tutors praised his quick mind, his grasp of the Confucian classics, and the elegant flow of his calligraphy. Yet, these accolades always felt…hollow. They were whispers in a storm, lost against the reputation of his elder half-brother, Crown Prince Yi Hyun.
The brush in Ji-hoon's hand stilled. He had been attempting to compose a poem on the transient nature of autumn, but his thoughts, were scattered by the anxieties that permeated the very walls of the palace. Emperor Gyeongmu, his grandfather, the Dragon King who had held Joseon steady for three decades, was ailing. The royal physicians spoke in hushed, worried tones, their pronouncements growing vaguer with each passing week. A shadow had fallen over the throne room, a shadow that lengthened with every report of the Emperor's failing strength.
And the Crown Prince, Yi Hyun, was away. Far to the north, on the blood-soaked plains of the Ming Dynasty.
Hyun. The name itself felt like a legend. Ji-hoon had few clear memories of him. A fleeting image of a stern-faced boy, perhaps ten years his senior, who even then carried an unnerving intensity in his gaze. A boy who had reportedly mastered the military treatises by an age when Ji-hoon was still struggling with his first characters. Their paths rarely crossed. Hyun was the son of their father's first wife, the gentle Lady Min Seo-yeon, whose powerful family had ensured her son's place even when her own life was tragically, and many whispered suspiciously, cut short. Ji-hoon was the son of the second wife, Lady Yoon Su-min, a woman of gentler lineage and, consequently, lesser influence.
He, Ji-hoon, Competent, yes. Brilliant? No, that accolade was reserved solely for Hyun.
"Your Highness Ji-hoon?"
The soft voice of his attendant, Old Man Kang, pulled him from his reverie. Kang, a man whose wrinkles mapped a lifetime of service to their branch of the royal family, stood by the doorway, his expression carefully neutral.
"Yes, Kang?" Ji-hoon placed his brush on the inkstone, a dark smudge staining the pristine white of the paper. Another poem ruined by distraction.
"Prince Dae-jung requests your presence in his private study, Young Highness."
Ji-hoon's stomach tightened. A summons from his father was rarely a pleasant affair. Prince Dae-jung, a man whose own ambitions had been blunted by a nature deemed 'mediocre' for the dragon throne, seemed to carry a perpetual air of dissatisfaction. He was, in the grand tapestry of the Yi royal line, a thread of muted colour, overshadowed by his own father, the Emperor, and now, eclipsed by his firstborn.
"Did he say what it concerns?" Ji-hoon asked, though he suspected he already knew. His father's conversations, these days, orbited a singular, consuming topic: power, and the perceived injustice of its distribution.
Old Man Kang merely bowed his head. "He did not confide in me, Your Highness. Only that it was a matter of some urgency."
Ji-hoon sighed, rising from his low desk. The scrolls and books around him suddenly felt like a fragile sanctuary, one he was reluctant to leave. He smoothed down the front of his pale blue silk hanbok, a scholar's attire, a deliberate contrast to the martial reds and golds favored by those with true influence.
The walk to his father's quarters was a journey through a landscape of hushed anxiety. Courtyards that normally bustled with activity were subdued. Guards stood a little too stiffly, their eyes darting more frequently than usual. Servants scurried past with downcast gazes, their whispers ceasing abruptly as he approached. The illness of an Emperor was like a stone dropped into a still pond; the ripples touched everyone, unsettling the depths.
His father's study was larger than his own, more opulent, yet it always felt colder. Prince Dae-jung was seated behind a heavy, dark wood desk, not reading or writing, but staring out the window at the meticulously manicured gardens, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He didn't turn as Ji-hoon entered and performed the customary bow.
"Father, you summoned me."
Prince Dae-jung finally shifted, his gaze, heavy and discontented, falling upon his son. "Ji-hoon. Come, sit." He gestured vaguely towards a cushion.
Ji-hoon did so, settling himself and waiting. His father was a man of average height, with a physique that had softened with age and inactivity. His features were not unpleasant, but they lacked the sharp definition, the inherent authority, that Ji-hoon had seen in portraits of Emperor Gyeongmu, or in the few stark memories he possessed of Crown Prince Hyun. There was a perpetual frown etched between his brows, a mark of long-nurtured grievances.
