Chương 385: Chapter 357. What If You Sold Everything and Went South, Far from the War?

Okjeong asked quietly,"A way to survive?" Youngwoo avoided meeting her angry gaze and hesitated.

"What if you sold everything you have and went far south, to lands beyond the reach of the war?"

"The south?" Okjeong's face hardened.

"Ah, that is too much. I asked you to help, and now it sounds as though you are mocking me." Youngwoo frowned.

"This is not something to mock. It is only..." He could not finish and swallowed a sigh.

"Perhaps it would be better if I said nothing. Only—" Okjeong immediately asked,"Only what?" Youngwoo raised his head. This time he did not trail off.

"If you truly dream of restoring Balhae, then the very least you can do is not turn those people into tools of rebellion and send them to their deaths. Do not use them." Okjeong's lips tightened.

"That is very harsh." Youngwoo lowered his head slightly, avoiding her eyes.

"I am sorry." He remained silent for a while, then continued in a low voice.

"I was there when Jin was founded. In Hoeryeong. I saw what those people did. After seeing that, the discussions here in Liaoyang look like children playing house." The air in the reception room seemed to harden. The tea had gone cold. Snow continued to fall beyond the window. Youngwoo spoke again.

"Stop this. Something truly terrible will happen. This is not the time to argue over who will rule. Liaoyang itself—and even the name Balhae—could disappear from the map." Okjeong could not answer. Until moments ago, her face had been hardened by resistance. Now something else passed across it. There was anger. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it There was humiliation. And beneath them, very faintly, there was fear.

She now understood that the catastrophe Youngwoo spoke of was not merely an attempt to frighten her. Why else would he tell her to sell everything and flee to the distant south? Only now did Okjeong realize that he had not been joking. Nor had he been sneering at her. It was simply the safest path Youngwoo could think of. But she was betrothed. It was not a promise she could simply refuse. It was an agreement between two families, a relationship already known among Liaoyang's Balhae elite.

If Go Youngchang rose, she would have to stand beside him. If he fell, her family would be swept away with him. If the uprising succeeded, she might become queen. Once, that possibility had sounded distant and glorious. She had imagined Liaoyang reclaimed, the name Balhae restored, the grievances of a lost people finally answered. Even the word queen had been wrapped in such noble meaning. But now, looking at it again, what a hollow dream it seemed. The walls were weak. The troops were too few.

The grain stores were insufficient. Relations with Jin were unsettled. Retaliation from Liao could not be avoided. All of those dangers stood before them, and still people spoke first of kings and state names. Okjeong looked down at the ring on her finger. Only moments ago, it had been a token of promise. Now it felt like an iron collar around her neck. She could not abandon Go Youngchang. But neither could she believe the road he had chosen was safe. The dream was still sweet.

Yet perhaps what waited at its end was not a throne, but a fallen city and the names of the dead. One sheet of paper from Youngwoo had stripped away the illusion. Everything that pleasant words had concealed was being exposed one by one. Beneath the words founding a nation lay empty granaries. Behind the words restoring Balhae hid hunger for power. Beneath the dream of becoming queen lay the fear of failed rebellion and the destruction of her entire household. Okjeong could not speak for a long time.

Snow continued to fall outside. It covered the roofs and courtyard of the estate, but it could not cover the cracks that had opened inside her heart. Then a thought suddenly seized her. What should one do when the person one has chosen for life proves lacking? She had truly believed he was the best possible man. She had believed Go Youngchang could lead the Balhae people of Liaoyang. He understood soldiers. People followed him. He came from a family with deep roots.

But seen from another angle, that belief was mixed with incompetence and ambition. She was still young. Still inexperienced. Simply being together had once been enough. The ring on her finger was a promise, and promises made the heart rise. Truth often came late. People did not see the deepest parts of one another from the beginning. At some point, they learned. And when that moment came, what were they supposed to do? First. Tell yourself it is not true.

Convince yourself that what you saw was a mistake, that the unease you felt was only a passing wind. Spend your life persuading your own heart. Second. Replace him. They were not yet married. Break the engagement before sinking any deeper, then endure the resentment of both families and the pointing fingers of the world. Third. Accept it as fate and live with it. Even if the road led directly toward disaster, embrace the promise already made and the affection already built, and follow it to the end.

Youngwoo saw the shadow settling over Okjeong's shoulders. Trying to comfort her with awkward kindness would likely do more harm than good. She sat rigidly, her gaze fixed somewhere far away. She looked like someone who had only just recognized a fate decided long ago. There was more than the confusion of a young woman in her face. There was the expression of someone seeing her own life from a distance for the first time. Love and promises. Family and duty. Country and power.

All of them had tangled into a single cord around her neck. And even after realizing that, she did not immediately cry or collapse. Instead, her expression grew almost like that of a sage contemplating life itself. No one could live her life for her. Could she see the misfortune plainly waiting before her? Perhaps not. Because it was her own life. A single step to the side was enough for someone else to see it clearly. And yet the person standing at the very center of it was often the only one who could not.