Chapter 51 : The Taste of Hope
Chapter 51: The Taste of Hope
As we were examining the corpses, a group of people appeared in the distance on horseback.
I gripped my sword hilt tightly, but Go San stopped me.
“It’s Geolsa-yeong. He’s the Sariji of the Geolsa Tribe.”
Sariji, also known as "chief," was the representative of a Malgal village. Those with significant influence were sometimes called Great Chiefs or Grand Sariji.
Geolsa-yeong dismounted and approached Go San.
“It’s been a while, Young Master Go San!”
“Yes, yes. Have you been well?”
Go San immediately asked as soon as he saw Geolsa-yeong.
“The refugees seem to be running wild, don’t they?”
“What’s there to say? I wish those mangy bastards would become tiger food in our place, but even tigers don’t bother to bite them!”
Go San laughed.
“Don’t worry. We’re here to stop that. So, I ask you—do you have any thoughts about taking in a few refugees?”
“Those people? No thanks. We don’t have food either. Thanks to those refugee bastards, even the fish have vanished….”
If present-day Goguryeo was an agrarian society based on vast plains and centered around numerous fortresses in Manchuria,
Then the Malgal lived in forests along rivers, with villages at the center, engaging in both farming and hunting—a semi-agricultural, semi-hunting lifestyle.
To do both didn’t mean they had a choice. It meant they had to do both to survive. However, it seemed that hunting had become difficult lately due to the refugees, and they were having a hard time.
“So then…”
“Ah, did you think we’d come empty-handed?”
“Aha! As expected, the spirit of Goryeo lives on!”
We handed over quite a bit of grain to the Geolsa Tribe.
“This much food? Farming must be going well in Goryeo?”
“It’s absolutely fantastic.”
About 50% of that was thanks to me.
Because I was the one who proposed the Agricultural Light Law.
Go San handed out that food generously. When times are hard, helping others leaves a lasting impression.
And that wasn’t all.
“His Majesty the Grand King has said that you need not pay this year’s tax quota.”
“What a magnificent man he is. Our arrows will only aim at Goryeo’s enemies.”
“There’s no one who doesn’t know that the stone arrowheads of Sushin sink the deepest. Your loyalty is truly reassuring.”
Goryeo’s control had also strengthened.
For a friend in hard times is a true friend.
We stayed a day in the Geolsa Tribe and then departed.
The closer we got to Liaodong, the more corpses there were.
The greatest killer wasn’t nearby villagers, but the cold and starvation.
Even so, we encountered some refugees who were still alive.
The moment they saw us, they bowed their heads.
“P-please, spare us. Give us some food.”
It was in the Western Land language, but we could understand it.
The curriculum at the National Academy made Western Land language a required subject.
Go San responded in Western Land language as well.
“We can’t stop the carts because of you. So, when the carts stop, you’d better be near us.”
“What do you mean…?”
“It means follow us.”
“If we follow… will you give us food?”
“Of course.”
Hope glimmered in the refugee’s eyes.
“Honey, it’s going to be okay!”
Behind the man, a woman cradling something could be seen. She murmured,
“Whiya, where are you? I’m sorry for what happened back then. Please, answer me.”
Thinking it was a child, I glanced her way.
I shouldn’t have looked. It was an empty bundle.
‘Ha.’
…The fate of those who lost a war was, without exception, tragic beyond words.
Go San gave them only one rule.
‘Follow from a distance quietly. Then food will be distributed at the appropriate times.’
This was to gather as many refugees as possible.
Scattered refugees were hard to control.
Soon, they began to follow us in droves.
One group became two, two became four—it happened in an instant. From them, we also learned of the situation in the Western Land.
“As expected, last year, the Northern Zhou drove the poor eastward after taking over the fortress.”
“Of course…”
Go San’s expression twisted.
“I wondered how population-poor Northern Zhou would deal with the populous Northern Qi… and they used that very population instead. They empty the occupied territory and send refugees our way. That alone would shake the nation, making people kill one another. Ondal, how much food do we have left?”
“I’ll calculate it right away.”
I checked the well-organized charts and began flicking the abacus, which had recently started spreading in Goguryeo.
I learned this back in the countryside, from old man Park.
Afterward, I commissioned Wang Godeok to manufacture it and passed it on to Monk Uiyeon, who in turn gave it to his senior and Uljeol, Monk Hyeja.
Having taken an interest, Hyeja spread it to Goguryeo’s officials, and soon the abacus was used throughout the country.
Considering the number of refugees currently gathered, and the rapidly increasing number as we approached Liaodong… the answer came quicker than any emotion could.
“……At this rate of increase, we’ll run out of food before we arrive. If that happens, we’ll lose control over the refugees.”
Of course, I didn’t believe the Goguryeo army would lose to unarmed refugees.
But defeat doesn’t always come through battle.
Our strategic objective now was the control of the refugees.
If they didn’t gather properly, or even if they did but then broke off into riots or fled, then we’d have failed to meet our strategic goals. That would be no different from defeat.
“Control, huh… So that’s what you were worried about?”
But contrary to my concern, Go San remained perfectly calm.
