407
At the Heart of the City, After the Battle
There was no further movement where Zhu Wenzheng had fallen.
The air in the courtyard slowly settled.
Before the clash of steel returned, breath did.
Soldiers did not yet dare to approach.
No one knew who should move first.
The center of the battlefield still belonged to Park Seong-jin.
He lowered the tip of his blade and surveyed the surroundings.
The forces that had held the line with Zhu Wenzheng were already collapsing.
“Nanchang secured.”
A low report drifted in from the edge of the courtyard.
A Goryeo officer dropped to one knee.
“Central courtyard cleared.”
“Remaining enemies are being pushed toward the North Gate.”
Park Seong-jin nodded and sheathed his sword.
That motion spread like a signal.
Only then did the soldiers move.
They rushed in to pull the wounded free, to strip weapons from the fallen.
The smell of blood mixed with earth and smoke.
Zhu Wenzheng’s body was left untouched.
No one dared lay a hand on it.
He was an enemy commander.
There was a line even on the battlefield.
Park Seong-jin stepped back—
the step from combat back into command.
“The headquarters?”
“Already secured,” an officer replied at once.
“Most enemy commanders fled. Documents and seals are being recovered.”
Park Seong-jin looked deeper into the city.
Smoke rose slowly from within—
the lingering breath of a battle just ended.
Then, beyond the walls, drums sounded again.
This time it was no illusion.
The rhythm of the battlefield was unmistakable,
a low vibration carried through the ground.
Park Seong-jin pressed his palm lightly to the earth.
“Likely an envoy from Zhu Yuanzhang’s relief army.”
He focused for a moment, then straightened, measuring distance, timing, and speed.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Close the gates.”
The order was short.
“Stabilize the city first.”
“Evacuate the wounded.”
“No pursuit.”
Commanders moved at once.
Orders rippled outward.
Nanchang—
a key position behind Poyang Lake—was now in their hands.
Used as a rear base, its stores of grain and weapons would tilt the coming battle.
Park Seong-jin glanced once more at the courtyard.
Moments ago, two men had stood there.
Now only traces remained.
For the first time, he felt that something like fate could leave.
He had never truly believed in such a thing,
but if it existed, perhaps it could depart depending on human action.
It felt as though he had heard the collapse of Zhu Yuanzhang’s rear.
Only a sensation—
difficult to explain, impossible to argue logically.
Not far from Nanchang,
Zhu Yuanzhang’s main force halted under heavy, muddy rain and raised camp.
At that hour, a cavalryman nearly fell from his horse as he dismounted.
“My… my lord…! Nanchang—Nanchang—!”
His words spilled out with rain, blood, and smoke in his breath.
“Compose yourself,” a general snapped.
“What has happened to Nanchang?”
“Fallen—! Nanchang has already fallen!”
A stunned silence followed.
From within the command tent came the sound of a cup shattering.
Zhu Yuanzhang’s voice erupted next.
“If you lie, I will take your head.
Say it again. Not a single word wrong.”
The cavalryman dropped to his knees.
“…The enemy breached the North Gate…
A Goryeo master entered first and opened the gates…
The main force poured in…
General Zhu Wenzheng resisted to the end, but—”
The tent shook violently before he could finish.
Zhu Yuanzhang burst out, his face drained of color.
“Wenzheng—my nephew—!”
“We have not yet confirmed his death,” the rider said quickly.
“…Not yet.”
Zhu Yuanzhang’s fist trembled.
He gripped the sword hilt without drawing it, teeth clenched.
“My blood… my nephew…
Wenzheng, who guarded Nanchang…”
No one spoke.
In Zhu Yuanzhang’s eyes, long-hardened killing intent mingled with fear.
Wenzheng was the family he had regained—
the kin he had once believed dead from famine and chaos.
The day they had found him again,
when they had asked through tears, “Are you Zhongba?”
he had laid down resentment, rage, even the sword.
Since then, he had cherished Zhu Wenzheng as his successor.
And now—
a report that he had vanished from this battlefield.
Zhu Yuanzhang finally collapsed, grasping a tent pillar with shaking hands.
They had sent reinforcements—
yet the city had fallen before they arrived.
“Everyone inside.”
The tent closed again.
Tension and fury filled the generals,
but all of it sank beneath Zhu Yuanzhang’s silence.
At last, he spoke, voice hollow.
“Nanchang… has fallen?”
Liu Bowen lowered his head slightly, eyes deep and calm.
“My lord. The situation has already hardened in that direction.”
“Do not say it!”
Zhu Yuanzhang slammed the ground.
“I built that land.
I reclaimed it.
It was mine to protect!”
He sprang up.
“Why did the North Gate fall?
Why did the commanders collapse?
Who was it?”
Liu Bowen answered like a sigh.
“A Goryeo master.
Park Seong-jin.”
The air inside the tent sank.
“Park Seong-jin… again…”
“One man… toppled Nanchang?”
Zhu Yuanzhang laughed soundlessly.
It was the beginning of despair.
“What did I do wrong?” he shouted.
“Even Nanchang—
the land where I nearly starved to death as a child—
the family and foundation I barely reclaimed—
must it all collapse like this?!”
He drew his sword.
Even Liu Bowen’s expression tightened.
Then Liu Bowen inhaled deeply and spoke.
“My lord, what is needed now is not anger.”
“What did you say?”
“The decisive battle remains.
The greater momentum is still ours.
At Poyang Lake, we still have a chance to sever their lifeline.
This is only the beginning.”
Zhu Yuanzhang sank back, breath ragged, hands covering his face.
He had no sons.
The nephew he had found again—
he had even considered him heir.
“Wenzheng… Wenzheng…”
Liu Bowen spoke softly.
“There is still a chance he lives.”
Zhu Yuanzhang froze.
“Find him,” he rasped.
“Learn what became of him.
If he lives, bring him back at all costs.
If he is dead… I will conduct the funeral myself.”
The generals looked at him differently now.
Not a contender for supremacy—
but a man who had lost family.
Liu Bowen exchanged glances with the others.
“My lord, what is more troubling is this—
Nanchang was not broken by Chen Youliang’s army.”
Zhu Yuanzhang slowly raised his head.
“You mean…
that one man, Park Seong-jin, overturned the board?”
“Yes.”
“What manner of man is he?”
Liu Bowen answered briefly.
“A master.
Once he moves, situations rarely return.”
For the first time, fear seeped into Zhu Yuanzhang’s face.
“Then…”
his lips trembled.
“Is he Chen Youliang’s heaven?”
The tent fell silent.
And in that moment, Zhu Yuanzhang felt it—
almost a certainty.
The instant he spoke of another man’s heaven,
the current that had supported him seemed to shift.
The sky was moving away from him.
His hand swept objects from the table—
crash.
No one refuted it.
The flow of war
had already begun to tilt toward Chen Youliang.