"The capital is restless," Prince Dae-jung began, his voice a low rumble. "The Emperor's health… it is a cause for grave concern."
"Indeed, Father. I pray for His Majesty's swift recovery." Ji-hoon kept his tone respectful, neutral.
A humourless smile touched his father's lips. "Prayers. Yes. Many are praying, I'm sure. For various outcomes." He paused, letting the insinuation hang in the air. "And while the heart of the dragon weakens, the Wolf of the North grows stronger."
The Wolf of the North. It was the moniker whispered in the barracks and teahouses, a name born of fear and awe for Crown Prince Hyun. A name that spoke of his ruthless efficiency on the battlefield, his almost preternatural ability to anticipate enemy movements, and the string of victories he had delivered against the much-vaunted Ming forces – victories that Joseon had not dared to dream of for generations.
"The reports from the Yalu River are… remarkable," Ji-hoon offered carefully. "They say Crown Prince Hyun's strategies are unlike anything seen before. That his 'Dragon Corps' formations are impenetrable, his supply lines never falter." He had read the official dispatches, of course, the ones sanitised for wider consumption. But he'd also heard the soldiers' tales, embellished perhaps, but carrying a core of shocking truth about the new drills, the relentless training, the almost foreign discipline Hyun had instilled in his army.
His father scoffed, turning back to the window. "Remarkable? Or reckless? He commits the bulk of Joseon's finest to a meat grinder against the Ming war machine. For what? Glory? To solidify his own image while His Majesty lies on his deathbed?"
The accusation was sharp, pointed. Ji-hoon knew his father harbored a deep-seated resentment towards Hyun. It wasn't just the natural jealousy of a man overshadowed by his son; it was something deeper, darker, rooted in the circumstances of Hyun's birth and his mother's tragic end. Lady Min Seo-yeon had come from a clan far more powerful than Prince Dae-jung's mother, and their marriage had been a strategic alliance, not a love match. Dae-jung had been a younger son, never truly in the running for the throne himself until a series of dynastic misfortunes had briefly, tantalizingly, brought him closer, only for his own mediocrity and then Hyun's dazzling emergence to slam that door shut.
Ji-hoon had often wondered about Lady Min's death. Officially, it was a sudden illness. But the whispers… the whispers suggested a more sinister hand, a hand that sought to remove a powerful wife to make way for a more pliable one, Lady Yoon. And Hyun, even as a boy, had supposedly looked at his father with an unnerving, knowing gaze. A gaze that promised retribution.
"The Emperor himself sanctioned the campaign, Father," Ji-hoon reminded him gently. "He saw the Ming incursions as a grave threat. And Hyun… Hyun was chosen as Crown Prince by Grandfather for his abilities, for his perceived strength."
Prince Dae-jung spun around, his eyes flashing. "Perceived strength! He was a child! What did my father see in that… that cold, detached boy? He was always different. Unnatural." He spat the last word as if it were poison. "He charmed the old man with his rote learning and his unnatural intensity. And now, that 'strength' has him hundreds of li away while the kingdom teeters on a precipice."
"But he is winning, Father," Ji-hoon couldn't help but point out. "The Ming envoys are reportedly suing for peace, offering concessions Joseon hasn't seen in a century. Surely, that is a service to the kingdom?"
"Winning?" Dae-jung paced the length of his study, his agitation growing. "And at what cost? He drains the treasury, demands levies of men and material that bleed the provinces dry! His methods are brutal, unheard of. They say he drills his men day and night, that his discipline is unyielding, almost… foreign. He breaks them and remolds them into something not quite Joseon. Is this the way of a future king? Or a tyrant?"
Ji-hoon remained silent. He knew his father's words were colored by bitterness, but the descriptions of Hyun's army had an unsettling ring. The tales spoke of an almost fanatical loyalty from his soldiers, a terrifying efficiency. It was as if Hyun was operating from a different set of rules entirely.
