They rode the remaining stretch to the border in silence.

  When they first left the city, Dorgon had expected that he and the newly appointed Crown Prince would discuss matters of moderate importance, perhaps even negotiate next year’s trade levies. He did not feel like dealing with affairs with an aching head, but it would probably have been prudent.

  Instead, to his surprise, Yun simply rode alongside him and said nothing. The silence was comfortable, not oppressive, unlike the awkward hush that sometimes settled at the end of an evening when one no longer knew how to occupy guests.

  At one point, the flap of wings sounded by the roadside; a startled bird burst out of the snow and flew past. The prince followed it with his eyes, met Dorgon’s gaze, and smiled faintly. Indeed, so much fuss over such a trifle.

  That was when the regent understood why their shared silence felt so easy. In truth, they were both still attentive to each other and maintaining contact, albeit without words. Dorgon had known this state on long campaigns, when all stories had been told, no strength remained to invent new ones, yet everyone thought and looked in the same direction. Conversation would fall quiet and then stir again, suddenly breaking through in someone’s voice. A soldier would say a single sentence, and everyone would understand him, because they saw and felt the same thing. It amused Dorgon that he and Yun had slipped into this mutual understanding so quickly. Perhaps because there was less of the courtier in Yun, and more of the warrior, as with Dorgon himself.

  A pity that this rare harmony could not last.

  “We will not meet again, will we?” Yun was clearly thinking the same.

  “Unless on the battlefield,” Dorgon agreed. He meant on opposite sides, but did not specify — that was quite clear.

  The prince nodded and turned away, gazing into the distance. The horses kept a steady pace. The sun made the snow sparkle with gold, yet the wind already carried the first sweet scents of spring. If not for the carts and the prisoners, they might have broken into a gallop, but as it was they had to stay patient.

  “On your way back, linger in the cities and make yourself known,” Dorgon advised, for reasons he himself could not quite explain. “The people’s support will strengthen your position at court.”

  “Unexpected,” Yun raised an eyebrow.

  “Consider it fatherly advice,” Dorgon snorted. “Eat well, sleep, keep the ministers on a short leash—”

  “All of them?” the prince’s gray eyes suddenly grew serious.

  “A third will suffice,” Dorgon thought for a moment, creasing his brow. What from his own experience applied to Joseon? “Among those who oppose you, find the instigators and learn what they want and what they fear. Promise them what they want, but do not give it at once. If they want what you cannot give, hold them by fear.”

  “Thank you for the counsel,” Yun inclined his head.

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  And once more they were wrapped in that easy silence. The road curved left, drawing closer to the sea. The air changed.

  “I find it convenient to think of politics as war,” the regent finally put his thoughts into words. “Measure your strength; do not leave your back uncovered. It is not enough to conquer a city — you must also hold it. Reread Sun Tzu for inspiration.”

  “The thirteenth chapter as well?” the prince broke into a smile, his narrowed eyes giving him a predatory look.

  “That is where one should begin,” Dorgon laughed. The thirteenth chapter was about spies. It was good that Yun knew more than polite Confucius.

  The Crown Prince turned his head and studied Dorgon for a long moment. He was still smiling. His unasked question could easily have been turned into a joke. But today the regent felt generous and decided to answer.

  “Very well, I will give you a gift,” he acquiesced. “I tried to come to an agreement with Chief State Councillor Kim, but he refused.”

  Yun choked. He clearly had not expected such frankness. Dorgon found it amusing.

  “I fear I have nothing with which to repay you,” the Crown Prince finally managed.

  “I said it was a gift, no payment required,” the regent continued to jollify. “You look displeased. Would you have preferred it if Councillor Kim had agreed?”

  “He is my grandfather,” Yun continued to grimace as though at something sour. “He may be a loyal subject, but he has too great a desire to control me.”

  “Oh, I know the type,” Dorgon drew a deep breath of the salty breeze blowing in from the sea. “Sometimes they need reminding that your position outweighs their age. Filial piety is best shown behind closed doors, not in the council hall. Do not let him press you.”

  Yun nodded thoughtfully.

  They reached the border fort on the banks of the Yalu by the evening of the third day. It was already dark. Crossing the wide river mouth by nighttime was dangerous, so the embassy spent one last night on Joseon soil. Dorgon went to stretch his legs after a long day in the saddle and found Yun’s still, dark silhouette on a wooden pier jutting out over the water.

  A board creaked underfoot. The Crown Prince flinched and turned, then, recognizing him, bowed in silence. Dorgon walked to the end of the unsteady planks and stood beside him. Gray ice floes drifted slowly along the river; cold rose from the water.

  The clear weather that had accompanied them for days was gone. Clouds veiled the sky, and light snow had fallen again during the day. Not even stars were visible. Yes, in such weather, and at night, one was better off staying out of the water.

  “I have never traveled this far,” the Crown Prince observed. “But the people in the fort speak the same language as those in the capital. They cook similar dishes and wear the same clothes. Enlighten me, Prince Regent, is everything truly different on the other bank?”

  Dorgon peered into the night. Somewhere ahead, the darkness was broken by orange points of windows or lanterns, though the shore itself was invisible.

  “People are the same,” he replied after a moment. “They rejoice, weep, fall ill, are born, die, gather firewood to keep warm in winter, fish in summer. The language is different, but in the borderlands many know their neighbor’s tongue. Here the river is wide; where the border runs over land, the mingling is even greater. Food, clothing, even songs.”

  “Songs?” Yun sounded genuinely surprised, then snorted. “I forgot that common people sing as well. Not only performers in kiban or at court.”

  “What kind of life have you lived?” Dorgon chided him gently. He himself was not above joining in when a familiar tune was taken up by a campfire. Long marches without songs would have been far duller.

  Yun shrugged and did not answer.

  They began the crossing at dawn.

  The river was broad here, there were no bridges. The carts were loaded onto a large ferry, which had to make several trips. By noon, Dorgon spoke his final parting words to the Crown Prince, received his good wishes in return, clapped Yun on the shoulder, and led his horse onto the ferry. The pier swayed and slowly receded from view. The tall, motionless figure seeing him off remained visible until rising mist over the water finally swallowed it.