“You really are like those kids from Pyeongyang Fortress in this regard. Just keep watching. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
* * *
That evening.
Go San distributed food to the refugees.
“Here, food!”
“Food… is this all?”
“Hey now, complaining even when you’re given some! If you’re not going to eat, then scram!”
“How are we supposed to live off this?”
I feared the refugees might riot, but it was an unfounded worry. Because collective action requires a sense of solidarity.
Yet these people had only just met a few days ago.
They lacked even the minimal bonds necessary to come together.
After that, their gazes shifted once again.
The amount of food was absurdly small, but it was still distributed according to the number of people.
Three portions for ten people, thirty portions for a hundred. Go San calculated it precisely.
It didn’t take long for them to realize that the person beside them, and even behind them, also had food.
They had only just met.
They lacked the camaraderie to fight together.
And…
They lacked even the minimal bond to not fight each other.
“Give it back, it’s mine!”
“Give it back, give it back!”
“Where do you think you’re going?!”
Rather than attack us, the refugees turned on those around them who seemed weaker.
They began fighting among themselves. Fists flew and feet lashed out. Some even swung tools whose origins were unknown.
It was a natural reaction. Understandable, even.
After the Rebellion of Yeongga, they had lived through the chaos of the Sixteen Kingdoms.
And unlike the Korean kingdoms, the Western Land was vast—so vast that just a short distance away, people often couldn’t even communicate with each other.
Chaos and vastness bred tool fights—what they called gyetu: battles where immigrants and settlers fought with weapons over land.
What was training at the National Academy in Goguryeo was for them a way of life, repeated out of necessity.
People lay crying, people were trampled, but no one cared. Hungry men snatched food from crying children without hesitation and stuffed it into their own mouths.
Seeing this, Go San waved his hand dismissively.
“Phew, it’s a good thing we came early. If not, their weapons would’ve been turned on the Malgal or Goryeo. Well then, shall we head back?”
At that moment, everything we had hoped for was accomplished.
By distributing little food, we prevented it from running out.
By giving so little, we made them fight amongst themselves and thus prevented them from uniting against us.
And in the process, only the strong survived, allowing us to naturally select useful resources.
Efficient, but cruel.
Cruel, but efficient.
That evening.
I, too, received a bowl of steaming hot gruel as a late meal. I had no appetite, but I lifted my spoon.
‘Just eat first.’
This was the first rule of politics taught to me by Boknyeo.
At the time, I wondered what that had to do with politics—but now I understand. Politics forces you to see many things that kill your appetite. You have to learn to eat anyway.
Only then can you prepare for tomorrow. I scooped up a large spoonful of gruel.
It was a bland dish to begin with, but today, it felt especially foul and salty.
The gruel from the National Academy tasted at least a little better than this.
The next day.
The refugees followed us again, leaving behind the corpses.
We banned them from consuming the corpses and ordered them to be burned immediately. There was a risk of plague.
I looked at the faces of the refugees.
Some wore the expression of people who barely survived.
Those were probably the ones who fought and won yesterday to eat.
Many others hadn’t eaten. They looked as if they didn’t even have the energy to make a facial expression.
Those who ate would keep eating, and those who didn’t would continue to starve.
I looked around discreetly, but the family from the Western Land who first sought our help was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, one man caught my eye.
He was a large man, his eyes shining as if well-fed, and he wore a headscarf I hadn’t seen yesterday.
The way it was tied resembled the empty bundle the woman had been holding.
Go San looked at the man closely.
“That guy will survive. Looks like a useful asset.”
Saying that, Go San once again took the lead and guided the group forward.
The next day, and the day after that, the number of refugees joining us steadily increased. There were new arrivals, but no one left.
This, too, was thanks to Go San’s strategy.
He gave out just enough food, but always according to the headcount.
If he gave three portions to ten people, then with a hundred, he truly did give thirty portions.
In this system, the larger the group, the greater the total food received.
That’s why the stronger refugees did everything they could to prevent others from leaving.
It wasn’t the Goguryeo soldiers shouting, “Run and you’ll die!”—it was the fierce refugees themselves.
And they robbed the weaker refugees of their food at every meal.
This meant a hierarchy was forming among the refugees. Even without being told, they acted as overseers and pledged loyalty to Goryeo.
“See those guys acting the most high and mighty?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll take them all the way to the end and kill them at the last moment. They took the blame for us, so if we kill them, the rest will cheer for us.”
A divide-and-rule tactic, spoken as naturally as breathing.
At that point, I couldn’t help but wonder—
Where had Go San learned to do all this?
Historical records say that Goguryeo had 176 fortresses. But now that I’ve seen it for myself, I can say that number is quite inaccurate.
Not because it’s an exaggeration—but the opposite.
‘There are far more.’
The 176 fortresses of Goguryeo were, strictly speaking, only the ones ‘managed by the central government.’ The ones where a Yoksa, Choryeogeunji, or Nuch’o was dispatched.
But in the north, there were many fortresses and strongholds with no ties to the central authority. The northern nobles had freely built these within their own domains.
They were essentially unauthorized structures, but because the north was so unstable, the central government didn’t intervene much.