"And now," Prince Dae-jung continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush as he leaned closer to Ji-hoon, "with the Emperor indisposed, the court is a viper's nest. Ministers are choosing sides. Factions are forming. Some whisper that the Crown Prince is too… formidable. Too independent. That perhaps a more… amenable hand should guide the realm if the Mandate of Heaven shifts."
Ji-hoon felt a chill creep up his spine. This was dangerous territory. His father was not merely airing grievances; he was testing the waters, perhaps even hinting at his own aspirations, however futile they might seem.
"Father," Ji-hoon said, his voice low but firm, "such talk is treasonous. Crown Prince Hyun is the designated heir. His position is affirmed by Emperor Gyeongmu himself."
Prince Dae-jung straightened, a sneer playing on his lips. "Designations can be… reconsidered. Especially when the appointee is absent, and his methods inspire as much fear as loyalty. The State Council is divided. Minister Hwang and his faction champion Hyun, of course, blinded by his martial successes. But others, like Minister Cho and Chief Scholar Park, they have… reservations. They see the disruption Hyun represents. They fear his iron will."
Ji-hoon knew these names. Minister Hwang Jin, a grizzled veteran of border politics, was a staunch supporter of a strong military and, by extension, of Hyun. Minister Cho Man-sik, on the other hand, was a conservative Confucian scholar who valued stability and tradition above all else. Chief Scholar Park Yoo-shik of the Royal Academy, Ji-hoon's own distant mentor, was a man of immense intellectual prestige, known for his caution. If such men had reservations, it was significant.
"And what do you propose, Father?" Ji-hoon asked, the question feeling heavy and perilous.
Prince Dae-jung's eyes gleamed with a feverish light that Ji-hoon had rarely seen. "Propose? I merely observe, my son. I observe the currents. And I see an opportunity for a man of… steadier temperament. A man who understands the nuances of court, the importance of harmony, not just the brute force of arms. A man who would not be a wolf among sheep, but a shepherd."
The implication was clear. His father, Prince Dae-jung, saw himself as that shepherd. The thought was almost laughable, given his history of being sidelined for his lack of decisive leadership, but the current vacuum seemed to be inflating his ambitions to dangerous proportions.
"You," Dae-jung said, his gaze fixing on Ji-hoon, "you are well-regarded in scholarly circles. Chief Scholar Park has spoken favorably of your essays. Your reputation is… clean. Unblemished by the harshness that clings to Hyun."
Ji-hoon felt a surge of alarm. "Father, what are you suggesting?"
"I am suggesting," Prince Dae-jung said slowly, deliberately, "that in uncertain times, alternatives are always sought. And a prince who is present, who is respected for his intellect and his calm demeanor, might find himself… looked upon favorably. Especially if his elder brother is perceived as a distant warmonger, or worse, a threat to the established order."
His father was not just plotting against Hyun; he was considering using Ji-hoon as a pawn, perhaps even a figurehead for his own ambitions. The thought was repulsive. Ji-hoon had no desire for the throne. His world was one of books, of philosophical debate, not of cutthroat politics and the burdens of rule. He was overshadowed by Hyun, yes, but he had also found a measure of peace in that shadow.
"Father," Ji-hoon began, trying to choose his words carefully, "Crown Prince Hyun is my elder brother. He is the future King. My loyalty, and yours, must be to him and to the stability of the dynasty as ordained by Emperor Gyeongmu."
Prince Dae-jung's expression hardened. "Loyalty? Do you think he feels any loyalty towards me? Or you, his half-brother, the son of the woman who 'replaced' the sainted Lady Min?" He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Hyun is not one for sentiment, Ji-hoon. He is cold, calculating. He sees only power, and obstacles to it. We are, at best, irrelevant to him. At worst, liabilities."
Ji-hoon thought of the scant interactions he'd had with Hyun. The Crown Prince had never been cruel to him, merely… remote. As if Ji-hoon were a piece of furniture in a room he rarely entered. There was an undeniable aura of command about Hyun, an almost chilling self-possession that even as a child had set him apart. He remembered Hyun's eyes – dark, intense, seeming to see more than they let on. The idea of those eyes focusing on him with suspicion, or worse, enmity, was deeply unsettling.
"Even if what you say is true, Father," Ji-hoon argued, "to act against him now, while the Emperor is ill and the nation faces external threats… it would plunge Joseon into chaos. It would invite our enemies to strike."
"Or," Prince Dae-jung countered, his voice like silk, "it would be seen as a necessary measure to prevent chaos. To ensure a smooth transition to a ruler who can unite, not divide. Hyun's very nature is divisive. His modern, brutal methods… they are not the Joseon way."
Ji-hoon felt a weariness settle over him. His father was lost in his own delusions of grandeur, fueled by years of resentment. He was grasping at straws, ignoring the monumental power Hyun had already amassed, both militarily and through the Emperor's explicit endorsement.
"I am a scholar, Father, not a statesman or a soldier," Ji-hoon stated, trying to deflect. "My place is in the library, with my books. I have no aptitude for… these matters."
"Aptitude can be developed," Prince Dae-jung said dismissively. "What matters is lineage, and opportunity. And you, my son, have both. Do not be so quick to dismiss your potential. Or your duty." He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Think on what I've said, Ji-hoon. The winds of change are blowing. It is better to be the one adjusting the sails than the one tossed overboard."
Before Ji-hoon could respond, a commotion was heard from the antechamber – hurried footsteps, a raised voice. Old Man Kang appeared at the doorway, his face pale.
"My Prince! Young Master! Urgent news from the North!"
Prince Dae-jung straightened, his earlier speculative demeanor instantly replaced by sharp attention. "What is it, Kang? Speak!"
Kang, slightly breathless, bowed deeply. "A royal messenger has just arrived, dust-covered and riding a near-foundered horse. He bears dispatches directly from Crown Prince Hyun's command."
Ji-hoon's heart hammered against his ribs. News from Hyun was always significant.
"And?" Prince Dae-jung pressed, his voice tight with anticipation. "What is the message?"
Old Man Kang looked from the Prince to Ji-hoon, his eyes wide. "The Ming… the Ming have capitulated, Your Highness. Completely. They have signed a treaty on terms dictated entirely by Crown Prince Hyun. They cede territory along the Yalu, offer substantial reparations, and have sworn off any further aggression for a generation." He paused, then added the most stunning part, "And… Crown Prince Yi Hyun is returning to Hanyang. He is riding ahead of his main force with a select honor guard. He is expected to arrive within three days."
Three days.
A silence fell over the study, thick and suffocating. Ji-hoon could almost hear the unspoken thoughts swirling in the air. The Wolf of the North was returning. Not in disgrace, not weakened, but in triumph. A triumph so absolute it would echo through the annals of Joseon history.
Prince Dae-jung's face, which had been alight with ambitious scheming moments before, seemed to deflate. The color drained from his cheeks. His eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape route from a suddenly changed reality. The opportunity he had imagined, the power vacuum he had hoped to exploit, was about to be filled by a figure more formidable than ever.
Ji-hoon himself felt a strange mixture of apprehension and an almost reluctant admiration. Hyun, the enigma, the ruthless commander, the brother he barely knew, was coming home. And his return would undoubtedly send new, more powerful shockwaves through the already trembling foundations of the court.
His father finally spoke, his voice a mere whisper, stripped of its earlier confidence. "Three days… He moves fast. Always too fast."
Ji-hoon looked at his father, truly seeing the mediocrity that had defined him, the bitterness that had consumed him. And for the first time, he felt a sliver of pity, quickly overshadowed by a dawning unease about what Hyun's return would mean for all of them, especially for a father who had so clearly been plotting in the shadows.
The game, it seemed, was about to change dramatically. And Yi Ji-hoon, the scholar who craved only the quiet of his library, felt himself being inexorably drawn closer to its dangerous center. The shadow of the Wolf was no longer a distant threat on the northern horizon; it was about to fall directly upon the palace. And Ji-hoon had a chilling premonition that no one, least of all his father, was truly prepared for the man who was returning.
The man who was once a modern soldier from a different world, now the conquering hero of Joseon. Though Ji-hoon, of course, knew nothing of that last, most crucial, detail. He only knew the legend, and that legend was about to become flesh and blood.