The place we stayed at midway was one of those fortresses.
“It’s Yangga Fortress. It’s called that because it belongs to the Yangga family.”
A fortress named after a clan, not a region.
The head of that place, Yang Jangsu, came running as soon as he saw Go San, visibly surprised.
He was a high-ranking Elder, part of a lineage that had long governed and survived in this region through their Tax Village allotments.
This was often the case for the Tax Village lords from the Domestic Fortress Faction.
That fellow there was treated as a Noble now, and when Yang Jangsu died, one of his sons would inherit the Elder rank.
“Uncle Yang!”
Go San called Yang Jangsu "Uncle."
Yang Jangsu asked,
“Those refugees outside the fortress—what are they?”
“Exactly what they look like: refugees. We tossed them some grain, so they’ll fight among themselves and quiet down.”
“Well, it’s the same with the Lower Households, I suppose.”
Yang Jangsu nodded.
‘Lower Households…’
In early Goguryeo, there were ten thousand seated persons, and ten times that number of Lower Households supported them.
The seated persons were the warrior class, while the Lower Households served them.
However, in late Goguryeo, records of seated persons become scarce.
Historians generally cite two reasons.
Either the seated persons ceased to exist, or their existence became so normal that it was no longer mentioned.
From what I’ve seen, the answer is: both.
As Goguryeo’s centralization began, the class of seated persons who ruled over villages through hereditary Tax Villages was no longer replenished.
Because Tax Villages were no longer handed out carelessly.
Still, they didn’t disappear. Especially in the north, they remained a normalized class.
They were no longer called seated persons, but Tax Village Lords, who inherited their lands generation after generation and ruled over the Lower Households within.
And these Lower Households were quite different from the Self-cultivating Farmers living in the Hereditary Village Allotments of Pyeongyang Fortress.
First of all, Hereditary Villages were temporary rewards for government service, and their lords didn’t meddle much with the Self-cultivating Farmers inside.
Even within their own Hereditary Villages, the lord’s authority wasn’t very strong. They were treated as easily replaced.
But Tax Villages?
They were passed down within families for generations.
Over decades, even centuries, they solidified their control over their villages.
Through their authority as Tax Village Lords, they pushed out Self-cultivating Farmers and privatized the land.
Of course. It was far easier to control the poor than the rich.
They ruled the land as landlords and held personal rights over the villagers as Tax Village Lords.
The dependents living under them were the Lower Households.
They paid taxes directly to the Tax Village Lord, could be conscripted when needed, and worked the lord’s land as laborers.
Serfs? Tenant farmers? I’m not sure what to call them.
I don’t really know the difference between those terms.
But I do know the Lower Households weren’t much different from either.
The northern situation also contributed to this system.
In Pyeongyang, even Hereditary Village Lords had to be careful around their farmers—since Self-cultivating Farmers doubled as elite soldiers.
The whole reason they nurtured Self-cultivating Farmers in the first place was to use the wealthy ones as heavy infantry.
But the north was different.
Lower Households were poor and poorly armed. The only strong ones were the Tax Village Lords of the Domestic Fortress Faction.
If the Malgal or Khitan were to invade under these conditions, the Lower Households would have no one to rely on but their lord.
In other words,
The Lower Households offered up most of their harvest in exchange for their lives, and the Tax Village Lords took everything but their lives.
They were treated like chickens in a coop.
It was clear Go San had learned how to handle refugees from this.
Go San asked Yang Jangsu,
“By the way, Uncle Yang. How are your sons?”
“Both are out west. Things are noisy with all the refugees, so they responded to the call.”
“Wow, they’re already old enough to ride horses?”
“Fifteen and sixteen. Honestly, I’d like to go too, but I’m not exactly young anymore.”
“Rest. Those who killed enemies in their youth earn the right to die behind their own fortress walls in old age. Besides, without you, the Lower Households would all be dead.”
“That’s true. By the way… some of those people out there seem useful.”
Yang Jangsu, being part of the Domestic Fortress Faction himself, licked his lips as he looked at the refugees.
Go San said,
“How many do you want? We sorted them out on the way here, so take a few. If you settle them, I’ll give you some grain too.”
“Then I’ve no reason to refuse.”
That day, fifty households were absorbed into Yangga Fortress as Lower Households.
Some say that, in the afterlife, judges decide who will suffer and who will enter paradise.
What we were doing now… was just that.
Author’s Note
The term Lower Household (하호) was widely used in East Asia. It ranged in meaning from ordinary people to slaves. Literally, it means “low person.”
However, in Goguryeo, the term generally referred to poor farmers, yongjak, or dependent peasants.
Yongjak differed slightly from tenant farmers. While tenant farmers gave a portion of the harvest, yongjak took an advance payment and surrendered the entire harvest. In most cases, “day laborer” or “farmhand” refers to a yongjak.
Yongjak were typically used on smaller farms, while tenant farmers were more common on larger estates. Since Goguryeo still mostly had small-scale agriculture, yongjak seem to have been more common.
In China, tenant farming became widespread during the Tang–Song period; in Korea, it became common after the Japanese invasions.